Page 24 of You and I

“Anna.” I hear Patty's voice break into my thoughts and I glance up from my place on the floor to see her looking down at me, a concerned and yet amused look lighting up her face. “Did you hear me?” She asks, clearly realizing immediately that I didn't.

“Sorry.” I say, shaking my head and switching my stretch to the other leg. “What's up?” I ask, trying to shake off my lingering thoughts of Bentley.

“Charlie and Marcie aren't able to make it today. Apparently Charlie caught a stomach bug and Marcie’s family had something come up. I went ahead and rescheduled the rehearsal, considering two of the five girls aren't able to attend.”

“Oh, okay.” I say, pulling myself into a standing position. “Did you need my help with something else then?” I ask, glancing at the clock on the wall directly in front of me to see it is just after five in the evening.

“Well, I was hoping that maybe you could close up shop for me as soon as Tara finishes up with her class.” She says, smiling at me sweetly.

“Sure.” I agree, having no where else to be.

“Thank you. I am going to have dinner with a friend in the city so I won't be home until later.” She says, giving me a brief kiss on the cheek before turning and quickly making her way out of the room.

The moment Patty disappears, an eery silence settles around me. Looking around the large square space, I can't help but remember all the hours I spent in this very room. I just started working at the studio again this week and while I love being back here, it's also very hard for me as well. It's hard to see all the dancers that come here everyday, most sharing the same dream that I once had. To dance professionally one day. And while a good deal of them are very talented, it breaks my heart knowing that probably only a select few will dance beyond their childhood.

Patty has me teaching her five to nine year old class on Tuesdays and Thursdays but needing more to do, she agreed to let me help teach her fourteen and fifteen year old dancers their fall recital routine on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

I jump slightly when music from the next room kicks on. For a moment I had forgotten that anyone else was here. The studio is made up of three separate rooms. Each room is a large square space with floor to ceiling mirrors that cover every wall. Crossing the space, I hook my iPod into the audio jack of the stereo sitting in the far right corner and start skimming through my playlist.

It has been years since I have actually danced here. I have helped teach classes of course, but I have not actually danced in this studio since the day I went down wrong on my leg and everything changed. Scrolling through my song list, I click on “I Can't Stop Drinking About You” by Bebe Rexha. The moment the first few beats vibrate out of the surround sound speakers wired throughout the room, I close my eyes, taking in the sound, the beat, the tempo.

It only takes seconds before I am moving across the studio floor. It feels so natural to dance here, having done so for so many years of my life. And yet, it feels strange at the same time, given how long it has been.

As the tempo picks up and the song really takes off, I find my mind letting go and my body taking over. I move effortlessly across the floor, pushing my body in a way that I haven't done in quite sometime. And while the action is terrifying and every second I am just waiting for my knee to give out and to feel the pain shooting through me that I know will follow, I can't make myself stop.

While my main focus when I first started dancing was ballet, it quickly shifted to a more Contemporary style with pieces of ballet peppered throughout, the older I got. I was already working on my audition piece forJulliardwhen I was barely fourteen. Convinced that one day I would move to New York and attend there. Cliche I know. But ultimately every dancer dreams ofJulliard.

I still remember the routine, the jumps, the kicks. And as my body goes through the motions, it's like no time has passed at all. In this moment, it's like I am still that young girl with stars in her eyes and a dream in her heart. It didn't matter back then what I had lost, what I had suffered. When I danced, it all went away. It wasn't about the pain, it was about the happiness I felt when I lost myself to the music and the motions.

It isn't until I get to a particularly difficult jump that my brain registers the risk. Stopping midway through, I land a little too hard on my leg and immediately feel the strain in my knee. Nothing too severe, but enough to know that I have pushed myself far enough. Collapsing onto the hard floor, I sprawl out, trying to catch my breath as the music still bounces off the walls around me.

Staring up at the ceiling, everything floods back. My family, my grandmother, my youth. Everything I had lost that dance gave back to me. You would have to be a dancer to understand the freedom and the outlet that it offers. For a young child who had nothing left, dance was everything. I clung to it like a security blanket. Which explains why I was so scared when I lost it. I didn't know who I was without dance. Hell, I'm not sure that even now I have figured that out.

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