The End of the Beginning

Dance is my oxygen. I need it to live.

Dance is my heart. It keeps me going.

Dance is my soul. Without it ... I will be no more.

My fingers trembled as my pen scratched against the paper. I could feel the hot, salty, tears fall down my cheeks after they fogged my vision. I signed my note, and even though it may have been illegible, I laid it on my desk for my parents to find. But by the time they did, I would be long gone.

I got up from my desk, and walked toward the window. My knuckles turned white as I struggled to push the heavy glass up.

I suddenly felt a rush of cool, chilling, air hit my face as I leaned out of the open window. I breathed in the sweet smell of the midnight breeze.

“The smell of freedom,” I thought, my previous anger morphing into excitement. “Finally.” Finally, I was going to escape. I was going to escape the pressure of my so called ‘friends’. I was going to escape the neglect of my teachers. I was going to escape the emotional pain inflicted upon me by my parents. I was finally going to escape it all.

I pulled myself back into the room, and bent down to pick up my bag. It contained everything I could ever need in the world. My ballet slippers. My pointe shoes. My leotard. My tights. A thousand dollars in cash. A new cell phone, and a picture.

I unzipped my bag and gently pulled out the picture. As I stared at the memory, I felt the tears I had just managed to lose, return. Unable to take it anymore, I shoved the photograph into my bag. As I shouldered my luggage, I felt everything else that had been piled up onto my shoulders disappear, melting into the black, moonless, night sky.

I took a deep breath while mounting the windowsill. With a single glance back at my room, my home, my family, and my life, I jumped.