The Peaceful Sport.

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“…Five, Six, Seven, Eight!” the dance instructor shouted the counts one by one. The music stopped abruptly.
“That was sloppy. Do it again.” the instructor snapped. Drops of sweat rolled down my forehead; we arranged ourselves back to our starting positions. Quietly, waiting for the music to begin, I took a deep breath. We’ve been doing and re-doing the dance since this morning. We, the dancers, were exhausted, and the instructor was getting unbearable. Its odd how dancing is not considered a sport; it’s just as much a sport as football is. “They” say that dancing doesn’t take as much physical endurance or strength. Um, I’d like to see a NFL player do a double pirouette. Fast music filled the air, compelling us to take the first step.
“One, Two, Three, Four…” the instructor was at it again. She called out the counts as we matched with the moves. The music stopped again.
“Still sloppy. Five minute break.” Everyone dispersed to drink water, eat, or stretch. Because halfway through the day, most of the dancers were groaning from their sore muscles. I was right with them; my calves were on fire! But through the pain, the sweat, and the difficulty, it’s really worth it. After the 5 minute break, we were back at it. Switching to Jazz, we went to our positions. When the beat pounded, we began. And, in sync, the instructor called off the counts-
“One, Two, Three, Four…”

Finally the day was done. It was time to depart to our own lives. Swiftly, I packed my giant gym bag.
“I neeeeed to get out of here.” I told my partner, Rachel.
“Me too! I have a date in an hour, I need to get ready!” Rachel exclaimed. She always has a date; there’s a new guy every time.
“Who is it now?” I asked, quietly guessing in my head- the new guy in our Jazz routine?
“The new guy from our Jazz routine, Dave.” She says this with a devious smile. I knew it, I thought.
“Oh, awesome. Well, call me later & tell me how it goes. Seeya.” I call over my shoulder. I nearly run out the building, just to make sure the day hasn’t slipped by. The glowing sun was resting on the bluish-pink clouds, ready to turn in for the night. Something about the sunset calmed me. As I walked to my car, I recalled my plans for the night- 1) shower, 2) finish homework, and 3) sit and do nothing. It was the usual routine I did every night. Maybe I should go on dates like Rachel, or invest in other friends who aren’t always out with random guys. I mean, I love Rachel and all, but we haven’t spent that much time together. I shook it off. I don’t need to party, I need to rest. I’m exhausted, remember? I reassured myself. At last, I was at my car, but was rejected when I pulled to open the door. Oh yeah, my keys! I set my purse on top of my car. Objects clanked and clashed in the bag. Here they are, I grabbed what felt like my keys- cold, metal and noisy. Success! I stuck the purple key in the door, and it unlocked. I hopped in the car with a THUD, and threw my bag in the passenger seat. I was in a hurry to get home, even though I had nothing to do. My car started with a rumble, and I was off. The very first thing I do when I get in my car is turn up the radio, I hate awkward silences. Then, I put my seat belt on. Heavy bass and energetic beats took away the awkward silence, but my mind roamed elsewhere.

The glowing sun was replaced by blinking stars and a full moon when I reached my house. I slammed the car door behind me, and walked to the front door. Everything was quiet; which is highly unusual due to my crazy family. Every other day, there’s a battle. If it’s not between my parents, it’s between my siblings. Sometimes it seems that I’m the only neutral one in the bunch, friends with everybody. And it sucks; especially when you have to choose sides. Its like you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but there’s no way around it. So, usually I just block it out. Bright, artificial light greets me as I step onto the cool, wooden floor. The quietness is slaughtered.
“It is not MY fault! You should’ve remembered to pay the bills!” I hear my mom scream.
“I gave YOU the money, why couldn’t you remember?!” My dad retaliates. I slam the door behind me, to give them the hint that I’m home… It doesn’t work. I’ll have to stop this myself.
“I’m home!” I call, cheery. It works.
“Oh, hey honey!” My mother replies, just as cheery.
“You’re home!’ My dad says, somewhat surprised.
“What’s for dinner?” I ask, glad I stopped the fighting.
“Well, it’s a Frozen Food day today.” My mother laughs.
“Okay.” And with that, I head upstairs. As soon as I close my door, the arguing starts back up. I think I will go on dates and to parties, so I wouldn’t have to come home to this. I turn up my small radio, sitting on the floor, to drown out the unwanted noise. I don’t know why I was in a rush to get home; I knew the quietness wouldn’t last forever. The only place I get genuine silence is in the dance studio. When I dance, I block everything out. The instant I start, I’m perfectly serene. It may be so exhausting and somewhat difficult, but I love it. It’s the time when feel the best; when I dance.





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