All She Ever Wanted

My mother had always wanted me to dance.1

She had been a dancer when she was younger; she had started since she was three years old. It was her life. Ballet was her way of breathing, the chamber of her heart. And the only key were her soft ballet shoes. 2

She had danced her way through school, and into college. She dreamed of going professional. She had everything. The figure, the charming smile, the feet. And everybody loved her.3

But not all dreams work out.4

My mother had told me once that there was a line that was established when you become a dancer. “It is the line of your body,” she would tell me she watched me flex and pivot. “The line that you show when you dance, and you can only show it when you become one with your dance.” My mother had that line once.5

My mother’s spirit was crushed along with her leg when she had gone on a dance tour in Paris. She had been walking with her friend, when she decided to run into the street to show her a move she had thought of. She was coming to the graceful end of her spin, when a taxi pulled into view and crashed into her. 6

My mother had broken her right leg in five places, and there was a chance that she would never walk again. But my mother was a ballet dancer. She never gave up. In six months, she had gone through intense physical therapy and training and was able to gain full function of her leg. 7

But she could never dance again.8

And that’s where I come in. I was born three years after the accident, and three years later, I found myself thrust into the exact same training that my mother had been sent to in my age. She put me into classes for most days of the week, and by the time I was eight, dancing had become my way of life as well.9

But my mother never said anything. 10

Maybe she was proud. But she never told me. In all the years I had been dancing, the highest praise I had ever achieved from my mother was a low ‘good’. Otherwise, she would just give me a curt nod. I learned to accept soon enough of course, but that doesn’t mean that I envied my friends who had happy mothers that bought them ice cream and took them to the park after school. My mother was afraid to buy me ice cream. She didn’t want me to lose my figure. But I did receive my first taste in middle school, when she had to give me lunch money and I would spare some of it to buy a small plastic cup of sweet ice some days after school. 11

But weekends were always fun with Mother. 12

She let me sleep in on the weekends, and when I would wake up, she would give me the usual serving of oatmeal and fruits but with a cookie, or maybe some sweet, ripe berries. Then she would dress me in my more formal ballet costume, the one of pink satin, with long fabric plumes attached to my sleeves and back. She would pack my ballet shoes, and we would run to the train station by the corner of our building, and we would go to Manhattan. 13

Sometimes my mother would take me to a fancy studio where she would help teach the class so she wouldn’t have to pay so much. Sometimes she would take me to Central Park and let me dance in the fields until a whole crowd would gather and give us money, which of course, she would always give back. And sometimes, if she wanted to sit in the train for a long time, my mother would just let me dance in the train, letting me go through drills over and over while she stared out the window and thought. My mother would smile during the weekends. And sometimes, she would even tell me about her days as a dancer.14

When I grew older, ballet got more competitive. I had to dance for high schools and competitions, and dancing became more and more often. By the time I was thirteen, dancing was like walking, so I was able to get into all of the schools my mother had planned for me. But it became even more difficult to please her. As I turned into a teenager, arguments with my mother became more and more often, until it was more common for our doors to be closed than opened and welcome. Those happy weekend trips became scarcer, until they stopped altogether. And my mother didn’t smile. 15

And then, when I was in high school, I encountered interests. It became obvious to me, over time, that I wanted to be a writer, and some days, I would work on my writing after school instead of coming straight home, where I knew I would be set up for classes. When I told my mother of this dream, she had laughed. And it wasn’t a very nice laugh.16

“Writer? And what else do you wish to be? A beggar?” It hurt me when she said these things, but I couldn’t do anything. She was my mother. And I was her daughter. That was just the way it was. 17

But I rebelled one day. 18

One day we had the worst argument that went beyond slamming doors and not talking for several hours. I was seventeen then. I had told her that I was sick of dancing and that I wanted to be a writer. I told her that all I thought about was writing, that when I danced I wrote stories, and I told her why I stayed after school. And that I hated dancing. That was all it took.19

She just stood still and stared at me, and only when I made a move to touch her did she duck and slowly made her way to her room. She didn’t even close her door. She just went and sat on the bed. 20

It took me an hour to calm down and then another hour to gather the courage to come into the room to talk to her. When I did, I slipped silently out of my bedroom and crept over to her door. What I saw still makes me cry.21

After twenty years, my mother had tried to dance again. She started to do a small flex, and then gathered her feet and prepared to do a pivot, like the ones I did when I was younger. I watched in awe as she slowly stretched out her long, slender leg, and cradled her head in her graceful arm. She was turning, and slowly rising to her toes…22

