A ballet dancer gets hurt and has to deal without dancing.
I felt a bead of sweat drip down my back, then dissolve into my black leotard. I was out of breath and I could hear my heart pumping loudly. I slowly extened my leg in to a tondu, full pointe, then brought it back. Eschappe, chansma, sou sou, soutenu. Balance. Shoulders back, sternum forward, tailbone tuched, spine straight, head up, legs flexed, instep out. I loved this. This is my life.
"No, Alison, don't squish, instep out!" Lisa Webb, my instructor, told me as she fixed my body to the perfect position. I tried not to wince when she pushed my heal forward, but pulled in a small breath through my teeth.
"There, now don't let it go soft! Keep pointing!" She said as she walked to correct Madison, my classmate.
Only two more counts.
Ouch. A cramp shot through my leg and my foot fell to the ground, my feet were no longer in fifth positon, I was no longer on the box of my pointe shoe, and I couldn't feel my right foot, only pain. Pain worse then a blister or sourness. I must have broken something.
The adreniline flowing through my veins had made me think fast and the song hadn't even ended. Ms. Lisa ran over to my spot on the floor, where I swore I was going to die. That's how much it hurt.
My strong ballet instructor scooped my up and ran out to her car. I think she called my mother, I don't know, I couldn't focus on anything.