I hated every moment of dance. The hours left no room for socializing outside of class, my muscles always hurt, and I never felt content. It was senior year and I wanted to quit.
“Whip your leg around faster Bethany!” Natalie, our instructor, was
I hated every moment of dance. The hours left no room for socializing outside of class, my muscles always hurt, and I never felt adequate.
“Higher! You have to hold the pose for all four beats! Stop!” She grabbed my inner thigh and forced my knee to turn out further from my body. There was nothing off limits. “Better, but not good Beth.”
Fuck you Natalie.
“What?!” She yelled back at me. I couldn’t have said it out loud. I stared at her, holding my passe en releve and saying nothing. Maybe I did mutter it, but damned if I was going to apologize.
She moved on and class continued. She went out of her way to provide zero attention to me, not even looking at my form. With the recital tomorrow this was the last thing our group needed, but I was just about done with dance anyway.