The way she speaks is like daggers to my ears. I can hear her from down stairs barking my name telling me that I am to be ready for dance practice in a half hour.  Today, December 13, 2014 is just another snowy day in Rhode Island where I’m still  being tortured by dance. The only thing that irks me more than her voice is dance.  When I first started dancing I was 5 years old and I enjoyed every second of it.  As time went on and I grew older, however; I started to lose interest in the art that is my mom’s pride and joy. My mom is a tall, fair-skinned, blonde-haired woman with pale blue eyes, but the day those pale blue eyes looked at me with firing rage because I announced that I wanted to quit dancing is a day I’ll fail to ever forget.
Every time I take a look into the mirror and see my eyes, the only feature I have that is just like hers I feel like I have just been stabbed in my gut. However, I love my olive skin that perfectly compliments my dark, wavy brown hair, petite body, and frosty white teeth. If only I had been blessed with my father’s emerald green eyes as well, I’d have no sign that I was related to her and nothing to remind me of that day.
“Come down stairs now! We’re going to leave for dance.”  I shoot back into reality from my thoughts because of my mother’s harsh screams. I can’t stand how she speaks to me. “I’m not going!” I can already tell that she is about to scold me again for saying this but I always do it anyways. “SPEAK BACK AT ME LIKE THAT ONE MORE TIME AND I SWEAR I WILL BREAK EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR USELESS PAINTBRUSHES!” She knows exactly how to get me to do what she wants.
The only thing that keeps me happy is painting. Whenever I have any strong feeling at all I start to paint and something beautiful and strong overcomes me and I become lost in the canvas. My life’s dream is to become an artist one day, I want to be able to inspire others and help them to feel that same beautiful feeling I do when I paint. I know that if I want to keep that feeling I must do what she says and go to dance.
“I’ll be down in a minute” I timidly respond to the strong threat of my mother. “No, get down here now or we’re going to be late!” She sternly responds to my relaxed response. I don’t understand why she always speaks to me like I’m less of a person than she is. I’m 16 years old and I just want to be able to start making my own decisions. I know that I won’t be able to do that until I graduate because until then she’s going to keep forcing me to go to her favorite dance studio. It takes us 45 minutes to get there but she doesn’t mind because it’s the best dance studio in the nation. It also holds the title of having won the most national championships in the United States.
I do think that I might enjoy dance more if I didn’t go to that studio though. Every practice the teachers scream at us and push us to do so much that someone always ends up either throwing up or crying. My mother of course thinks that they’re the best teachers ever for doing this because her motto is “ Work more, win more.”  I know I have to get ready as fast as I can so I throw on a pink pair of spandex, a white tank top, and tie up my long hair with my favorite scrunchie. I can hear her honking the car horn so I start to run down the marble stairs of our mansion that means nothing to me.
There’s a million and one things I’d rather do than enter her car right now. I know that she’s going to yell at me the whole drive there but I really have no other choice than to go in.  “We’re going to be late because of you.” just as I thought she starts getting upset with me already. The sound her car makes when it starts upsets me even more. It sounds like it’s growling at us for being too heavy or because it doesn’t want to leave the house anymore than I do. “It doesn’t matter to me because I hate dance anyway.” I know she’s going to fight back but I’m not going to let her talk to me like that. “You’re so ungrateful for everything I do for you. I drive you everywhere and I make sure you get the best lessons possible.” I’m so insulted she had the nerve to spat that at me. “You aren’t doing me any favors at all. I’d rather be back at home right now instead of going to dance.” “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You know that you love to dance, ever since you were little your dream was always to become a professional dancer.”
I never wanted to be a professional dancer even when I did enjoy dance. “You know very well that that was never my dream, it was yours.” I talk back to my mother all the time about dance but I’ve never said anything like this before. By the look on her face right now I can tell that she was as shocked as I was at my own words. Her look of shock then turned to a look of pure rage. We reached a red light on a vacant road and she gave me that powerful raging look with her pale blue eyes that I despise so much.
“You young lady have no right to be talking to your mother that way. I sacrificed everything I had for you and now you have the nerve to treat me like this? No way, that is absolutely unacceptable. If you think you’re ever going to see those precious paintbrushes of yours again or even paint again you’re wrong.” I’m shot heartless by her words. For a slight instant I felt bad about what I said but now I know that if she didn’t always try to control me I would still be able to paint and none of this would be happening.
Silence briefly came over my mother and me but I know that I have to stand up for what I love. “How could you do this to me? You know how much painting means to me but you still have the audacity to take it away from me.” I hope she can hear the pure pain in my voice and realize how much of a monster she is to do this to me. “You should have thought about how much you loved painting before you decided to speak to me like that then.” I can feel my heart sinking to my toes by the sound of her voice saying that. “You’re so cruel, you love dance more than you’ve ever loved me. To make it worse, now that you’re too old to do it anymore you’re forcing me to.” I’m so angry with her at this point I don’t even care what I say to her anymore. “STOP THE ATTITUDE THIS MINUTE! You’re the most ungrateful child on the planet.” “I’m not ungrateful; I’m just cursed to have to live with such an awful mother.” I can tell that she’s absolutely overfilled with rage at me now it I mean every word I’m saying. “At this point I’d rather be dead than stuck going to dance with you.” I added that in to break the silence and because I want her to know how much I hate her.
“You’re just like a disgusting snake, especially when you dance. You manage to make the other beautiful dancers look bad with your slithering, wretched body. I hate having you as my daughter and I wish that you were dead too so I didn’t have to face the embarrassment of being associated with you.” I’m absolutely distraught that she would say this to me. “If anyone should be embarrassed it should be me. I hate you and I hate having people know you’re my mother!” I scream it back to her sternly so she can hear every word of what I’m saying.
In this very instant; however, the only thing I can see is the darkness of my eyelids that feel as if they are permanently shut right after seeing a pair of headlights flare directly into my eyes. Suddenly a feeling of the strongest pain in the world just hit me and disappeared in a second. Even though it was only for a brief second it still hurt like no other pain has ever hurt before. Now that it’s gone I can’t feel anything at all anymore. There are no words that can even come close to describing how my body feels right now but I do know that I’ve never been this scared before. “BONNIE, BONNIE LAROSE!” I can hear the faint sound of my mother’s voice calling my name but she doesn’t sound angry anymore. “Baby, I’m sorry please don’t die on me! I love you so much, forgive me for everything I’ve ever done to you!” My mother’s muffled voice is the only thing I can hear but now I know that I’m dying. I want to scream to her, tell her how sorry I am and how much I love her but I can’t even manage to open my mouth.