OUR FATHER WHO AREN'T IN HEAVEN? open

[EMILY ANNETTE EVANS]

She’d heard it said before, that to be a dancer you needed to live and breathe ballet; that your whole life needed to be dancing. If that was the case- well then she may as well just stop trying now. She wasn’t that sort of girl. She couldn’t commit herself like that to dance. She loved it, that went without saying, but she wasn’t about to forgo parties, friends, her life just for her dancing. She was never going to be one of those perfect ballet bot girls, who had perfect technique and devoted their entire lives to the activity without ever experiencing life. In Emily’s opinion, those girls had no heart, no passion. Dance was about passion. It was self expression. How can you express anything real when all you are about is ballet? Of course, it could be argued that Emily Evans wasn’t about anything deep or real but that, well now that would be a gross miss-conception based on the fact sex means nothing to her.

So many people put sex on a pedestal. Think of it as sacred, and think that anyone who doesn’t see it that same way is a horrid person with no soul. Emily had long since grown tired of being looked down upon for who she chose to spread her legs for. It was no body’s business except hers and the person she was going to engage in the act with. She was through caring about being judged for that. Haters gonna hate, and Emily was just going to do her thing. Emily liked to tell herself that her late night dance sessions were a result of the little commitment she did have to training in between lesions. But to be perfectly frank; they kept her sane. When she was dancing, the world was taken apart and put together right again. Everything made sense and everything was good. She needed that feeling.

Sometimes it was the promise of dancing that night that got her through mindless days of school and the idiotic drool that her peers tried to pass as real thoughts and issues. Honestly it astounded her the complete bull-twang some people fussed over. Seriously, people made life far more complicated then it needed to be. Then again, maybe Em didn’t make it complicated enough. She knew how weird this must look. Emily Evans, hartlet about school, gay father- sneaking into the church after nine o’clock at night. Perhaps people that saw her would think she was going to play in secret for her already condemned soul? Well that wasn’t the case, in fact it was hopeful thinking on anyone’s behalf. The truth of it was simple; she needed a place to dance.

It wasn’t the first time she’d taken advantage of the church in the dead of night, and other times had been for much less savoury reasons. Tonight though, her intensions were as pure as they could be. Dressed in only ballet tights, a leotard and an over-sized hooded jacket, Emily slipped into the silent building. The lights were always left dim, but that was okay. Dim was enough light for her. Placing her bag on a pew, she sat down next to it. Slipping off her orange converse. Instead replacing them with soft pink toe shoes. While she didn’t stick strictly to ballet, Emily felt her mood swinging to the more classical form in her arsenal tonight. She found different styles of dance worked better for different releases of energy and emotion, and tonight she felt like being a graceful ballerina. That was another good thing about the church- a pew worked well in place of a bar. Standing up, she moved around to the back of the pew. Placing her leg up on the wooden back as she stretched forward. Was it strange it felt so good to stretch her muscles to the point of pain? Probably, what Whatever, you know.

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