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Chapter 3--Waltzing Into Your Life

Harper

I started dancing when I was little. It's probably one of the only things I remember about my parents. Their faces have faded and all I have left of them is an old photograph my grandmother had given me. What I do remember however, is my mom and dad taking me to a recital. I remember the feeling of them being proud and me being happy they were proud. I don't remember the rest.

I don't know how long after the recital, but one night they went out with a few friends. It was snowing that night. On the way home their car skidded on some black ice and they were thrown into the wrong lane. It just so happened that a car was driving on that lane and hit the passenger side of my parent's car. My mother had been killed instantly. Our car tumbled down the side of the road before hitting a tree. My father was sent to the hospital where a few hours later he was declared brain dead.

I don't remember when this happened. Not even my grandmother had the chance to tell me. I found out when Vincent tracked down the old newspapers and records. It was his way of giving me closure. Anyways, after the car accident, I was sent to live with my grandmother. Poor Granny was old but she took good care of me. When I was about ten, I started to notice she was forgetting things.

Not long after, I was put in the foster care system. Granny had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. the neighbors had found her walking around. At the age of ten I had no idea what Alzheimer's was, but I knew it wasn't good. She had to go to a special nursing home and I had to share a room with several other kids. Say what people say about the foster care system, I got pretty lucky.

My social services agent tried not to move me too far away. I ended up at a neighboring school where I lived out the rest of my education until moving to the university. My foster parents weren't abusive or overly protective. Our house was full. Girls sharing one room and boys sharing the other. The point is, although I was scared out of my mind at the time, looking back at it makes me realize it could have been much worse.

When I lived with my Granny, she paid for all of my dance equipment. It was the one thing no one could take away from me. The world took my parents away. A disease took my Granny's memories. Social services took me away from my home. And my foster home took away my youth. But nothing—nothing—was going to get in the way of my dancing.

I started out with lyrical and classical jazz. Then I moved onto classical ballet, modern, and choreography. For a brief time when I was with my Granny, I tried Irish and tap. But it ended up not being my style at all.

I stepped foot into the dance studio and I'm instantly surprised by how different it is from the outside. It's refurbished and new. To the left is a small waiting room and an office. Everything else is like any studio. A mirror that covers the back wall. Mats are stacked against one of the walls. The floors are wooden and shiny. There are cubbies and hooks to one side, along with a handle to use for stretching and balancing.

A few students are already on the floor stretching. They look about my age. I'm shocked to see there aren't many. Maybe I'm just too early. "Can I help you?" A young woman asks as she makes her way out of the office.

I smile at her, "Hi. I'm Harper."

Recognition instantly lights up on her face. "Oh!" She says happily, her smile taking over. Quickly, she takes my hand and shakes it. "I'm Tina the director and supervisor here. I believe we spoke on the phone?"

Tina has the appearance of a single lady who's ready to settle down. Her office doesn't have any pictures except of previous dancers she probably taught. Her dark hair is pulled back into a messy bun. She's wearing a tank top and yoga pants. The lack of makeup and formality makes me feel better about my own wardrobe.