Margot The Ballerina

"Mother, my feet are killing me. I have blisters. Can I please skip practice tonight?"

"Skip practice?! What a ridiculous question! You have blisters because of your new shoes; you need to break them in. It doesn't help that your pointe technique hasn't been up to par. You cannot afford slacking anymore Margot. Now go freshen up."

I sit on my bed as I stare at my pink walls. Feelings of melancholy overwhelm me. The days pass, and every day I feel like I am in a body of water. I am drowning underwater, suffocating to death. Every time I reach the surface to catch my breath, my own mother is there to shove me back down.

Before I even entered this world, I was predestined to be my mother's perfect little ballerina. I was named Margot after the famous ballerina Margot Fonteyn. "Margot Fonteyn would have been nothing without her mother pushing her into greatness; you remember that?" My mother is sure to remind me of this on a weekly basis.

She threw me into ballet classes when I was just two years old. For years, this was no bother to me. There was a time I was excited to get into my leotard and tights to attend dance classes. I remember watching Barbie and The Nutcracker on repeat; I was obsessed. That was going to happen to me; I was going to be just like Barbie. Except I wasn't a Barbie at all; I was a puppet.

***

"Margot, I sure hope you're ready up there. We have to leave in 10 minutes!" Mother hollers up the stairs in frustration.

"I am coming!"

I pick up my duffle bag and walk out of my bedroom. I stand at the top of the stairs, and I feel a wave of dissociation. All I see is the white, textured carpet that covers our spiral staircase. I wanted at this moment to just go limb and let myself fall forward down the stairs. Every day, this thought crossed my mind, but my brain would not let me act on it until today.

Every step I took felt as if I was walking on broken glass. I was running out of steam. I set my duffle bag on the top of the stairs, and I started to feel woozy. The anxiety and stress going through my body were winning. Suddenly, there I was, going down the stairs like a pinball.

"MARGOT! ARE YOU OK?"

"No." The wind was knocked out of me. I lay there at the bottom of the stairs on the mosaic ceramic floor in agony.

"You could have broken your neck or cracked your head open on this floor."

My mother helps sit me up; I stare blankly at the floor. "You're the worst," I mutter.

"What?!" My mother was appalled. Her facial expression was as if she had just seen a ghost.

The adrenaline is running through my veins. I try not to speak badly to my mother, but the words slip out of my mouth. This time I looked her in the eyes and said, "I said, You're the worst!"

"Where is this coming from, Margot? Did you hit your head?"

If I did hit my head, it wasn't hard enough, I thought. All the moments I had missed out on through my teenage years flood my memory. All the school dances I had missed, not being able to go on that date or any dates with Rob Gibbons because, according to my mother, "boys are too distracting" if I want to be a real ballerina. The nausea and headaches I have gotten from my mother prohibiting me from eating, "Have you ever seen a chunky girl in the ballet, Margot?" She would ask. I'm seventeen years old and have never had a sleepover because "friends are a waste of time. They will only hold you back; they don't really want you to succeed."

My lip starts to quiver as I try to hold back my tears. "My-y-y feet hurt. I can't keep doing this for you. I am tired.

My mother sits there with a puzzled look on her face. She plays dumb, as she really has no clue what is going on. Her blonde, wavy hair covers her face as she looks down at the floor, thinking of what she should say next.

"Just go upstairs and get some rest. I'll bring you some Tylenol. You should be ready for your lessons tomorrow. I'll call and let them know you are not coming today." Mother assures me as she helps me stand on my feet.

***

I find myself gripping the railing tight, trying to keep my balance between my sore feet and my aching back as I head back to my bedroom.

"You should be set for your lessons tomorrow." Mother's words repeat in my head, making me cringe from head to toe. How many tomorrow's are there going to be of living mother's dreams? This wasn't my life; it was hers. I cannot keep living like this.

"This is it." By midnight tonight, I'll be out of this house; I'll be out of this world.

***

It was ten o'clock at night; my mother was asleep every night by eight, so I knew I was safe to leave without her noticing. She was a heavy sleeper. This may have something to do with her popping pills and drinking wine before bed every single night. Father was out of town on business; he was rarely around. Nothing meant more to my mother than money and status; my father overworked himself to feed her spending addiction.

Unlike my father, I refuse to live to please my mother; I would not take one more day of it. I snuck a bottle of my mother's pills from her private bathroom downstairs. There I was going out the door with only my phone in my hand and a bottle of pills in my hoodie pocket.

This was the only way out.

***

The only lights to guide me were the street lights at the corner, the stars aligned in the sky, and the full moon that was shining bright. I've never walked the streets at night before, but yet I had no feelings of fear walking alone at night; it sent a calming feeling through my body.

My plan was to make it to Red Creek. That's where people my age who were allowed to go out went to smoke, get with each other, and act like a bunch of delinquents. Man, I wish I could experience making foolish mistakes. Red Creek was about four blocks from my house, located right across from Rob's Auto Repair. No other businesses or homes were in sight.

My feet were on fire, and my back was still throbbing from my fall down the stairs, but I was determined to get there. I wanted the pain to end tonight.

***

A huge red sign with blue lettering that read "Rob's Auto Repair" appeared. "Red Creek must be right through these bushes," I thought to myself. I stood there hunched over in pain, but yet a feeling of relief was running through my veins as I stood there blankly staring at the bushes. It did not matter to me what kind of monsters were hiding in the pitch black; I already lived with monsters. What could be worse?

As I begin to step forward to enter the darkness, I hear a man's voice. "Hey kid!" I turned around quickly, trying to spot who was speaking. When I fail to find anyone in sight, I continue forward and scurry into the bushes, hoping that person isn't speaking to me.

I feel someone touch my shoulder, and my heart drops from my chest to my feet.

"What are you doing here?"

"I am just walking." My whole body is shaking.

"Walking into the bushes in the middle of the night?"

"Y-e-e-s," I can barely speak. I slowly back up and trip over a rock. The pills fall out of my hoodie pocket.

I stand there facing this man. I am sweating bullets. There's no way he did not notice the bottle fall to the ground. He bends down and picks up the orange container.

"Why do you have these? What are these for?"

At this point, I noticed he had a red baseball cap that read "Rob's Auto" I recognized that he was Rob, that auto repair man from across the street.

I start crying like a river. There I was shaking and telling my life story to Rob. This is someone I never thought I'd be taking comfort in. This is when I realized I've never taken comfort in anyone. Never have I spoken to someone about how I was feeling or how I felt like every day was the worst day of my life.

"Leaving this world is not the way out. You don't want to stop living; you want to stop living for your mother. Sit down and speak with her about your feelings. Really tell her how you feel. You're seventeen years old; in a few months, you will be able to leave if things don't get better. You have your whole life ahead of you to make the decisions you want to make. Nothing will be perfect, but that doesn't mean life isn't a beautiful ride, Margot. Sometimes you just have to go through the storm, in the end I promise there will be a rainbow. You can always come on down to the repair shop if you need someone to speak to."

Rob's words really gave me hope. Gave me faith in this messed-up world. He was right; I didn't want to end my life. I want to end living up to my mother's expectations. Maybe all I needed was to know someone would be there for me. Someone to talk to. A friend.

Rob drove me back to my house.

"Thank you for saving my life."

"You've got this," he smiles.