At the Ballet

"Everything is beautiful at the ballet. Raise your arms and someone's always there..."  ~A Chorus Line

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. Once upon a time, her Mama took her to buy her first pair of ballet shoes.

Once upon a time, she walked into a dance studio for the very first time and instantly felt at home.  She loved the smell of the rosin box in the corner; she loved the feel of the laquered barre beneath her hand and the way the afternoon sun slanted sideways across the wood floor.

Once upon a time she could lose herself in beautiful classical music and surrender her whole self to a series of memorized movements.  Battements, jetes, pirouettes - french terms drilled into her mind, body automatically executing each one.  Once upon a time she felt strong and alive.

The years passed and home and the studio became synonymous.  The people there, family.  This was life.

Until...

Once upon a time, a little girl clasped her Mama's hand while trying on ballet shoes.  Once upon a time her Mama drove her to ballet class where she learned to hold onto the barre, to stand straight, to tendu in time to the music.  Once upon a time she loved the fresh leather smell of pink ballet slippers.

And, as her Mama watched her through the window, this little one starting out, she felt like she had come home.