Baby Girl

The wooden bar of The Dancer’s Edge Studio hangs at hip level among three of the walls, while mirrors cover the fourth wall from top to bottom. The room’s tranquil, yellow color balances the surplus of energy coming from girls’ feet, toes, arms, fingertips, and every possible part of their toned bodies. The air in the room feels heavy, and it reeks of hairspray and sweat. Muscles in the dancers’ backs, arms, legs, and core are visible with every kick, leap, extension and turn. Girls who appear as delicate as roses are actually as strong as thorns. While the teacher slowly walks with intensity around the room, she eyeballs every aspect and part of the girls, looking for something to critique and correct. Some girls seem like robots, dancing with precision and exactness, while others let the music take them to another place. Their bodies flow, and they are overcome by the emotions the songs portray.

This studio is responsible for my overall confidence and dedication. The Dancer’s Edge is not simply a place to dance, but rather a place to discover myself, create art, and live freely. The second I walk into the studio, my worries are lifted from my shoulders. With every turn, I feel my doubts begin to vanish. As I leap across the floor extending my legs, it is as if I am kicking away my fears. My focus is on dance, and when I begin dancing, I feel removed from all of the problems in my life. I forget about not getting a good grade on my math test and arguing with my best friend. The studio is my outlet to be myself and to be positive.

When I am center stage, with the spotlights shining down on me, I can hear and see my mom, standing from her seat in the front row, arms flailing and her loud, boisterous voice filling the colossal room with her signature phrase, “Go Baby Girl!” She has yet to miss a dance performance, and she can always be found in the first row usually standing up, getting told to calmly sit down by the people behind her. My mother’s bleached blonde hair, which is always blown out to perfection, contrasts with her golden, tanned skin. Her scent of fresh nail polish and Viktor and Rolf “Flowerbomb” perfume alerts me of her presence, as does the sound of her tapping stilettos against the floor. She dresses in professional, stylish attire with not even a wrinkle in sight. Her shoulders are back and her head is held high, as she runs from appointment to appointment, holding the title of Number One Realtor in Allendale. Not only does my mother take care of herself, but she also takes care of my family and me. She is a full time real estate agent and a full time mother.

My mom is a successful, busy woman, inundated with responsibility, but she always makes time to watch me do what I love, dance. My mother also provides me with a tremendous amount of emotional support, void of judgment. I can tell her everything, soothed by her approachable personality and utmost care, love and compassion.

In a way, she is like my studio. With her unwavering support, she instills in me confidence and fosters my passion. Strengthened by her unconditional love and unfettered by scrutinizing judgment, I feel like I can be my truest self with my mother. I feel strong enough to live and dance freely. Just like I can comfortably express my emotions to my mother without fear, I can unleash all of my emotions through dance. But without my mother, I would never have the strength to dance with such joyous abandon.

Sometimes you need to get lost to find yourself. When I dance I feel like I lose myself and control of everything I feel removed from my own body, but once the performance is done and complete, I feel more in touch with my identity than ever. Then, the sound of the audience applauding drowns out the sound of my heart beating and it all makes sense. The endless hours in the studio brought me to this point of success, satisfaction and self-confidence.

If someone made a movie about my life, I would choose the subject to be my mother, and more specifically, her influence regarding my dancing. Outside the movie theatre, the words “Baby Girl” are illuminated. The opening scene of the movie would be my mom standing up from her seat, screaming out “Baby Girl” as I take the stage. As embarrassing as her cheering might be, I close my eyes, let out a chuckle under my breath, and realize there is something in that voice in the crowd that I love. It makes me aware that my mother is watching me not only with her eyes but also with her heart. She takes pride in watching me dance, and I take pride in having the most devoted, incredible mother by my side.