Sing Me Anything

Sing Me Anything

        Pachabel's Canon floated to me from across the stage.  I took in a deep breath and jumped onto the stage dancing my way across it capturing the audience's attention with my gracefulness and beauty.  My name you're wondering?  My name is Lucy Kathleen-Amber Strita.  Yes, THE Lucy Strita, as in the dancer.  You see, I never wanted to dance though.  I've always wanted to be a normal teenager but my mother made sure that I wasn't.  I've been dancing since I could walk.  I haven't wanted to dance for a while now, but I can't put my mother in pain.  It's like she's living her dream through me, and if I back down I know she would be disappointed.  I've actually wanted to sing ever since I could remember.  I even convinced my mother to sign me up for voice lessons, but I've never had the courage to sing in front of people.  Sure, I dance in front of millions of people, but that's different to me at least.  Dancing is as if your interpreting something non-related to you, singing, on the other hand, is as if you're interpreting your life; much more personal.

        I have a secret though, I've never kissed a boy, danced with one, fallen in love with one.  I've been too busy living my mother's life through my own.  I secretly wish that I had someone whom I can go to and spill my feelings out to and who could comfort me in my time of need.  I have no one of the sorts. 

        I twirled around and jumped through the air landing softly on my tiptoes.  I lifted my right foot in the hair and spun softly, crisply.  The lights shining down on me made my performance the spotlight of the event.  I danced around not even caring that I'm in front of hundreds of people.  I leap gracefully through the air like a deer and land in the middle of the stage.  I stand upright on my toes and put my hand above my turned head.  The lights dim down and the audience goes crazy.  A large, blue velvet curtain cuts me off from the cheering audience. 

        I sigh and roll my shoulders.  I look around and saw my mom crying.  I run over to her and hug her.  She's like a fragile butterfly.  My father died when I was born, he was in the army and got gun down, but that hasn't stopped her.  She worked three jobs just to finish college and now owns and runs a popular dance studio.  She loves to bring me in there and flaunt me about as if I'm some rare prize.  She pulls back and I looked at her teary blue eyes.

        "I don't want to ruin your costume," she mumbled as she grabbed my hand and pulled me into a dressing room, my dressing room with a huge yellow star on the door.

        "Mother, what's wrong?  Did I do something wrong?" I ask her worriedly.  She just shook her head no.  "Then what mother?" I ask softly as I tug the costume off me and slip on a yellow bathrobe.  I take the bun out of my hair and let the naturally dark brown curls envelope me.  I run my hand through it softly getting the little sparkles out.

        "You were so beautiful, and if your father was alive I just know he would be proud," she said.  She plopped down on one of the chairs in my dressing room.  I glance around my dressing room.  It's not bad size; it has a black leather couch, a huge vanity mirror, a few chairs, and even a walk in closet.  I spy my bright blue makeup bag and pull it over to me. 

        "Thank you mother and I believe the same goes for you," I said while smiling at her softly.  I pull out some wipes and clear the makeup from my face.  Ah, there I am.  I hate wearing makeup.  No, it's more like detest it.  It hides the person who I really am.  I look at my clear features.  My bright blue eyes, much like my mother's but brighter and my high cheekbones are my most prominent features.  My nose was perfect as well as my eyebrows.  My lips were red and full, I got that feature from my mother.  Overall, my face was perfect and I hated it.  I hate my milky complexion and I hate my long eyelashes.  I was just too... perfect looking, like a doll. 

        She came and hugged my slim shoulders.  "I'll be out in the car.  Be careful on the way out, it's slippery," she said and opened up the door that leads to outside, but before she grabs the flowers that were given to me. Arctic feeling winds rushed into the dressing room before she shuts it firmly behind her.  I shiver, I hate winter.  Sure, it's gorgeous in the pictures, but in real life, it's nothing but an abomination.  The snow is always wet, it's always cold, and I hate it when the snow gets into my shoes soaking my socks.  I get out a pair of dark skinny jeans and a blue flannel long sleeved shirt.  I pull them on and sigh, this is comfortable.  I search the room until I find my boots.  I love these boots.  They're dark brown and the lace up the front, on the inside, and a little on the outside, sheep fur line it.  I step into them before putting my hair into a simple braid.  I grab my winter coat, hat, and head outside, taking my bag of clothes with me. 

        I walk down the sidewalk getting praise for the show I just put on.  I just nod my head good naturally.  I go and step down the stairs.  The heel of my boot, unluckily, found a patch of ice and I went flying down the four stairs and land out onto the street.  Pain in my ankle makes it unbearable to even touch it. 

        "Lucy!" I hear my mother panic-stricken.  I rolled my eyes.  My mother has the tendency to over-exaggerate many problems.  I hear screams of horror come from people on the street.  I look up and see a blue Sudan skidding on ice right towards me.  I freeze up and close my eyes.  I mean, if you were about to be hit by a train would you want to watch?  The sounds of the car were horrible.  It reminded me of a dying animal.  I felt warm air on my cheeks before I'm pushed onto the cold, hard unforgiving ground.  Wait, that didn't hurt as much as I thought it would have.  I take a chance and open up my eyes.  I can't see much except the dark brown of someone's arm over my head to protect it.  I took a quick breath through my nose and I smelled the scent of strawberries and leather, a somewhat intoxicating smell to tell you the truth.

        "Are you okay?" asked the man as he pulled back.  If I never believed in love at first sight, I do now.  The man, about my age, has dark brown curly hair and these amazing baby blue eyes.  His warm breath smelled like donuts and I couldn't help but smile at him.

        "Thanks to you," I said and he smiled back.  Wow, my life just got that much more cliché.

I decided to do one of those type of stories but now worries, there will be! some twists and turns in it!