Daughter of Hope

Halfway up the steps, Hope paused to admire the pictures of the ballet dancers that graced the wall. She liked to imagine what their lives must be like and how it would feel to perform on stage in front of a packed house.

Ms. Davidson told her that she had “great potential.” As much as Hope wanted to accept that as an honest evaluation, she figured it was—at least in part—routine instructor encouragement. Ms. Davidson had danced professionally for the Ballet Theater Company in New York City, before retiring five years ago and moving to Forest Hills. Hope often thought back to the day her mom had picked up a flyer from Goodman’s grocery store and asked if she wanted to take dance lessons. For some reason, from the get-go, the movements came naturally. The music went straight to her heart, and it was her heart that dictated her movements. She was truly happy when she danced.

Ms. Davidson’s warm smile and cheerful face greeted her once she was in the door. Her teacher had a petite figure much like her own, but Ms. Davidson’s frame was lean and muscular from years of dancing.

“Hello, Hope. It’s so good to see you today, my dear.” That was Ms. Davidson—always kind. The only other people who treated her with such gentleness were her mom, Hadwin, and Dede. On rare occasions when her father talked to her, it was either because he wanted her to bring him a beer from the refrigerator or needed to tell her how proud he was of Hadwin and question why she couldn’t be more like her brother.

Hope didn’t understand why her dad acted that way with her. It had been that way for so long, though, that it was difficult to imagine anything different. Regardless of her disappointment in him, she loved her dad. But she never felt close to him. She put up her bag, and then promptly went over to her teacher. “What do you want me to start with today, Ms. Davidson?” she asked.

“Why don’t you clean the mirrors first, and then if you have enough time, you can wipe down the bathroom.” She paused to smile. "Oh, and by the way, how was your first day of school, Hope?”

She looked at her teacher for a moment, wondering how to respond. She simply offered up a weak smile, reached for the wet rag inside the bucket, and began wiping down the mirrors. She liked how the water slightly blurred her reflection, at least until she followed up with the squeegee. Then, seeing herself clearly again, it was as if every imperfection was staring back at her from the freshly cleaned mirror.

Ms. Davidson sensed her struggle and didn’t want to push Hope to talk but thought it was worth another try. She asked again, “How was your day, Hope?”

Though Hope wanted to avoid the topic of school, she also knew it would probably be a good idea to talk to someone—especially someone as understanding as Ms. Davidson. She took a deep breath and slowly started to reply. “Well, . . . there’s this girl, Jessica Whitman.” She took another deep breath and picked up full speed, with one word almost tripping over the next. “She doesn’t like me for some reason. I’ve honestly never done anything to her. I try to keep my distance, but it’s like she goes out of her way to find me and . . . be mean.” It was too soon to tell if she felt better or worse for the release.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Hope. I have met Jessica’s parents, and they seem like such a nice family. Sounds like she must be angry, but who knows why.”

Hope wondered the same thing. On looks alone, Jessica put every other girl to shame, and she was hands down the most popular girl at Forest Hills Middle School. The boys all liked her, her parents were wealthy, and her family lived in the nicest neighborhood in town. What is there for Jessica to be angry about? In the distance, Hope could hear the other girls chattering as they came up the steps, so she quickly finished up the last mirror and hurried to the bathroom to get dressed for class. She didn’t want anyone to know she was working off her tuition. Plus, what if word got back to Jessica that Hope cleaned toilets in exchange for ballet lessons? There was no need for Jessica to have more ammunition.

“Attention, everyone. Let’s start at the barre for a warm-up and stretch.” Ms. Davidson commanded the floor. All the girls scrambled to get to their positions and Ms. Davidson called out the first combination. “Starting in first, let’s do our demi plies in each position. Please follow that with a grand plie in first, second, and fifth positions.” Once the music began, Hope recognized the familiar notes. It was from Cinderella.

Ms. Davidson didn’t just teach dance steps. She wanted the girls to also know who had written the music and which ballet it was from. She said they must also know the story behind the music and such awareness would change the way they danced. She was right.

Though Hope didn’t have an evil stepmom or two spoiled stepsisters, she understood what it was like to have harsh words spoken to her and be treated badly. She could relate to Cinderella. Maybe someday my prince will come and rescue me.