The smell of hairspray is so thick in the air that if someone were to take a deep breath their nose hairs would stick together. Glitter is scattered on the floor. Feathers from tiny hats are blown into corners from the opening and closing of doors. Behind the curtain, the light disappears and a projector’s light is shown on the stage. Little ballerinas are captivated by the slide show of all the dress rehearsal pictures. “Let them be little, because they’re only that way for a while,” a song plays. You can hear the quiet sniffles of the seniors getting ready for their last performance. It’s heartbreaking, it really is. They tilt their heads back so their makeup doesn’t smear down their faces. I felt bad for them. I’ve got some time left, but they only have tonight and tomorrow to make the best of it. I feel a warm tear fall down my face. I wonder what that pain will feel like when I’m older. I can only imagine.

Years later I feel that pain. After 15 years of dancing, my heart growing fonder and fonder for my love of dance. It’s like a relationship, but like most relationships, there are either breaks or endings. Like the freckles on a significant other’s body, I can recognize the scuffs on the floor from all different types of shoes. My teacher’s studio became a haven of safety for me at a young age. The girls are more accepting than the ones at school. We all share a common love. We all share the same teachers, the same floors, the same waiting couch. In between classes girls are known to do homework. The classes aren’t long, but if someone were to have more than one class in a day they could be at the studio from 6pm to 10pm. I didn’t mind leaving some cheer practices early for dance class. In fact, I enjoy it. Don’t get me wrong - the girls on the team are nice, but there’s no other place in the world like Miss Katie’s Dance Studio.

***

We were sitting in a circle going around and saying what kinds of feet we have. “I have rainbow feet,” one girl said “My feet are sunshine feet,” another claimed, but when it came to my turn, I simply said, “My feet are mine."

***

From a young age, I knew dance was my own thing. Yes, I shared a studio with many other girls, and yes I do know I’m not the only one to have ever danced, but it’s my way of expression. Everyone has their own style, my style is mine. You will never see me smile more truly and honestly unless I am dancing on stage. The happiness fills my heart to the brim and overflows into a smile. Even though my family sits a few rows back to see the stage for my recitals, they can always tell which one I am. They say they can tell by “your grace and your smile.” It’s funny because the audience is dark, so I cannot find them until they turn the lights on for intermission, and even after I visit them at their chairs I still cannot find them later.

As soon as I open the doors of the studio, I can smell the candles my teacher has lit, and I can hear the music from the class before me finishing up. I look in the studio windows and see the younger girls dancing. It’s hard to imagine myself like them. I’ve grown so much with my technique. I can point out small mistakes, but it doesn’t matter. I’m just glad they are enjoying themselves. I wrap the ribbons of my pointe shoes around my ankles. We go in for mat stretches and then move onto barre work. Even though it’s just the beginning of the year, I can already feel the tears for my last recital swelling beneath my eyelids. It’s like birds leaving the nest. I don’t know how my teachers say goodbye every year. I do know it will be the hardest chapter in my life to close, and I know I’m always welcome back. Even so, I know it will be the most well-written chapter of my life.