The coolest day of summer is always the last one. In my case, this meant that tomorrow I would be shipped off to London in order to begin dancing with the London Ballet. My parents have put me through dance school since the day I turned five, and I have been training ever since. My parent’s dream is for me to one day join the Kirov Ballet in Russia, and become a world-renowned dancer. I suppose it is my dream as well, though they seem to go about fulfilling it much more enthusiastically than I do. They say that one day I will thank them for pushing me so far. I am not entirely sure how true that statement will end up being.
My family lives in a little village in western Ireland. My mother, father, and I have lived in a small cottage there for as long as I remember; we moved there three days after I was born. We were never rich, and my father was constantly working in order to keep food on our table. Sometimes I could not help but think that the only reason he wanted me to pursue my dancing was because it had the potential to one day make us rich. My father was not a selfish man, though sometimes he could be perceived as a man of questionable morals. Deep down somewhere inside of me, I knew that he truly cared, but that part of me was buried down so deeply, that it often got lost in jumble that was my heart.
At this moment in time, all of this was irrelevant except for the fact that I would be leaving my lifelong home tomorrow, and had no knowledge as to when I was to return. My meager wardrobe had been emptied into my aunt Christine’s old trunk earlier that morning, and along with my ballet bag, was sitting at the foot of my bed in anticipation for the dreadful day that tomorrow was destined to be.
“Amelia!” I was startled to the point where upon hearing my Mother’s voice I jumped two feet off of the ground. I was sitting on the brick stairs that led up to the back of our house. We seldom used them, and I simply loved the feeling of the cool stone against my body. I often came here to think, rest after a long day at the studio, or if I simply needed a quiet place to sit. Being completely absorbed in my thoughts, as I usually am, I hadn’t noticed when my Mother had walked outside and discovered my hiding place. “Amelia! Are you alright?” She was constantly worrying about me for reasons that she, alone, understood. “Yes Mother, I’m quite alright”, I responded. “Oh Amelia, please don’t use that sarcastic tone with me. One second I am with out a clue as to where you are, and the next I see you jump two feet into the air! What was I supposed to do?” Ah. Typical Mother. “I was just … thinking Mama, that was all.” And it was true. For the past week all that I had been able to do was think about how my life had changed so fast, and how I had failed to keep up with it. She sighed. “We’ve discussed this Amelia. You have to stop spending so much time simply ‘thinking’ while there is so much work to be done.” She exhaled in an attempt to calm her nerves. “Now that I’ve found you, come help me with lunch. I have more work to do than I can handle.” Lunch. I had forgotten all about the goodbye party that my mother had planned for me. She had wanted to host a dinner party, but I had insisted on lunch. I intended on spending the entirety of my last night in Ireland with my steady Gregory, and was not, under any circumstances, willing to give my last night with him up for a dinner party. Thus, we decided on lunch. My mother had planned a rather big affair and invited nearly everyone I have ever met, along with an infinite amount of people I haven’t met. I could tell she was putting nearly all of her energy into this event, and I felt that it was my duty to help her. “Please Amelia? I could really use your help.” I inhaled deeply, then sighed. My thoughts would just have to wait. “Sure Mama. Just tell me what you need me to do.”