Ballerina and the Boxer

I won. It wasn't much of a surprise but I won. Usually a win called for celebration out at the bars but the more I won, the less people cared to celebrate. Sure, everyone wanted to get a beer and dance but they didn't want to give me a pat on the back or pay for my drinks.

Instead of going out, I went home and crashed. I ate a granola bar, took a shower, and was out by 1 am. I didn't train on Sunday (usually because I was hungover) so I'd have to find something to do. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, but that would include seeing my mother.

That girl. The same blonde who overheard my heated conversation with my lovely mother was at the match. She was scared, which was also far from a surprise, but scared nonetheless. Her motives for being at the match were a mystery but I wanted to know. I needed to know why. She couldn't have been there just to see me. She wasn't that kind of girl. She intrigued me in a way I couldn't describe. She looked annoying and nosy and I hated that she was so proper. She didn't fit. I think that's why I needed to know her. I mean, who wears heels and a fedora to a match? No one.

But then again, she was a ballerina (or at least one of the teachers). If she were anything like my mother, she would be a stuck up bitch with no sense of humor, no fun, and no personality.

Even though I had a strange animosity towards her, I didn't want her there for good reasons. I couldn't bare seeing her get hurt by the fans around her because she came to see me. She probably wasn't even there for you, my anti-narcicistic self snapped.

That night I dreamt of the girl. The tall, lean ballerina with those big, blue, terrified eyes staring at me like a monster. She spun round and round and each time her eyes got bigger and bigger until she fell, breaking her ankle.

I woke up to the sound of her ankle cracking which ended up being some thunder. It was just seven and I decided at that moment I'd visit the studio. Maybe she'd be there.

I grabbed the last granola bar in the box and pulled on a black t-shirt and hoodie before leaving. The temperature was breezy and the last thing I needed was a sweatshirt but my weight class was important. The only time I came close to losing was when I almost bumped up a weight class.

When I arrived to the studio, two little girls, probably five or six, were strolling in. They wore tights and a black leotard. Both had their hair up in a tight bun with sparkly ties holding them as accessories.

From across the street I watched more and more dancers walk in. It was only 7:45 and practice was in full swing. Who decided practice on a Sunday morning was necessary? Oh right, my mother.

Nerves crept up on me as I decided if I should go through with this. I wouldn't have even had to do this if she just stayed in her place and out of the gym. What the hell was she thinking? The nameless girl had no right to be in the gym. My gym.

My hands curled into fists and if I had nails my palms would probably be bleeding.

I watched the cars pass by and when it was clear I ran to the building. Walking in, I noticed three women gossiping about some other dance mom. I rolled my eyes and looked to the front desk where a girl, maybe twelve greeted me.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Is Samantha here?" I tried smiling after speaking to the girl with a strong, icy tone.

She shook her head no quickly, "but Clara is here."

"Who the f-," deep breath, Harry, "who is Clara?"

"She's Samantha's best dancer," the girl smiled, blushing just a bit, "she runs a few classes and opens up when Samantha isn't here."

"Can I talk to her?" my heart pounded, this could be her.

"Umm, sure," she stretched out her words hesitantly. "She has class in fifteen minutes but I'll get her for you."

The dancer skipped down the hall, leaving the desk vacant. I shoved my hands in my pocket and looked to the left wall where pictures were tacked. There were pictures from performances; ballet, jazz, tap...you name it and it was there. There were pictures of dancers with my mom holding flowers and pictures of dancers sticking their tongues out. I even found a few boys prancing around.

"Um, mister," the girl tapped on my shoulder, "here's Clara."

She pointed behind her where Clara stood. The nosy, blonde ballerina stood in front of me. The girl scampered back behind the desk and Clara stood in front of me, arms crossed against her chest as if she were a child being scolded.

"What the hell were you doing at my gym?"

Again, my tone came across as angry, monstrous even and it showed in Clara's eyes.

"I-"

"I mean, first you listen in on a personal conversation and then you show up? Are you stalking me?"

"No, I wasn't st-"

"Unless I ask you to come to one of my matches, which will never happen, don't show up."

She looked up at me as I found myself just inches from her face. Her arms were still crossed and her eyebrows were knitted, any hint of fear gone. I could see a light powder covering her face and black mascara making her eyelashes seem a bit longer. Her lips were a bright red and though she was wearing make up- it didn't look awful. It was simple and unlike anything I'd ever seen. Beautiful really.

"Are you finished?" she asked just as proper as I expected. I nodded, crossing my arms to match her own. "First of all, I didn't mean to eavesdrop on your conversation. I heard you talking with Sama-"

"And you decided to continue listening? That's called eavesdropping, sweetheart."

"If you would let me finish a sentence," she seethed. I took a step back, quite surprised by her quiet outburst. Her shoulders relaxed when I stopped talking and she continued. "Anyway, I heard your arguing and when I see a rather large man screaming at a petite woman like Samantha I rather watch to make sure she's okay than let her get hurt."

"I wouldn't hurt my own mother!"

"Sure look like you were going to!" I pursed my lips, realizing it could have looked that way. "And I was at the match because Samantha asked me to film it. She wanted to watch but she couldn't be there."

I formed an 'o' with my lips before switching to my smug, unamused feature. There's no way she cared that much to send this pest to my show.

"And you just agreed to go? Just like that." I scoffed.

"I have an immense amount of respect for Samantha. Besides, I didn't stay the whole time."

"Yeah, I saw you leave." I scratched the back of my head with a sigh. I tried to pinpoint whatever I was feeling but all I came across was an ounce of hurt.

"I apologize for finding no joy in grown men beating each other senseless."

"That's not what boxing is about!" I snapped, no longer feeling the bit of hope I had towards her.

"I have a class to teach. I'll let Samantha know you were here."

Clara began walking away but I wasn't ready for her to leave, "no!" she turned around, raising an eyebrow, "I really don't want to talk to my mother."

"Whatever, have a nice morning."

She headed for the classroom and left me in the lobby. I looked around, all of the women staring and the dancing secretary wide eyed.

"What?" I barked, not impressed. The women went back to their conversation and the dancer stared. "What do you want? Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I...I-"

"Spit it out, kid!"

"I've never seen someone talk like that to Clara. You shouldn't do that," she scolded, "she's a good person."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Whatever you say."

I looked into the studio where Clara was teaching a class to teenage boys and girls. She looked happy, innocent, full of excitement and joy. If only I knew how to talk to someone without barking like the asshole people see me as.

"Hey," I said to the dancer one more time, "when does she leave today?"

A giggle emitted from her lips until she saw the serious features I sent her.

"Um, four."

"Can I have a piece of paper?" What the hell was I doing?

She passed me a piece of paper and I wrote my name, number, and the words, gym at 5.

"Don't expect her to call you or show up for that matter."

I rolled my eyes, "you'r'e actually quite rude for a ballerina."

"You're actually quite annoying for someone who tries to be big and bad. You don't scare me or Clara for that matter."

A smirk formed clearly on my face, "oh, I can show her scary. Just give her the paper."

Again, she rolled her eyes and I walked out the door. Unfortunately, I felt the least confident I'd ever felt around a female. What did she just do to me?

Notes

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