St. Elsewhere
Part 2
Saute.
Jeté.
Emboite.
Arabesque.
Saute.
Jeté.
Emboite.
Arabesque.
Saute.
Over and over Mia went through the moves, jumping with fairy like grace across the wooden floor of the practice room in the ballet school back in London.
It was late. All the other students had gone back to their apartments or had gone out with friends. But not Mia.
Jeté.
Emboite.
Arabesque.
Saute en premiere.
Saute en second.
Her fringe was stuck to her sweaty forehead and every muscle in her body screamed in protest as Mia went through the jumps again and again.
This was her way of working the stress off.
Once again this was another thing her peers could not understand. Their way of relieving stress was to go out, have a few beers, listen to a half way decent band and get an early nights sleep. Many of them were happy to get out of the dance school's strict and often gruelling routine.
Mia stayed. There was nobody to go back to her apartment for.
She didn't have many friends; she found it difficult to open up to people. She was shy and preferred to keep things to herself.
She never learnt how to make friends.
Her mum had always been ill, so after school Mia would have to look after her, whilst the other girls would be playing with their dolls and making up new dance routines Mia was helping her mother. Not that she minded that much, her mother was her best friend. She could tell her everything.
But then at the age of 7, rather late as many of the ballet teachers would say, Mia found ballet.
It was by pure chance.
Her mother was resting that day, the tiny seven year old Mia was sitting cross legged on the cream carpeted floor and switched on the TV expecting to find her favourite children's show. But her parents had been watching TV the night before and hadn't changed the channel back. What Mia saw burnt into her mind and never left it.
Swan Lake.
From that day on all Mia wanted to be was Odette.
She begged and pleaded to go to a ballet course. All the teachers at the dance academy told Mr and Mrs Ferguson that she was already too old and that most girls started ballet at the age of five, if not early.
However Mia had something that the other children lacked.
Determination.
Grudgingly she was allowed to attend classes and soon the teachers there realised what talent they had on their hands.
Ballet became Mia's escape.
Her mother was less than pleased. She had hoped it was a phase, a passing fancy, and when Mia realized how much work dancing would be she would give up.
This was not the case and Mrs Ferguson became anxious.
You couldn't have a steady and strong career in dancing, so she thought. Her daughter had to study something solid, something that could guarantee a steady and reliable income.
But in secret Mia had applied to the Royal Ballet School in London.
She attended an audition, on the pretence of going down to London with a friend to do some shopping.
Mia got accepted.
On a scholarship.
It was the on the day that the acceptance letter arrived that Mia and her mother had the biggest argument to date.
"You want to do what Mia?" Her mother shrieked in horror.
Mia stood upright and looked her mother straight into the eyes.
"I want to dance."
"No! I will not allow it! No daughter of mine is ever going to be a dancer, where do you think you'll get in life with that?"
"Further than you have with your English degree!" Mia spat back angrily.
"Don't you dare speak to me life that! You are not going to London, you will apply to Cambridge or Oxford like your Father and do something useful with your time!"
But Mia put her foot down. Her father helped sway her mother's opinions to a slightly more positive side. However Mrs Ferguson was still seething and would not say a word if dancing was mentioned.
Secretly she was proud of her daughter.
As well as jealous.
Jeté.
Emboite.
Arabesque.
Saute.
Jeté.
Emboite.
Arabesque.
Saute.
Over and over Mia went through the moves, jumping with fairy like grace across the wooden floor of the practice room in the ballet school back in London.
It was late. All the other students had gone back to their apartments or had gone out with friends. But not Mia.
Jeté.
Emboite.
Arabesque.
Saute en premiere.
Saute en second.
Her fringe was stuck to her sweaty forehead and every muscle in her body screamed in protest as Mia went through the jumps again and again.
This was her way of working the stress off.
Once again this was another thing her peers could not understand. Their way of relieving stress was to go out, have a few beers, listen to a half way decent band and get an early nights sleep. Many of them were happy to get out of the dance school's strict and often gruelling routine.
Mia stayed. There was nobody to go back to her apartment for.
She didn't have many friends; she found it difficult to open up to people. She was shy and preferred to keep things to herself.
She never learnt how to make friends.
Her mum had always been ill, so after school Mia would have to look after her, whilst the other girls would be playing with their dolls and making up new dance routines Mia was helping her mother. Not that she minded that much, her mother was her best friend. She could tell her everything.
But then at the age of 7, rather late as many of the ballet teachers would say, Mia found ballet.
It was by pure chance.
Her mother was resting that day, the tiny seven year old Mia was sitting cross legged on the cream carpeted floor and switched on the TV expecting to find her favourite children's show. But her parents had been watching TV the night before and hadn't changed the channel back. What Mia saw burnt into her mind and never left it.
Swan Lake.
From that day on all Mia wanted to be was Odette.
She begged and pleaded to go to a ballet course. All the teachers at the dance academy told Mr and Mrs Ferguson that she was already too old and that most girls started ballet at the age of five, if not early.
However Mia had something that the other children lacked.
Determination.
Grudgingly she was allowed to attend classes and soon the teachers there realised what talent they had on their hands.
Ballet became Mia's escape.
Her mother was less than pleased. She had hoped it was a phase, a passing fancy, and when Mia realized how much work dancing would be she would give up.
This was not the case and Mrs Ferguson became anxious.
You couldn't have a steady and strong career in dancing, so she thought. Her daughter had to study something solid, something that could guarantee a steady and reliable income.
But in secret Mia had applied to the Royal Ballet School in London.
She attended an audition, on the pretence of going down to London with a friend to do some shopping.
Mia got accepted.
On a scholarship.
It was the on the day that the acceptance letter arrived that Mia and her mother had the biggest argument to date.
"You want to do what Mia?" Her mother shrieked in horror.
Mia stood upright and looked her mother straight into the eyes.
"I want to dance."
"No! I will not allow it! No daughter of mine is ever going to be a dancer, where do you think you'll get in life with that?"
"Further than you have with your English degree!" Mia spat back angrily.
"Don't you dare speak to me life that! You are not going to London, you will apply to Cambridge or Oxford like your Father and do something useful with your time!"
But Mia put her foot down. Her father helped sway her mother's opinions to a slightly more positive side. However Mrs Ferguson was still seething and would not say a word if dancing was mentioned.
Secretly she was proud of her daughter.
As well as jealous.