Always Dancing Anonymous

Blazing lights appear suspended above the stage, like shimmering fireflies in the night caught in midflight. I hear the nervous chatter of my friends around me as we all try to peek out from behind the heavy wings that separate us from the audience, stubby little fingers tugging eagerly at the edges of the soft fabric. My pink ballet slippers are too big for my tiny feet, and I impatiently wiggle my toes underneath the scratchy material as I wait for the performance to begin. After what feels like an eternity, the red velvet curtains glide smoothly across the sea of shining black marley, and I excitedly stomp out. The memory of stepping onto a stage for the first time has been etched into my mind: Five year old me, a midget who was completely clueless and always hopelessly lost, could not keep an enormous smile from spreading across her face the entire night after the performance despite forgetting almost all the choreography on stage.

As years passed, I became more aware of the fact that the world of the age old art of ballet is not a fair one. The long legs, arched feet, flat knees, and slim bodies were all characteristics of the prima ballerina that I did not have. At the beginning, I became increasing frustrated by the...