Verry short little thought of mine, based slightly on a true event.
I pressed myself under the lick of cement hanging over the front door in hopes to shelter myself from the pelting rain; I struggled with my bag as I frantically searched for the keys, water constantly dripping down my face. The cold night air nipped at me, my breath quivered involuntarily.
My fingers curled around the bundle of metal and I couldn't help but sigh in relief. Before it could jingle, the key was in the lock and I was through the door. It was lucky that the large glass panes of the front walls didn't shatter at how quick I slammed the transparent door. The rain continued on the other side of the huge windows, and I could see clearly that the rain was not about to stop anytime soon. I turned the lock and replaced the keys.
Turning my back on the cold, I walked through the dark entrance and made a turn up concrete stairs. I flicked the switch at the top and it illuminated the studio. The wood floor gleamed, untouched. There weren’t any windows, so I could hear nothing but the repeated squeaking of water doused rubber on wood in time with my footsteps as I made my way to the opposite end of the room.
I set my bag in the corner and shrugged off my drenched jacket, tossing it aside. From the bag I pulled a considerably dry, black tank top, and a pair of pants with thin sweat material. Once I was dry I'd be fine, even without a good central heating system, adrenaline would do the trick.
I kicked off my grossly damp sneakers and peeled off my socks, my jeans weren't too forgiving as I pulled them from my hips. My shirt remained dry, but for my next activity it wouldn't prove to be the most comfortable, so that went too. After re-dressing, I took a few barefooted steps on the smooth, spacious floor. After nearing the center I let my eyes fall on the mirror wall, I could now see the disaster that was my hair. Lucky for me a hair tie wasn't far; I removed the black band from my wrist and gathered my mass of hair into a sloppy ponytail, even then it still fell a few good inches below my shoulders. Its usual red glow was now dulled, making it a dimmer, browner color, but still maintaining a redheaded dignity. Usually my hazel eyes would be surrounded by smudges of black in this kind of weather, so today I had decided to refrain from any makeup. Now my eyes were as bright as ever.
The boom box still sat idle in the far corner. I stalled a bit, eying myself over as I gathered my senses.
My dance pants were the most comfortable garment I owned, fitting me snugly until my kneecaps, where they then spanned out a little more and more, consequently making it so that only the tips of my toes were visible, the back of the hem pooled slightly on the floor (they were a bit too long for me, but I loved them just the same). The tank was also one of my favorites; it was longer than most, about five or six inches past the bone of my hip.
After sizing myself up I finally made my way to the source of my cause for coming here at midnight in the middle of a storm. Music. I crouched and hit the play button, trusting the volume was loud and the CD was present.
The beat pulsated through the studio, just as I had predicted. I stood and walked”subconsciously on beat”back to center floor. I let my eyes close and began to move. When I danced I completely lost track of the world around me. Dancing was my world. My life. My passion.
It was an old fashioned forties style of song, blended expertly with newer hip-hop beats, compliments of my favorite DJ. It was obvious that his mastership of song was one to be reckoned with.
This art was my release, no holds barred, when I could just let everything go. I had been dancing since before I could remember, and I’d been attending this studio since I was about three, around the time it opened. Of course I wasn't in the class, it was for teenagers and adults, but I sat in on them every afternoon, and I cried whenever I was unable to go, which, as a result, wasn't very often.
So in my thirteen years here I had picked up quite a few moves, and quickly won over the staff, after a while they gave me my own set of keys, and the studio is now a second home to me. Just more time to better perfect my technique.
Before I knew it the song had faded out, preparing for the next track. I slowly opened my eyes, staring back at myself. My father's voice from earlier that day echoed clearly in my mind.
You have that dancer's body, perfect, just like your mothers'
I shook off my slight daze and resumed my previous activity. As I had said before, dancing was my release.
The rain was just a drizzle. I waited patiently at the bus stop for the last bus to make its run. If I was lucky the one scheduled for one forty-five hadn't come early, because I did not plan on walking for thirty minutes in the black of night with the whistling, icy wind as my only company. It's not fun.
The fraction of worry that built up during my wait diminished as blinding lights entered my peripheral vision. I already had my pass ready in hand, it was usually secure in one of my pockets until the last second, but seeing as how my dance pants were without any, and I wasn't about to force my freezing, wet jeans back on, in my grasp it remained. I didn't even like how my jacket felt, so I bared the two-block walk to the stop in a thin, black zip-up hooded sweater and shoved the coat in my bag. Stubborn, I know. At least I forced myself to slide my feet into my frozen Adidas.
With a soft moan of resistance the doors swung open, I began up the stairs. The driver was an indistinctive, middle-aged man, who didn't bother with a smile; he just glanced over the pass and cranked the doors back closed, taking off.
I gave the bus a quick scan, scoping my seating options. I slid the hood from my head and started toward the back. My hair was dry now, but that didn't help with the sloppiness of it. Let's just say I didn't look too cute at that moment, so I didn't look hard at any of the three other people taking the same ride as me, but when I took my seat it was hard to miss a guy of whom I had previously overlooked.
He sat at the front, in the first eight seats (four on either side) that faced each other, his body was turned my direction, a wire trailing up his torso, spanning out large, expensive looking headphones that curved around his neck, I heard no music in the silence and by the way they were placed I could guess that they emitted no sound. He gazed quietly out the window, which at this time they had turned into hybrid mirrors.
His appearance was stunning; his skin was a very pale, milky chocolate color, just a few shades from white. His facial structure appeared Asian, only the lips were much fuller. The style of his hair was rather cute (much like the rest of him), it was a little shorter than three inches, tousled stylishly into a spiky mess. Like his perfectly shaped eyebrows, his hair was jet black.
You'd think that his eyes would be hard to define from this far away, but the look he held as he stared out the window caused me to go unblinking. The color was a deep brown, but they had a certain flare, a piercing edge.
I practically sat as far from him as possible, but yet he managed to entrance me, I felt anxious, like he was sitting right next to me. Weird. I forced myself to look out the window. If I could just keep staring outside for the next few stops then maybe I could maintain some dignity, instead of drooling over some gorgeous guy.
The other people on the bus received no notice from me, I knew that if I even began to look that direction again that I would fall back into that awed daze, so I refused to ponder their faces.
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