Did I Make It?

March 22, 2011
By Anonymous

I love the feeling of my blood pulsing and heart racing. When my feet touch that hard, wood floor, nothing can stop me from dancing my heart out. Dancing to me is not only a sport, but it is also an art. When I dance I feel as if I’m a paint brush painting on a canvas. And when I’m finished with a dance, I have painted a beautiful picture with bright colors. But this time I wasn’t only dancing for fun. This was a tryout. Our dance teacher had previously taught us part of a dance and we were going to show it to her. Then she would decide who got the privilege of being in that dance. I wanted this so bad so I came there prepared and ready to do my best. I knew that I was one of the better dancers in the class but not the best. I was nervous like a rabbit knowing he is about to be shot and killed. I felt like I was the rabbit and this tryout was the bullet that was going to kill me. We crowded around waiting for instructions and then we began. We were divided up into 4 groups and of course I was dead last. But maybe this was a good thing. I could watch the other dancers go first and see how they did before I went. The first group started off the tryout and then the second, third, and now it was my turn to show off what I had. The minute I heard the music start my nerves left me in one fluid motion pouring out of my body and all I did was dance. I moved in different ways that I’ve never moved before and I loved it to death. My ending was just as strong as my beginning and I knew that I had this one in the bag. My heart was beating violently like a hummingbird and I knew that was a good sign that I had danced hard and done my very best. We sat around for a few minutes but those few moments felt like years in slow motion. Did I make it? Had I done well enough? Now my heart wasn’t only racing because I was tired, now it was also because I was nervous of the outcome. I watched the rest of the dancers waiting just as I was doing and I could tell from there darting eyes and slow grasping breaths that they were just as nervous as I was. My head slowly turned toward my teacher as she began to say the results. “Well, you all did very well” said my teacher Morgan. This was to be expected because she would never tell us that we did horrible. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to get back to you tomorrow because I’m going to have to think through this carefully.” My heart slowly started beating at its normal pace as I realized I wouldn’t be told the results of the tryout until tomorrow. I went home mad that I wouldn’t know who made it until tomorrow. The only thought that kept me through until the next day is that I knew I had done my best and that was all that mattered. Going back to dance the following day was just as bad as yesterday. I slowly walked through the front doors as the answer of the question that penetrated my mind awaited inside. We all sat around Morgan and you could almost see the nervousness flowing out of our bodies as if it were a white misty steam. “Hello girls. I know you’re all very anxious so I won’t make you suffer any longer. Here are the girls that made the tryout.” My ears waited for the sound of my name. But it never left Morgan’s lips. My heart dropped to my feet and I felt the defeat enter into my body. “But the good news is, whoever didn’t make this dance will be able be in another one choreographed by Autumn Hernandez.” That was about the only warmth I felt the rest of the night. But time has gone on and I have dealt with fact that I didn’t make that dance. The other 7 girls and I that didn’t make it have learned a new dance and I absolutely love it. I am actually very glad that I am not in the other dance because through that hard time I learned how to deal with pain. At the time the devastation swept into my mind and starting playing games with it. I started questioning if I was even any good at dancing. I even thought about quitting and giving up. But that’s not the kind of person I am. When you deal with something hard just move on. It’s only a chapter in the past. But don’t close the book, just turn the page. Always remember that through painful experiences better ones can blossom.

The author's comments:
Sometimes you really want something but you just don't get it.

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