The Dancing Child

Here's my third writing challenge...life has been hectic lately, so I haven't been blogging much. Things are slowing down though, so I'll be back t blogging soon.


"It's never too late to be what you might have been"


The Opera House was dark, the silence so thick it was startling. I don't know why I broke in. My five inch stilettos clicked as moved down the isle and ascended the stairs. There it was, just as it always was in my dreams, that beautiful grand piano. And the stage was as magnificent, was still doorway to another world, another life. A life I never lived.

I heard my heels echoing throughout the house, and I remembered the sounds of tap, the movements of ballet, of girls gracefully weaving beauty through the stage. The last time I really danced was over ten years ago, when I was still in grade school. I dance every night now, in cheap, removable clothing on tacky stages in front of disgusting men. I let them rape me with their eyes, and if their wallet is big enough, I let them do whatever they want. But the last time I danced, I looked into the audience and saw no one. The last time I played the piano, there was no one to clap just for me. The house was full, but there were no eyes on me. People applauded, but it wasn't just for me. Now when I dance, all eyes are on me. They all want me.

But it was calling me. The grand piano was magnificent, it's beauty and power made my hands tingle. I zipped my sweater over my dance outfit and sat on the bench. Without thinking, without breathing, my fingers moved over the keyboard as if they'd never been away. Claire de Lune filled the hall, tears filling my eyes.

How many times does your daddy have to miss your recitals before you smoke a cigarette, before you move on to cocaine? How many times does your mother have to tell you you're worthless before you climb into the back of any guys car? How many times do you need to slit your wrists before you bleed all your dreams away? How many times does a little girl's heart break before she becomes a prostitute?

I remember looking into the audience, seeing families wave to their daughters, looking past me. And there was no one waving at me. I remember the first boy who gave me attention, told me I was beautiful. I remember him on top of me in the back of his car. I remember my first line of coke, the euphoric feeling, the numbness. And I remember the piano. I remember being called a prodigy.

For the first time, as I sat and played Debussy, flashes of what I might have been flashed before me. But I stopped, slipped my heels off, and stood to dance to the music in my soul, the part of me I left behind with a broken heart. I couldn't think about what I might've been, because I'll never know. I couldn't get those years back. I'd never be a child prodigy, because I'm not a child anymore.

But the child in my heart kept dancing. Tomorrow I know I'll go back to the club, but right now, I am all that I ever could have been.