Sometimes terrible things happen and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop them. Of course, this is a lesson we all learn at a young age. At least Morgan did. And she learned it again when she was 22. 

When Morgan was a young and naive girl of seven, her mother had been killed in a car accident. Accident. She would never grow to believe it was an accident, everything happens for a reason. Maybe the man who her mother was cheating with murdered her. Morgan would never care to find out for her mind was made. 

When Morgan was an angst-filled tween feeling she had something to prove, she was put into ballet lessons at the dance studio. Her mom was dead and her dad was lazy, so all she had was herself. Though Morgan had developed a fear of growing too attached to things she loved, she couldn’t help the infernal fire within telling her to dance. Feeling more loved than she ever felt at home the studio became her home. 

When Morgan was a developing teenager filled with pride and inspiration she was awarded pointe shoes for all her years of hard work. Her father refused to pay for such unnecessary things, so Morgan got herself a job at the local supermarket. Unlike anyone else at her school, Morgan was completely devoted to her hobby and spent every waking moment improving. She knew that there was only one way out of a small town and that it was to make it big. Slowly she grew detached from all the other people remotely her age. Her father barely saw her at home, not that he cared. Her friends grew tired of waiting for her to emerge from the depths of studio four, and eventually didn’t even hesitate to wonder if she’d come out for lunch with them at all. To the rest of the town, Morgan was dead. She didn’t exist. The only person who remembered Morgan was her ballet trainer. An older woman who, like many other ballet teachers, in her prime had danced for a prestigious company. Not only did she see Morgan as alive, but she saw her as the only ray of hope this sleepy town had. The one miracle child who just might be able to walk away and never to return. 

When Morgan was truly discovering herself at twenty years old she auditioned for the New York Ballet Theatre’s company. Of course, she landed a spot. The directors met with her and mused that she was the most brilliant dancer to come through their doors. The passion. The love. The energy. Morgan really had it all. She performed all over the world, each night ending with hundreds of people cheering and clapping. It didn’t matter if she fell on her face that night, or if she changed someone’s life. She liked to look back and see how much had changed. Once, Morgan was a girl who no one remembered was alive. She was a nobody. Did they remember her back in that small town? Morgan wouldn’t know. She left everyone behind to be where she was then, and she didn’t even think twice. 

When Morgan was finally accustomed to the interviews and photoshoots, something terrible happened. She was in a car crash. It’s funny how history repeats itself and finds ways to wind back into the lives we now live in unexpected ways. She was still a young woman. Only twenty-two. Her legs were damaged. Forever. The doctor walked in and told Morgan that there was no way to save her and that she was very sorry. Sorry. What does one do when everything they love is immediately taken away? What had she done to deserve this? A question that would never be answered, but would remain on her mind until her death day. 

When Morgan was twenty-five she refused. Refused to keep believing that this was the end of her. All her hard work. All the years of life completely devoted to ballet only to be ripped from her soul by another idiot who had been texting while driving. No. Morgan wasn’t done. The tabloids may have moved on, but she sure as hell hadn’t. Morgan enlisted herself into as many physical therapy training appointments as she could afford. Money and health were her only obstacles, but they wouldn’t get the best of her. She was living her childhood all over again. She was a nobody. No one remembered the dancer who had tragically been struck in a hit and run. No one was going to help her get back on her feet but herself. So Morgan picked up the pieces of her heart and soul and glued them together. That’s all she needed to get through this, hopefully. Morgan refused to accept that her legs were worthless forever. Just as a young Morgan devoted herself to ballet, physical therapy became what she drank, ate, and inhaled. She never missed an appointment. She worked her ass off at home. There was never a day were she felt burnt out. You can rest when you’re back on top, until then do you really deserve a break? 

When Morgan was twenty-eight, six years after the car accident, she stepped into a studio. She looked into the mirror. Staring back was a younger Morgan full of potential and restless for change. Young Morgan began to dance a solo from Swan Lake. Morgan watched her younger self throw every ounce of her being into the performance. She could still remember what it felt like to lose yourself on stage. She remembered the backstage rush and the feeling right before she went on stage. Morgan had only allowed herself one minute to freak out. One minute and then put all her fears behind her. Morgan could still remember what it felt like to look out into an audience. Taking her bows sound would go silent. Life was in slow motion. Her heart bursting. Morgan blinked and now the only person looking back was current Morgan. Standing there without pointe shoes, she wasn’t strong enough yet. Bare in tights, black leotard, and bun. Morgan turned on the Swan Lake Waltz and began to dance.