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17

EVIE

As a kid, I also thought that I would grow up to be a ballet dancer. My mom had taken note of my sudden obsession with the art of ballet and took me to my first nutcracker show when I was five. She then proceeded to enroll me in The Oregon School of Ballet Theatre when I turned six. I was in complete awe my first class. I couldn’t stop watching the older dancers. I studied their intricate movements and graceful lifts. I was mesmerized by the art. 

It was by the third class that I learnt the hard truth. I was not made to be a ballet dancer. I was incredibly clumsy and was unable to tell my lefts from rights. I was a complete mess, the laughingstock of the pre-ballet class. 

The older I got, the more I wished I was made to be a dancer. Even though my dreams of becoming the next Black Swan was crushed at such a young age, I still frequented the theatre. I wasn’t going to allow my clumsiness stop me from enjoying ballet. Regardless of the fact I’d never be on stage myself, I still went. Even to this day I love going to see Swan Lake and the Nutcracker, but I was still a two-left-feet-klutz. 

As I grew older, my dreams of becoming a ballet dancer soon morphed and my love of people and culture took over. It wasn’t until a family vacation to Brazil that I decided what I wanted to be ‘when I grew up’. An English teacher - most specifically, I wanted to teach English as a second language. There was something rewarding about helping someone learn another language. It was exciting to see their faces light up when they said the right word or pronounced it correctly. It was after that same trip to Brazil, when I taught a little boy how to read Green Eggs and Ham that I wanted to teach little kids the same skill. 

As I wrote my English paper, I kept reminding myself of this dream. I thought about little Pablo’s face when he finished the last sentence and how excited he was when I told him ‘That’s right Pablo! Good job!’. I thought about all of this as I wrote my last paper. This stupid, redundant paper on the The Boy That Cried Wolf. Pablo and all the other kids I met in Porto Alegre, Brazil are the reason why I became an English major and why I decided to take this short story class. This stupid short story class that had papers due on Saturdays by noon. What kind of sick joke was that anyways... 

One paragraph left. The conclusion. That was all I needed to write. I stared at the screen, my left eye twitching and my back aching from it’s constant huddled position. I was pretty sure that I became the next Hunchback of Notre-Dame. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I am Quasimodo. Don’t let my blonde hair, blue eyes fool you... 

“Ugh,” I let out a loud, long groan while my hands pulled the ends of my hair in frustration. I was so close yet I felt so damn far. When did this all become so difficult. When did writing a paper become a chore. I used to be able to write these suckers with my eyes shut. Now, I was barely able to keep them open because I was on the verge of falling asleep. 

Twenty minutes later and quick five minute pee break, I pressed the send button. There it goes, my last paper, off to be judged and marked by the hardest professor on campus. I had felt a sense of relief rush through my body. It was done... over... I could finally take a break. 

Slowly I stand up, stretching my hands over my head, letting my stiff back relax. All the muscles in my back cracked and creaked as I moved my arms over my head and back down towards my toes. I let out a long exhale, relishing in the relaxing feeling. My shoulders and neck crack as I move my shoulders up and down, allowing the hunchback I had temporarily grown disappear. 

The relief that I felt, knowing I was done, was a feeling like no other. I didn’t have to worry about writing another paper until next semester. The only thing I needed to worry about now was finals. That would be easy... a piece of cake. I didn’t worry too much about exams. That was where I usually killed it. It was the paper writing that I had a bit more trouble with (this semester more so than usual).