To Walk in His Shoes

July 15th.

Summer.

In Washington, we don’t really get much sun. With the constant wind and rain, it’s difficult to ever actually see nice weather. But today is different.

I usually practice in the garage with the doors closed. I like the shadows and the silence. It’s peaceful, feeling like I’m the only one here just for those few moments. But I want to feel the heat of the sun on my back, and see the bright green grass mesh with the yellow and pink tulips.

I open the garage door, watching as the once dark room behind me turns radiant and vivid. Kids laugh in the streets, racing on their bikes and drawing on the sidewalk with chalk. I live in a pretty good neighborhood, aside from the house a block away.

Sighing, I turn on the radio and sway softly as the music fills the garage. Resting my arms in position, I begin to dance, leaping and soaring. The memories pour back as I step into what I’ve practiced forever.

I saunter over across the room, jumping and bowing, letting the music surge through me. It’s a beautiful, intense feeling, compelling my body to work instead of my mind for once.

The song ends, and I take a bow as I grab a bottle of water from the small fridge by the door. I open it up, take a long sip, and step into position for the next piece.

Minutes fly by, and I’m swirling beautifully, probably the best I’ve ever danced. I’m just about done when I hear footsteps crunching into the gravel near my house. I look and see Keith with his girlfriend of the week, Marisa.

“Oh, look! Hey Kitty-Kat!” He taunts, laughing loudly when I glare at him. He’s called me that forever, ever since he realized that the first part of my name starts with ‘cat’. He knows it bothers me, which is why he does it.

Keith lives in the small house down the block. We’ve never been friends. And I don’t plan on starting any time soon. Even when I first met him, he was as big a jerk as he is now.

I think I was five or six, and I was running around outside with my older brother. When Carter went inside to grab our jackets, Keith turned on me. He chased me around until I was out of breath and then laughed when my cheeks turned bright pink.

I now realize that it wasn’t too terrible. But then, that time spent with Keith was torture. And as I get older, he just keeps getting worse.

“Go away Keith,” I say, turning my music off. Marisa stands next to Keith silently, awkwardly trying to be as far away from the conversation as she can. Even though she doesn’t know me, everyone understands that Keith and I hate each other. It's not a new thing. We’ve always been this way.

“Oh, was I interrupting your dancing?” He says, smirking. I sigh and slip off my ballet shoes. I'm surely not going to get anything else done.

“Keith, just take your girlfriend and leave,” I compromise, attempting to avoid an argument. Keith wraps his arm protectively around Marisa, as if to make me jealous, and turns his lips into a wry grin. I laugh. Does he really think I'll ever be envious of his relationships?

“Whatever you say, Kitty-Kat. But next time, close the doors. No one wants to see your sad interpretation of what you call dance,” he teases, walking away. I groan as I close the garage door and walk into the house.

When will he grow up and stop trying to mess with me?