“It makes me gag,” my mom said, referring to the sickeningly sweet smell of sweat and hairspray that clouded the air.
It smells like home, I thought, but kept my mouth shut, for I knew voicing this would only grant me her rolled eyes and an exasperated sigh. I pecked her cheek and politely sent her away, slightly embarrassed to be the only girl in my class with her mom still driving her around.
Spindly legs were splayed all over the ground in inhuman positions when I entered the studio.
“Ugh, I feel so fat today, you have to stand in front of me,” ordered my 94lb best friend Sophie, who could not grant her eyes access to her body, because she miraculously put on “a stone” based on the slice of pizza she ate for lunch. Too tired to argue, I collapsed into a split between her in the mirror.
I added another stick of Sour Patch gum to the two I was already chewing and absentmindedly started my theraband exercises as Sophie updated me on the newest dramas quietly enough that the people across the room couldn't hear she was talking about them.
It was all the same: this one broke up with that one, that one got an injury that will take her out for five months, he came out as gay, he says he's bi, he says he's straight, she passed out in class the other day and got diagnosed with the eating disorder we all knew she had had for five years.
There was this mutual understanding between me and Sophie: she was aloud to unload and talk her little heart out, but I could tune her out and stay in my own world. That's why I liked her, she didn't expect me to really care about the petty gossip; in retrospect, I don't think she really expected anything from me, or anyone for that matter.
Once my gum had lost enough flavor for me to become uninterested (five minutes after I started chewing it), I got up, ran out of the room, down the stairs and into the locker room—so that I could through it out into the only available trash can. There used to be a trash can on every floor, but over time they slowly disappeared; no one knew where exactly they went, but I was convinced that the teachers were hording them in their lounge.
As I was leaving the locker room, I caught a glimpse of myself and retreated back to the mirror to better examine my reflection, a habit I was too prone to. I had these cheeks that would seem normal to a pedestrian, but were over-sized in comparison to my body; and as I ran finger tips over my face, I felt the bumpiness of makeup covered acne. I looked too young. When people asked me how old I was, my first instinct was to add three years to my sixteen, not because I was at all ashamed of my age or thought I'd seem 'cooler' if I was older—the younger the better in the ballet world—but rather because I really thought of myself as nineteen. Most of the kids in my class were at least three years older than me, and I never once saw myself as younger than them, but I was certainly different. We all had this one thing in common, but why we put ourselves through the pain and self-loathing of it all is what separated us. There was a bunch of kids who did it because they believed that they were only truly “alive” when they were dancing or on stage, some were just living out their parents dreams, and then, every once in a while, there was one like me: one who needed ballet like oxygen. My mind was constantly cycling—with every new thought or idea would come fifty more, each which led to another hundred, and exponentially so on and so forth. It was exhausting, and ballet, being the combination of two of the only things I knew of that gave me any escape—music and physical exhaustion, was the only earthly thing that turned off my relentless obsessing. When I danced there was nothing between me, the music, and the movement; but even though the thoughts were gone, the emotions were still there, and I had the freedom to express them. Dance is music translated into reality, and I just thought that was the most beautiful thing in the world.
Back in the studio, I finished getting ready for class (pointe shoes on, left split, right split, two minute plank, 50 clams each side, pop right hip, pop left hip, crack back, and half-listen to Sophie go on about how she thinks that she might have a drinking problem).
As I sat on the floor stretching my hips and holding my swirling head between my hands, with eyes clenched so tight I began shaking, I heard, “Okay girls, left hand on the barre. We'll start with plies,” in Ms. Mulligan's meek voice. I scrambled to stand, strip down to my leotard and tights, turn around, and hurriedly compose myself into a perfect first position before the piano began to sing. I could see Sophie's bony shoulders moving up and down, chuckling as we bent and straightened our legs in ever so specific a manner. As Ms. Mulligan reached me in her promenade around the room, her startlingly blue eyes made momentary contact with my hazy green ones. I took pride in being the only person I knew of she ever bothered to bring her gaze up off the floor for, and I knew why: it was because we were the same. I could tell she knew too by the ghost of a smile that graced her face as she acknowledged me, “Good, Chelsea”.
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125,013 Literary Works • 672,842 Reviews
Hello and happy Review Day!