Suddenly she cried out and fell to the bed. 23

I reached out for her but pulled back in horror when I watched as my determined mother did not get up from the bed but only dropped her face in her hands and began to sob. I was shocked. I had never seen my mother cry. Never. Not even when she told me of her old dancing days. She seemed proud then. But not sad. Not ever sad.24

And I began to realize what it was like for her. My mother had loved dancing. She had loved it from the day she started to the tragic day when she was forced to give it up. Dancing to her had been like living. And she had lost it.25

I silently crept into the room and sat down beside her. Her shoulders were shuddering as she breathed and even then she looked graceful. Slowly, carefully, I wrapped an arm gingerly round her quivering shoulders and leaned into her, letting my other arm sling over so my hands were touching. She froze for a moment. Then she picked her face up and looked at me.26

Her strong green eyes were helpless and full of grief. Her determined pale face was pink and tear- stained. She did not look like the confident, strict mother that I tried so hard to please. She looked like a child. A broken child that had lost too much. 27

As slowly as I had, she turned around and wrapped her arms round me in an embrace that finally held warmth. She leaned her face into my chest and bean to sob again. I didn’t say anything. I just sat there and stared at the many photos plastered to the wall, pictures of her dancing. My graceful, beautiful, strong mother. It was difficult to connect her with the shattered weeping woman in my arms right then. But I guess that was what dancing meant for her. Dancing was what kept her strong. Dancing was her spirit. And she had lost it because of a moment’s foolishness. 28

I thought back. What if time had revolved to that minute? What if all of those twenty years would rewind to that moment she had decided to jump nimbly into the street to show her friend a silly dance move. Then she would have never been hit by the taxi. She would never have had to go through all the pain and confidence of learning to walk again. And she would have continued dancing and would have never had me. I thought of that. She would never have me. I wondered if she had ever thought of that; if she wished to give me up just to go back to those happy days of carefree dancing. When she did what she loved every day. 29

And then I remembered all those times she had smiled at me. I remembered all those weekends she had taken me to Manhattan and watched me dance with that look in her beautiful green eyes. I had never thought of what that look was, but I guess it was love. 30

So maybe my mother did love me. Maybe she did not wish to give me up just to go back to her dance days. Maybe, the only reason why she made me dance was just to show that she did not want to give me up. That she cared. But my mother was unreadable. You could never know what she felt.31

All I knew was that she loved to dance.32

And that I did, too.33

Author notes

Blue bananas are definetely better

A contest entry

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Comments

1 - 29 of 29

  • Frozen Angel
    June 25

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    True art is when the artist is fully commited and absorbed in their work. You can see when it shines through because everything is real.

    You're love of not only dancing but also writing shines through this piece.

    Thank you for taking the time to enter my contest.

    *Frozen Angel*


  • owlish
    June 6

    Edit | Reply
    This almost made me cry.
    Bet I would have cried if I hadn't gone to lunch.
    But seriously, this is a truly beautiful piece. This is an example of real writing.
    What more can I say?
    Only this: never stop writing.


  • HaydenLautner
    May 9

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    As so many people have said, this was beautiful. I was close to tears reading this. It was a really stunning story. Thank you for the entry


  • Sunless Spirit
    May 8
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    This was simply beautiful! It's too beautiful to put in words! It's brilliant and sad.


  • Raining.Fire
    May 4

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    That was AWAZING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It really showed me what was happening and created a great mental picture in my head of the mother crying, and the girl dancing. Wonderful job!


  • reilly500
    May 4

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    This was a beautiful, moving peice that held me until its end. True or fiction? I can feel tears coming to my eyes as i type this.

    Glad to say you are a finalist...


  • vamplover22907
    April 29
    Edit | Reply
    This was nice, aww I thought that it was sad that the mom can't dance anymore

    beginning: 3, language: 5, plot: 4, ending: 3, dialog: 4, characters: 4.


  • pink polka
    April 22

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    Great story. It's amazing, my friend went through that. Basically, her mother wanted her to be a dancer, so she had to. She still isn't out of it, and she hates it. But her mother is always proud of her, and she doesn't want to disapoint her. (Plus, her mother won't let her get out of Ballet) I wish I'd stayed in it. (I didn't like the disipline it required) and I quit. Now I wish I hadn't, I have a lack of hobbies now. And dancers are so graceful, and girls like the dancers...They're thin and pretty and all that.


  • moonwriter
    April 7

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    Wow. Just wow. Your story was beautiful and touching. It was so well written and just incredible.
    I was hooked from beginning to end and your story is just all the more amazing because it's true.
    I hope you win the contest. Your story is wonderful.


  • Lois.Stone
    February 2

    Edit | Reply
    I really enjoyed this! You are talented, and I like the way you describe things and show emotion. I love it! Wow! Wow! Wow! Interesting plot, too.

