Liquid Courage H.S. (au)

PROLOGUE

My mom always called me her "problem child."

Which is ironic considering I'm her only child. I'm assuming it's because she raised me to be perfect and that is something I'm nowhere close to being. When I was a baby she dressed me in ribbons and bows and pink. The older I got the more she tried to teach me how to be elegant. I was put in ballet classes at an early age, working my way up to getting my pointe shoes. To her, ballet dancers were the living embodiment of perfection. The ones you see move on to the big leagues were pretty, small waisted, and delicate. She wanted me to start at the ripe age of seven, leaving no time for me to gain weight with the constant rehearsing and performing every week. My mom had this idea in her head that when I graduated high school I was going to straight to New York City to study at Juilliard. Since she came from money, we were able to afford extensive training to prepare for the elite school. I was made to give my undivided attention to the art, leaving no room for distractions.

That's why she flipped her lid when I had my teacher add tap dancing to my schedule at the studio when I turned twelve. I loved the loud sounds of the metal shoes, the fast pace music, and the idea of being able to loosen up on stage instead of being stiff, uptight and strong. I could be free. According to her, only whores danced in the tap class, and no daughter of hers was going to get on stage in a skimpy outfit and move her hips. However, I managed to convince her to let me try it for one year, which turned into six, bringing us to today. It's my final performance with the studio before I graduate high school.

"You are not going out like that," Mom repeated to me for a second time as I added a red lip to my makeup look.

"It's only for one dance and a lot of girls wear lipstick, Mom," I laughed checking my teeth for residue.

"No, Rebecca, I'm talking about the fact your midriff is showing."

"It's Becca, and I've told you, it's a four minute performance. I'm in costume, playing a character in this dance, then getting off stage."

"Your dad would be disappointed."

"Well, it's a good thing dad's dead isn't it?"

"Rebec-"

"No! Just stop okay? You don't get to throw him in my face all the time when you don't like something I do."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"It's exactly what you're doing. My whole life you have brought him up in a negative way to remind me of the piece of shit he was. Or you don't want your daughter to follow in your foot steps and fall in love with a drug addict."

"Your dad had a problem that killed him. It was the result of his own actions. I'm just trying to protect you from having to deal with something like that."

Five hours later:

I have officially performed my last dance for the studio.

I have officially performed my last dance for life. While I was waiting backstage for the start of my solo, I realized that my heart is not in ballet. There are so many things I want to do before I die. I want to travel, write, fall in love. I can't fully enjoy life when I'm in the studio seventeen hours a day at Juilliard. The last few months I've been working my way to the decision, but I saw the perfect opportunity today during my ballet dance. What a beautiful way to close this chapter of my life than with a final dance. I ended in the same spot I started on stage with the lights shining down on me.

The dressing room is crowded and hectic as we all race around to change into our everyday clothes. Everyone is excited to get out into the hall for pictures with family and friends, and to see whose boyfriends bring them flowers and which one's forgot. Even in the dance studio, typical high school gossip is important to most of the girls. I, on the other hand am excited because every year my best friend Nichole is the one to bring me flowers. She hasn't missed a single performance of mine and is truly my number one supporter.

"Bex, you absolutely kicked ass out there," I heard Nichole yell before slamming into me with a tight hug.

"Thanks, babe, you didn't think my outfit was too skimpy?" I winked, looking over to my mom watching us closely.

"Well, I'm not as up tight as Marie over there, so I think you looked hot."

"Good to know. Let's go get some dinner, I have news."

"Oh? It better be big news"

"Don't worry, it's so big Marie might have a permanent scowl on her face after she hears what I have to say."

Dinner consisted of Nichole and I sharing nachos and laughing about ways I could tell my mom I'm quitting ballet. I explained to Nik that in secret I applied to NYU to study in their English program a few weeks ago. They sent out my acceptance letter and it arrived yesterday.

I'm going to New York just like my mom and I planned. I'm just not chasing her dream anymore, I'm chasing mine.

We said our goodbyes and headed in our separate directions. I had what I needed to say to my mom thought out thanks to the help of running it through with Nichole. She told me to just be straight up with Marie. I always let her dictate my life and how I live it. I need to take some control for once.

As I walked through the door and down the hall to the kitchen, I heard my mom talking to someone.

"I'm going to drop off a check tomorrow for Rebecca's classes. I need her to start training by Monday. Yes, I know, yes. She needs to be ready for Juilliard. No breaks."

I step closer to her to hear more of what she is saying.

"No, go ahead and take tap dancing off the schedule. She had her fun; she needs to be serious now. Okay, see you tomorrow. Bye." My mom hung up the phone and turned to me.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"It was Jessica over at Back to the Pointe. The studio over in Portland. I signed you up for training." Mom said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Well, don't waste your time. That's actually what I needed to talk abo-" I started before I was interrupted.

"We don't need to talk, Rebecca. It's already done."

"No. We are talking about it. You have controlled my life, my schedule, my body for too long. I am not dancing anymore." I could feel the burning in the back of my throat and tears threatening to form in my eyes. "You can't hold me prisoner anymore."

"Prisoner? That's what you think I've been doing? I'm trying to give you the best life." She shouts.

"And that's fine! But I'm really hoping for one moment you can listen to me and what I want. Have you ever thought maybe, just maybe, I'd have dreams of my own? Have you?" The tears have finally started to fall. My vision blurred from letting it out for the first time in a long time.

"What, like writing? You really think I'm that naive to think you didn't already apply for a school that wasn't even on our radar?" Mom walks over to her purse pulling out a folder. She holds it up to show me.

My acceptance letter. I really thought I hid it better in my closet.

"Where did y-"

"I went into your closet to find your pointe shoes to sew new ribbon on them and found it under a pile of journals."

"You can't just go in there and snoop through my fucking things, mom!"

"Rebecca, you will not speak to me like that."

"Oh, so you're controlling what I say now too? I'll speak to you however I damn well please at this point."

"I'm not controlling you! I'm protecting you."

"You're smothering me, mom!"