Dance in the Rain
by Joyce W., 16
A January 2025 Monthly Story Challenge Winner
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Once, I was stuck in a rainstorm for a few months. Seeking refuge, I sat in solitude and busied myself with chores. I ignored the sky’s cries for help even when the water morphed into knives and started to penetrate my roof. Sometimes, I would gather courage to crack open a window, and find dense raindrops skimming my cheeks, with the carefreeness of young children bouncing down slippery slides, coaxing me to cry along.
[✽]
When I was 13, I danced at a professional ballet school in San Francisco.
During my second year at the school, I moved up classes within my level and worked with Ms. Genshaft.
At the end of the third lesson, Ms. Genshaft asked me to stay after class. My mind whirled with apprehension. Did I do something wrong? Was she going to scold me? And most importantly, why me? Walking across the room felt as daunting as Christopher Columbus's journey overseas. My heart started tap-dancing, shooting blood out like fiery bullets, as hesitation permeated my aura, leaking through my sweaty, open pores.
At the moment, anything to do with confidence was an abomination. I’ve always struggled with it, but having someone point it out felt like agitating raw skin until blood surfaces.
At first, she made small talk, asking how my day was and if I had any questions regarding the class. All of a sudden, she said, “You have great facility.”
Relieved, I thanked her. Being so sure that she was going to give me a correction instead of complimenting me, I let down my suspicions and let the full impact of her words seep throughout my body like warm honey. Then, she took my arm and steered me to face the front of the mirror so that we were side by side. Her fingers brushed under my chin, tilting it up.
“You should be fierce and strong like Kitri,” she said. Kitri is a confident, fiery, feisty, and playful character from Don Quixote. In modern day terms, she’s like Marilyn Monroe.
Instead of normally accepting corrections with appreciation, my eyes unexpectedly glassed up. At the moment, anything to do with confidence was an abomination. I’ve always struggled with it, but having someone point it out felt like agitating raw skin until blood surfaces.
I shifted my eyes away from hers. “I’ll try, thanks,” I mumbled.
Having skipped lunch earlier today, the dull throbs from my stomach turned into sharp pulsating pain. Excess stomach acids were flowing through its lining. It felt like squirmy green worms, each maliciously grinning like the Cheshire cat, leaking venomous acid. If hallucinating wasn’t a sign to start eating consistently, I don’t know what was.
My body screamed, WEAK. Discovering these new aspects of my body tarnished my brain.
I was 13 going on to 80.
Staring into my reflection, I roved over my body, searching for the comforting contours and shadows of my muscles. It had been a few months since I last analyzed my body. The yellow overhead lights filled my contours and blurred the sharp angles of my hip bones, so that I became two-dimensional. Turning to the side, the vertebrae of my willowy upper back was precariously stacked like steep stairs, straining my low back where I pushed my too-long torso slightly out. My body screamed, WEAK. Discovering these new aspects of my body tarnished my brain. I was 13 going on to 80.
Throughout the next several months, my mind cycled between admonishing myself for feeling upset from the way my body looked, and then reminding myself that it wasn’t my fault for looking the way I did. Knowing that my body was something I could not control, this only drove me to control it. It was like a game of chasing after a horse with my hands outstretched, only an inch away from grasping the reins, just for the horse to gallop away faster.
One day, I remember having a conversation with a girl at school.
“If people at the ballet school weigh too much, they could get kicked out,” I said.
She looked a bit confused and said, “That’s really unhealthy.”
At that time, I was a bit unsettled at the validity of her statement, however I brushed it off as her incomprehension of “how things were supposed to be” in the ballet world.
Ironically, I don't remember feeling gloomy or depressed throughout this period. I thought that my emotions were tangible and connected to myself with strings. All I needed was to sever these connections, and then I would be immune. Not only did I never talk about these emotions with anyone, I never thought about them privately either.
[✽]
Some may continue to treat stormy days or other challenges with angst or indifference, but for me, it will now forever be a chance to become a better version of myself. It is like the metamorphosis of a flower. The rain weakens the soil’s suffocating grasp on the bud, giving it an opportunity to unfurl its body and flourish under the wind’s upliftment and rain’s encouragement. Soon, other flowers sprout alongside it, all bending their supple waists at the wind's command just like a corps de ballet.
Let us be ready to dance in the rain.
(Photo Credit: Michael Podger of unsplash)