    Loisxx


  • GrimDeath
    February 1

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    Very sweet and sad strong emotions run through out this story. The story was strong and the raw emotions really made the story jump out more. Great Job. Thank you for entering my contest and Good Luck!
    -Grim


  • Dreama
    January 31

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    poetic in a way, the emotions are described well and i have to admit i was a little tearful at the end
    thanks for entering

  • d2002
    January 31
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    lovly story. i love dancing and i do dancing. dancing can make you free from all the weight.

  • rockwrites
    January 30
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    a very great story


  • lkokko
    January 29
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    WOW!!

    A very moving piece. I really enjoyed it. Excellent job

    beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 5, characters: 5.

  • littledevil14
    January 28
    Edit | Reply
    awesome story!!!!!!!!!


  • lexiconsthedevil
    January 27
    Edit | Reply
    this is beautiful. i can really relate to the mother though. there are many times that i have been hurt because of dancing, and a few times where i was scared that i may never dance again. but like her. after months of physical therapy and hard work paid off and i still dance to this day.

  • the shorty
    January 26

    Edit | Reply
    This was beautifully written. Much like the dancing described, it was graceful, fluid, and easy to read and love. Excellent job, and keep up the good work!

  • shan700
    January 26

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    Loved it! Absolutley loved it! There was the one flaw in your writing (one of the very minor nitpicking sort), of the spelling of began, but this had already been mentioned. Great write!


  • Tricia3 gold member
    January 26

    Edit | Reply

    Great writing

    A very moving story and so well written. I only found one misspelled word. You wrote bean, and it should have been, began. I loved your story.

    beginning: 5, language: 5, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 2, characters: 5.

  • VariousSingularity
    January 26

    Edit | Reply
    P28: 'my chest and bean(began)to sob...'

    P31: 'the only reason why she made' It would sound better without 'why'

    "So you're into ballet?" I need to stop watching movies...

    Anyway...This was awesome. Aside from the two little whiny pickings above, this story is flawless. (Actually, there was another one in there somewhere, but I lost it...) I never thought I'd find a story involving ballet interesting, but this is very detailed, in every facet.

    Great write.

  • sassykitty
    January 25
    Edit | Reply
    Nice range of sentences here - and I do like the way you encapsulate the relationship between the mother and her daughter. This is a poignantly written piece - well executed and credible.

    Massive thanks for your kind comments on my 6136 story- I did enjoy writing it. Thanks

    Goood luck in your contests.


  • GossipGirlLuvR
    January 25
    Edit | Reply

    OMG!

    This is so awesome. I like the way you worded it in the end. Great job!


  • Sith Lord Alvarez
    January 25

    Edit | Reply
    Well written story.

    In many respects, a person would wish to have a parent like that. A parent driven by a goal. Not only wishing the best for you but teaching you something that they know. Sometimes it feels like they don't love you but they do.

    This story can be applied to other people and circumstances. Good job


  • Hatshepsut gold member
    January 24

    Edit | Reply
    This was beautiful! Very emotive and powerful. I love the relationship between the mother and daughter. The rebellion of the daughter, the pushiness of the mother...underneath all of that was a deep love, and also a deep sadness.

    I was really moved by para 24 where the daughter witnessed her mom sobbing. Her mother was so strong, so determined, it must have been devastating to see her in a moment of weakness.

    This was really, really beautiful. Thanks for sharing it.


  • Cupcake14
    January 24
    Edit | Reply
    there was line -there was a line


    Good story-it shows a pushy parent, but not completely in a negative manner.

    Maybe, the only reason why she made me dance was just to show that she did not want to give me up-I didn't get it as much as I would have liked to


  • lavanya
    January 24

    Edit | Reply
    very warm and emotinal read....very clear andwell written too. after reading this i m missing my mother ....good job hon. keep writting ....and lots of luck for contest.

  • allieoopie95
    January 23
    Edit | Reply

    Whew!

    That. Was. Great! None of it was awkward, or stupid, you definitely have potential. Keep wrting! I want to see more! I was uplifted my the passion, and the love of the mother! The beginning was very engaging, the plot was sound, I could just go on and on! Oh, wait I am. . Keep writing!!

    beginning: 4, language: 4, plot: 4, ending: 4, dialog: 4, characters: 5.


  • jonasxoxo3
    January 23

    Edit | Reply

    Amazing and Astounding

    Wow.That was really good. I really saw what you were trying to say. The characteristics of the mother were amazing. It was very emotional and powerful

    beginning: 4, language: 4, plot: 5, ending: 5, dialog: 3, characters: 5.

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