Bee swirled in the grappling breeze like a fawn hopping through the stars. Her curls danced in the wind, forming a ribbon of fiery red. The trees were sewed into a cross-stitched blanket on top of her, giving a small glimpse of pale dusk light onto her fiery hair making the strands shimmer like rubies. A few pecan trees surrounded her, blue-breasted swallows hopped from branch to branch. Her eyes blended with the hazel brightness of the tree trunks, every aspect of her belonged. A brown shirt sat loosely on her thin arms; her pants were tied to her waist by a grey rope. She closed her eyes and started to spin like a ceramic dancer placed on a music box.
The crowd was filled with young and old. Cheery faces and excited ones. They all waited; quietly with a soft hum of delight as the satin red curtains stretched open. Bridget, Bee, pirouetted onto the stage. Her waist was lined with pale pink roses and soft pearly tulips; underneath them ran a tulle, long tutu that melted into shimmery stripes of gold and white as she flew through the air. Her top was light blue like the ocean with many extra blots of white. Her hair was laced with pearls and silk that ran finely into a neat braided bun. She dipped her head down, feet still arched. The crowd clapped and threw red roses; Bridget turned and smiled and an effortless smile. The image softened.
Bee sat down on a mossy rock, her head swirling with fantasies and fabrics. The moon began to form and the stars opened their eyes, blinking their bright yellow light. Was it unusual? What is unusual for little Bee to have such fantasies when Pa confirmed her future was working in the cabin? It was. It was unusual. She sighed and began to wipe her brow as if cleaning out all the hopes and dreams.
“Ma!” she called. A ginger-haired lady ran down the wooden steps and onto the deck overlooking the clearing.
“Yes-Bee what is it?” she shouted; the ocean waves were splashing violently; blurring her words.
“Ma, I-I want to be a ballerina.”
“You’ve said this multiple times, Honey Bee! But-but you must work on the farm and that is final. This family has lived on this farm for generations. Isn’t it nice here anyway Bee. And besides-I think you’re old enough-not every little girl becomes a ballerina. Sorry Bee, but not all dreams don’t come true.”
Bee’s small face reddened and she marched away with as many ‘humphs’ as she could muster.
Bee lay on her bed; in her faded blue night suit, hands clutching onto a feather pillow. She stared out her window; which was providing cool air to soothe her nerves. The navy was dark and she could see the tall turrets from afar of the city. She saw the tall ivy lanterns that strung from roof to roof and the tall buildings.
“Sooner than I know it, I’ll be learning how to feed the hens and fetch the milk and…” a plump tear rolled down Bee’s cheek, “And I’ll never even spin and twirl ever again,” Bee muttered to herself. She sighed, holding onto her pillow. Then an idea sprung into her head.
“What if-” she thought, “What if I went-by myself. Without Ma and Pa, I can be a ballerina. All by myself!”
And without another thought, she opened her tall room door; letting in candle-lit light. She began to tiptoe down the stairs; looking for the creaks that she memorized and avoiding them stealthily.
She shaked. She’s missed it. It was a large one; it made a loud noise that echoed along the stairway. She waited; for what seemed like hours until she was assured that no one had heard her. Then she continued to pounce down the stairs. She finally reached the door; it made a slight creak but she couldn’t wait any longer. She opened the door and sprung out.
As she walked, the trees towered over her like bark giants. They were so friendly in the day but all of a sudden they scared her. The dappled moonlight shadows bounced along the dirt trail. She heard the ocean in the distance; the waves ran on the sand like blue lions; their howls echoed through the night. She felt something above her; to her surprise it was a grey feathery owl. She sighed in relief.
After a while, she slid into a small rickety boat and launched herself onto the waves.
When Bee arrived at the city shore; a yellow thread of light was fastening its way onto the apple green sky like a strand of gold. She felt a lot safer in the bright light. Everything was so big, the towers were large and frightening. She was so small in such a big world. Once again; the thought scared her.
“What if I never ever become a ballerina!” she thought; a tear threatening to fall. But she pushed away the thought.
She decided that she would wait until noon; to search. More people would be out anyway. So she wrapped her arms around her into a little bundle and sat on a harbour ledge.
Noon welcomed her; Bee opened her eyelids to a bustling city filled with chatter. The bright tangerine mist was stroking every building.
“Hello! Do you know where I can find a ballerina studio?" She asked the man who was dressed in a cherry, checkered tie.
“Go home, kid.” he groaned, wiping his eyes.
“Ma’am, where can I find a ballet studio?” she questioned, a dark-haired lady in a pink dress.
“Nowhere near, dear. I’m sorry.” the lady smiled.
It was nearly evening when Bee had questioned more than ten people, she had received failed results. She sat back on the harbour ledge as valiant stars showed themselves and a board semicircle of a moon peeked through the inky night. She fell asleep, her face painted with a frown as the ocean waves began to sway.
“Honey Bee!” She woke up, damp and wet with a little pat on the back.
“Ma?” she groaned, clearing her throat.
“Oh, Bridget!” Ma smiled, “We looked everywhere; all around the island. We figured you must’ve been in the city. So we asked Mr. Thompson said we could use his boat; you took ours and we came. I saw a little tiny bit of auburn and I knew it was you. Oh, I love you Bee!” said Ma, under the pattering rain that soaked her ginger hair into clumped bits.
“Ma? I’m sorry but I AM going to become a ballerina.”
“We both support you, Bee.” grinned Ma.
Yesiree, we do.” joined Pa.
“Wait-what really?” Bridget put her hands to her eyes, to check if she was dreaming.
“No, Bee. We support you. Chase your hopes and dreams. And I assure you; anything will come true.” Ma said.
“B-but.” Bee muttered.
“I know. It was silly of me to object; your dad and I were talking about rent and we had a little conflict. I’m sorry that I took it out on you Bee. And I’ve changed my mind. Reach for the stars Bee.” Ma said, holding Bee’s shoulders tightly.
A girl with a red braided bun leaped on the stage. Some people in the crowd were crying in delight. Bee twirled and spun in a pink tutu; looking like a fluttering pink dolphin. Her face was shone with joy, glowing like a morning sun. And the roses were thrown too after the performance, blue and red and purple.
A little girl walked down to her, backstage after the show.
“How’re you so amazing?” she asked.
“Well, I reached for the stars, dear.” Bee straightened the girl's two black braids.
And that girl did.