You see I was different. I liked the smell of the dance floor. I loved the studio where the ballet dancers tipped around on their toes and slid around on the wooden floorboards with grace. The studio where the early evening sun would splash the ballerina's shadows on the white wall across from that enormous window looking into the parking lot. I was a boy who loved the dance floor. I was different.
I skipped baseball practice again that day. I skipped because I wanted to go to the dance studio. This was becoming a frequent occurrence now.But today was different. I was excited. I had a new pair of spandex and leggings in my baseball bag. The bag was a lot lighter than usual. Damn was I tired of carrying around those bats and gloves. I felt like Jesus when he was forced to carry that cross around town three days before Easter.But today I was free.
I was stretching out my legs in the corner of the studio. The sun was beginning its descent towards the skyline, the warm glow upon my face. The glare through the huge window wasn't too bad at this particular moment. I only had to squint a little and I could clearly see most of the cars in the parking lot although they were a different color.
Then my heart fell. There was my father's rusty, beat-up station wagon screeching into the lot. I panicked. There was no way he could know I was here. What was he here for? I thought about running for a second. Running away and never coming back. I wish I ran. There was my father's rusty, beat-up station wagon screeching into the lot.
My little brother must have ratted me out. That little piece of shit. I watched my father storm into the studio and stomp his way towards me. He wanted to know what the fuck I was doing. Why wasn't I at practice? Why was I wearing spandex? What was I a fag?
Sorry dad. Sorry that I wasn't an athlete like you or my sister. Take me home and hit me. Use your belt if you have to. I knew you would be upset. I knew this wouldn't be the only time I would have to fight for what I believed in. I might as well get used to it. I was different.
That's a great story. The attention to detail makes it all the more real. I especially like the part where you position yourself in the shoes of your father- "He wanted to know what the fuck I was doing. Why wasn't I at practice? Why was I wearing spandex? What was I a fag?"
ReplyDeleteVery blunt and poignant.
The only thing I might do different is at the beginning, when you said "I knew my father would be upset..."-
What were you doing that you knew would make your father upset? We find out later in the post that he's upset because you went to the dance studio, but I think if you make that fact clear right at the beginning, it would have a stronger impact.
Regardless, great post as always! Can't wait for the next one.
All of your posts express great voice and really paint a picture for the reader. Your "not holding back" really interests me and makes me enjoy each post. I do especially like the dialogues about and between your family and yourself. In regards to the above post, I personally like how you leave questions unanswered and make the reader think.
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