story. story. story. story.
I met him February 18th, at the ballet studio. He had been there to pick up his little sister Cara who was in a class across from mine. I was doing a solo- I remember it was to Music of the Spheres Passacaglia... for social violins...I was wearing my pearl pink colored leotard with my black leg-warmers and by point shoes. I was sweaty, I’d been practicing for hours and my hair was beginning to loosely fall out of my bun. He was watching me. I couldn’t help but notice his eyes following me in the mirror... I stopped after my run and looked in the mirror back at him, he kind of smiled, I didn’t know wether to keep looking at him, or to look away. After a while, I walked out. He was sitting alone in the studio, Cara was still in her class with thirteen other little little girls running around in ruffly pink tutus... he looked at me, smiled, and said ‘It’s beautiful to watch you dance.’ He was sitting there looking up at me with his hands folded in his lap, wearing a black and gray flannel and dark wash jeans. I remember smiling back at him and saying ‘thank you very much.’ We ended talking for about twenty minutes. He asked if he’d see me here again. I told him every day.