By Lupita Orozco,
They described her movements as fluid and strong. Trained from the age of two, Erin, knew how to twirl, jump, and keep her balance on pointe. She was my best friend, and my competition.
“If you’re going to be in first position, Clarissa, get those feet pointed out right. This is stuff we learned at the beginning of our careers.” She scolded me. Her back straight, arms rounded and feet pointed outward. Her long porcelain neck was the envy of ballerinas and models alike.
“I can see your pirouette totter on the left… You’ll never get a spot on the American team if those arms stay flabby.” Everyday I had a new problem, and she, being the best, had to let me know. She knew how to change people into real dancers. She knew, personally, that chubby little legs grew to be long and sharp. Baby hairs were pulled back into a scalp destroying bun, and any hair that would peek out would be plucked.
I never argued. I tried my best to please my friend. I let her slap my arm higher, and push my foot farther. No coach or assistant could train me like her. After all, she had been by my side from the start. We knew each other’s weaknesses. I knew her flat feet caused her to step down with all her weight. This is why she stepped on that misplaced nail, letting it sink into her soft pink flesh. She fell down those few steps. Her legs twisting in the air like a sugar plum fairy. All I could do was reach out with flabby, weak arms.
I hope she recovers in time to see me in my first lead role.