Who Am I Notebook Story

Melissa could be on stage forever. She loves the heat from the bright lights shining down on her. She’s never fazed by the hundreds of eyes watching her. Unfortunately no song goes on forever. She was always jubilant at the applause, but just as sad that her performance was over. When you took away the audience, the stage, the lights, and the costume, Melissa was an average sixteen year old girl, self conscience and shy.
Melissa was clearly one of the prettiest girls in school. Her many years of dance gave her such a presence. She was so delicate, and walked with charm. Most boys shied away because she hovered over them. Her long blonde hair was always in a braid, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with such kindness. She was every boy in school’s dream, but she never noticed. Outside of her small group of friends from dance Melissa seldom spoke to anyone during school.
I have been her dance teacher for the past three years. Since I’m still young we were able to form a very close bond. We were like sisters. We trusted and confided in each other. We both agreed it was nice having some one outside of school to talk to.
Since the dance recital had been close approaching, Melissa and I spent countless hours in the studio practicing. She had her first solo performance. She was exceptionally nervous because her mother had called a friend to see her dance. Her mom’s friend just happened to work at Julliard. Julliard was Melissa’s dream, and I knew she would be able to get in. Dancing came so naturally to her. I never taught her a move that she had not perfected within a couple of tries, well except for this new maneuver.
I threw a very difficult move in the choreography. I assumed that Melissa would master it just like all the other complex moves before. It was sure to impress her mom’s friend. Everything was going perfectly. She had the perfect routine. The music, the moves, and the costume all fit Melissa to a tee. The single problem was this one new move. It came towards the end of the song. That’s how it happened.
A couple weeks ago we were practicing the routine. She was getting so frustrated with herself. Every time we ran through the song she missed that move. She would be too early, she would be too late, and some times she would fall. Her frustration got the best of her and she was not being as careful anymore. It must have been the fifteenth run through. Suddenly she fell. I saw her ankle twist in ways that no ankle should and I heard her loud shriek. Her ankle was badly sprained.
Today was the day of the recital. Up until yesterday she had been using crutches. Her doctor gave her an air cast and told her she was safe to walk on her ankle, but Melissa did not want to take the chance. Last night we practiced at the studio again. This time we took things easy. I suggested slipping a different move in there. We changed the choreography around a bit for a back up plan, in case she was not feeling very good about it. She practiced carefully. Many times I had spotted her just in case. Now that it was the recital she was going to have no spotter and no help. There would be no room for error. She had Julliard to impress.
“What have you decided?” I asked. I tried to be cheery, but I was just as nervous for her as she was for herself.
“I haven’t yet,” she mumbled.
“You haven’t decided. Melissa, you’re on in less than an hour!” I was shocked. She sat there looking down at her ankle in silence. She walked over to a chair and started doing some stretches I had recommended to her. “I know this isn’t about me, but for tonight I was hoping to live vicariously through you. I never had an opportunity like this…” I trailed off. I wanted to scream at her. This dance was what decided if she went to Julliard or not. Julliard! I should not have said that. I should not be pushing her into doing something rash. I went on, “Your health is the most important thing. You wouldn’t want to hurt that ankle again. Not because of the pain, but because it would mean no dancing for another two weeks at least. I do not think you could ever survive such a thing.”
She looked up and flashed me a crooked smile. “You’re right. It would drive me insane.”
“Oh Melissa, when are you going to learn? I’m always right!” She flashed me another smile. I lied, “Well I have to go help Karen with the youngsters. Half of them are probably balling their eyes out. She’s going to need help coaxing them onto the stage.” I did not want to prod her about what she was going to do any further. If she changed the routine she would have still been the best dancer all night. If she did not, her adrenalin was sure to help her nail the move. The only decision I would be disappointed in was if she decided not to perform.
I headed to where Karen and her class would be. As I had said half of them were crying. No, not half, at least two thirds of them were crying. I quickly dodged out of sight before Karen would see me and guilt me into helping out. I shuddered at the thought. I went into the auditorium and took my seat. I started flipping through the schedule nervously. I felt like such a spas; I could not sit still. I saw Melissa’s mom out of the corner of my eye. She was sitting a few rows back off to the right. I thought about getting up to say hello. I quickly convinced myself out of it. She probably blamed me for Melissa’s injury.
I sank deeper into my seat just as the light flickered. Everyone took their seats and quieted down. The owner of the studio came on stage thanking mother for helping. The first class came on, and then the second, and then the third. Why was I nervous? I merely have to sit here. Melissa had to perform a very difficult routine, on a bad ankle none the less. The owner came back out again. “Next we have a very special presentation. It is solo performance by one of our seniors. This will be her last performance with us, but she hopes to study dance in college. She is an extremely talented young lady. We’d like to thank her for the time she has put into our studio. It is my pleasure to introduce to you, Melissa Cole.” She was going to perform after all, but would she risk it?
The owner walked off the stage, and the spotlight turned off before focusing on Melissa. The music started. She twisted and twirled her long, lean body. Her ballet shoes felt as if they were part of her feet. Her blonde hair swayed along with her body to the music. Her blues eyes sparkled in the light. You could feel her passion. Her pale skin and white leotard made her look like an angel. I was mesmerized, as I’m sure the rest of the audience was. The moment was so perfect I had almost forgotten to look for that one move, the move that could end this song in horror. It was impossible to even imagine her falling or messing up now. Here it comes. I saw her stutter with her steps. This was something she would not have needed to do if she went with the easier step. I did not want to watch, but my eyes were glued to her. Here it was. I noticed how fast my heart had started beating. She pulled it off perfectly. No one would even guess the trouble she had, and much less the accident with her ankle. I was sad the dance was over, but jubilant that she had pulled it off.
I peered over my shoulder at her mother. I saw tears streaming down her face. I knew how proud I was as Melissa’s teacher; I could not imagine what it felt like to be her mother. Her mother’s friend was obviously impressed. I could see it in her face. How could you not be?
After the recital was over I ran back stage. I located Melissa and ran to her with open arms. “I knew you could do it. I knew you could.” She was so happy. Her smile ran from ear to ear. “You know what this means don’t you?” I asked.
She thought about her answer for a while. “New, harder moves?”
“No silly. It means that I need to get used to visiting you in New York City. I saw the look on your mom’s friend’s face. Consider yourself accepted. Julliard here you come!”