This is a really sweet story. I like it. You flesh out Chelsea and her world of ballet in such vivid detail. It feels so normal and so alien at the same time. I liked how you addressed the eating disorders that are so problematic in ballet. There are a few things to work on, however.
First is the ninth paragraph. (The one that starts "As I was leaving the locker room...") The main issue with this is that it's far too long, and since it's so introspective, it's way too easy to want to just skip over it, even though it's important.
(Random edits are in bold and strikethrough, overall thoughts at the bottom. I broke it up how I think it would work best.)
I would break the paragraph here. Also, you say that she is different from everyone else, but then you start the very next sentence by saying that everyone had one thing in common. I understand your point, but the transition was quite jarring. Perhaps you could explain it a bit more.
Since the last part is very powerful, there should be a paragraph break here. Also, the first sentence is a bit awkward, and the second sentence is overly long - you might want to break it up a bit.
This one is probably the most clunky. I edited it throughout for better flow, but feel free to revise it to your liking. I don't really understand what you mean by your first sentence. Later, when you use the word "obsession," that gives me a clue that she worries too much or something similar, but I really don't quite understand her problem.
One last thing - in your last paragraph, you need to break it up so that every time someone speaks, it starts a new paragraph. I would also break it at "As Ms. Mulligan reached me..."
Anyway, this is a great story in terms of character development and such. Stylistically, it could just use a touch of revision.
Have a great day and keep writing!
-Meandbooks
Hello hello! I'm here with a review for you! Happy review day.
This was such a lovely story. I really like how you've focused on one aspect of Chelsea's life (is this autobiographical?) and gave so much detail to how things progress during this short period of time. I love the mention of her mother and home in the beginning, and I'm really interested to know the story behind all this. I mean, clearly there's something underlying Chelsea's feelings, something that she's unable to talk about and expresses those emotions through dance. I would love to know what that is and the hint of it in the beginning really intrigues me now. I hope you'll continue this to shed some light on the aspect.
Her passion for ballet is so clearly expressed here. I could picture the scene in my head, with her every movement breathing life into her. It's beautiful.
There are some words that have been misspelled.
I collapsed into a split between her in the mirror.
I think you mean "her and the mirror."
she was aloud to unload...
Here, it should be "allowed" and not "aloud."
so that I could through it out into the only available trash can.
"throw" not "through"
Those were the few places which kind of threw me off but they're nothing major and easy to clean up.
I also suggest breaking up that large paragraph into two or three smaller ones so that it's easier to read. And a dialogue can be started on a new line after giving a line break.
But overall, I loved this and you've done a great job at writing this. Well done, and like I mentioned earlier, I hope you decide to write a companion story to this!
Hey chelseamarie! CHRISSY321 here with a review!
*Happy Review Day!*
I would like to say that this was great, and just a nice simple story! The way that the girls was able to describe herself, and admit how important Ballet was to her. I think of this as a nice little documentary-type thing of a girl with a dream. Everything Grammar wise was good, I do not think (or remember) seeing anything out of order! I love the detail in this story- the way you described the girl's and teacher's eyes when they meet, and just how your describe the differ characters! That is a good habit to have as a writer! Good for you! Yay!
There is only one thing I would change! In the seventh paragraph where it says:
" Once my gum had lost enough flavor for me to become uninterested (five minutes after I started chewing it), I got up, ran out of the room,......"
I think what you put in the parenthesis was a little too much, and the ready could have figured it out with experience. That was the only thing I would fix!
Okay now, will there be another part to this? I think it would be kinda cool if you get the chance! I think that it should be something where she grows up, becomes a professional- I do not know! It is up to you! Thanks for sharing! Keep Writing!
Hello Hello!
My name is Emily and I'll be reviewing your work.
I'm a dancer, so of course I'm partial to your story. You really captured the preteacher limbo period we all know so well. Overall, your grammar, flow, spelling and all the other nit-picky things are great. Chelsea seems so quiet yet observate, I'd love to hear her takes on the others in the class, not in a gossipy Sophie way, but in a deductive, tell-it-like-it-is way.
Sorry for the short review, but you really hit the nail on the head. I love it, and it has just enough ballet speak to seem "inside baseball" without exculding those who haven't danced half their lives.
Thanks for writing, I hope you keep at it. Good job and good luck!