After removing my ballet shoes from the box and placing it to the side, I drag over a second box. “I teach hip hop, but my first love has always been ballet.”
Chelsea’s face lights up as she nods. She wants to dance no matter the cost, but her first love is ballet too.
“I was talking to a friend recently, and he got me thinking that just because we’re told we can’t do something doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true.”
“He sounds smart.”
I laugh. “He is smart. Very much so.”
The smile on Chelsea’s face doubles when I crack open the lid on the second box to reveal an identical pair of ballet slippers as hers, just a few sizes bigger. “I couldn’t sleep the night he left for a trip—”
“Because you were sad you were going to miss him?” Chelsea interrupts.
I run my hand down her sweet face. “Yes, that, and. . .” I stop, wordlessly building the suspense. Only once she looks seconds from peeing her pants in anticipation do I say, “I was thinking about you, and how you really wanted to do ballet.”
She tries to rebut, but her words fall short.
“It’s okay. I understand hip hop isn’t your first choice.” I lean in close to make sure no little ears hear my next set of words. “It’s not my first choice either, but that doesn’t mean we can’t love it as well, right?”
She nods her head, a little eagerly.
“So what I was thinking was. . .” I carefully pull off her glitter-coated shoes and replace them with my old ballet slippers. “. . . if you really want to do ballet, maybe I could show you some moves?”
She stares at me with her lips quivering and her eyes watering. “You’ll do that for me?”
“Uh-huh.”
Who knew two little words could be so hard to get out without choking? You can’t hear how she expressed her question. She’s truly stunned someone would go to bat for her. That’s sad and shows how far society has stepped away from the “it takes a village to raise a child” logic most of our parents were raised with.
I drag my hand across my cheeks to ensure they’re dry. “We don’t have much time, but if you’re willing to put in the effort, I have a ballet routine you could perform at the recital.”
Chelsea’s spine straightens as her breathing lengthens. “Really?”
When I nod, she leaps into my arms. The hug she gives me. . .oh! You can’t explain perfection. Warm enough to melt the coldest heart and jam-packed with emotions.
“Thank you, Will.”
I draw back far enough to look down at her tear-stained face. “You’re very welcome. Now how about you go and tell everyone your exciting news, then we’ll sneak in some moves before your mom arrives to collect you?”
Nodding, she stands before charging for the children still packing up after our lesson. While she updates them on her news, I send a quick text to Elvis.
Me:Thanks for the tip; she’s on board and ready to learn.
A smile stretches across my face when he replies.
Elvis:And you? Are you ready to trust your body to tell you when it’s reached its limit?
After waving goodbye to Brock, my fingers fly across the screen of my phone just as swiftly as he races into his father’s arms.
Me:If you don’t hear from me by eight, send a medic to this location.
I fake coordinates at the end of my sentence.
Elvis:LOL. Just remember to brace your knee and take it easy.
I’m smiling like a cat staring at a bowl of tuna. . . until his next message arrives.
Elvis:Don’t forget I have a meeting tonight, so I’ll be out of reach for a couple of hours.
