When the last girl went on her way, she went upstairs, pulled off her dress, and put on something a whole lot more comfortable.
Then she walked back into her dance studio and closed the door behind her.
And at last, in the privacy of her favorite space, Shannon reached for her iPad, bypassed all the ballroom songs she played for students, and went straight to the music that was good for her soul. Country, plain and simple. Old-school Garth Brooks and Brooks and Dunn. Keith Urban and Jason Aldean. Eric Church and Dierks Bentley. Singers that had gotten her through bad days and self-doubts and hours of practice until her body hurt as much as her feet.
After two more clicks and an adjustment in volume, the piercing strum of an electric guitar filled the room, and the familiar twang fed her soul.
Her body reacted the same way it had when she’d been twelve and eighteen and twenty-two. She might be living in Ohio now, might be trying to keep up with a whole lot of people who’d been more places and had more schooling, but at the end of the day, she was still who she was. Shannon was a small-town West Virginia girl with a fondness for music that talked about trucks and farms and Friday night lights.
More importantly, she was okay with that.
Already feeling better, she opened a small closet nestled in the corner of the room. On the top shelf was a clear plastic container filled to the brim. It took a minute, but eventually she was able to stand on her tiptoes and coax it down. When she got it on the floor, she crouched down and pulled off the lid.
The faint scent of peonies wafted out—the remnants of her favorite drugstore cologne when she’d been fifteen. It brought back memories of big dreams and early morning Sunday church services wearing one of the many dresses her mother had bought for her that Shannon had always been sure were too old-fashioned and plain.
Shaking off the memories, she pushed aside the extra pair of tap shoes and the pair of heels that she’d worn for her first ballroom competition. After digging some more, she at last found her goal: an old pair of pale-pink satin toe shoes.
Holding them up, she made sure the ribbons were still secure, then dug back in that box for some cotton for the toe box.
Brooks and Dunn started singing “My Maria,” making her grin. It was time. She took a chair and at last put them on. Her toes protested for a few seconds but settled down when she stood up and lightly stretched and tried out a couple of almost-forgotten steps.
Then, feeling like she was looking at a stranger, she walked to the center of the room and stared at her reflection.
And perhaps she really was staring at a stranger. The woman looking back at her wasn’t the girl she’d once been. Instead of pink tights, she had on tight black leggings. Instead of one of her many black leotards, she was wearing a fitted aqua tank top. Her hair was in a ponytail, not the bun that was so tight she used to swear it made her eyebrows rise a quarter inch.
But maybe—just maybe—there was still that look of determination in her brown eyes. Back in the day, she’d refused to listen to anyone who said she hadn’t started dance classes early enough, wasn’t tall enough, wasn’t talented enough. She’d just worked harder.
Now, her body was bigger than it used to be. And, maybe her steps weren’t as steady and her legs and core weren’t nearly as strong.
But, even as she stared at this almost-stranger in the mirror, Shannon realized that everything that she’d been focusing on for the last six months had been a mistake.
No, she wasn’t an only child. She wasn’t from West Virginia, and she wasn’t even much like her mom.
But that said, she wasn’t all that different from the girl she used to be, either. She was still Shannon. She still liked to dance. She still liked her country music. She still loved her parents and would never think of them as anything other than “Momma” and “Daddy.”
She was still so grateful for her life and the blessings she’d been given.
And looking at herself—at this older version of herself, with her long brown hair, same long arms, full lips, and faint scar on her eyebrow from a fall when she’d been a toddler—she wasn’t perfect, but she’d never been. More importantly, she’d never needed to be perfect.
Which was okay.
As the songs changed and she heard Garth singing about the river, she walked to the barre and lightly rested her hand on it. And then went through the exercises and warm-up steps she’d done so many times it was as if her muscles were leading her brain. Maybe they were.
Pliés and relevés slid into jetés and sautés. A faint sheen of sweat formed on her forehead and back. She welcomed it as she pirouetted then arched her back.
And at last, she leapt into the air.
The music switched, singers as familiar as high school memories filled the room, encouraging her to remember old recital pieces, favorite combinations, different times.
An hour later, just as Eric Church was singing about memories, perspiration was running down her back, and her toes and ankles were protesting, Shannon at last drew to a stop.
When she looked at her reflection again, she couldn’t help but smile. She was a sweaty mess, but something had returned to her eyes that she hadn’t seen in far too long: satisfaction.
She could still do something that she’d worked hard to do. Could still encourage her body to perform in a way that was pleasing. But, more importantly, she’d found herself again.
“Welcome back, girl,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you.”
* * *
Two hours later, she had showered and was sitting at The Works with Traci and Kimber. The pizza place was in the old train depot in downtown Bridgeport. There was a large stone fireplace taking up one of the walls and worn red brick under their feet.
Shannon was dressed in a pair of skinny jeans, an oversized sweater, and her favorite pair of duck boots. Her sisters were wearing much the same thing, though Traci was wearing a pair of Sorrels and Kimber was looking as fashionable as ever in her sleek black leggings, fitted turtleneck, and flats.
One thing they all had in common were glasses of red wine in front of them.
After they ordered two large pizzas—guaranteeing leftovers—each of them seemed to practically dissolve into their chairs.
“Has any day ever been worse?” Traci said. “I thought I’d seen everything there was to see back in Cleveland, but today’s been awful.” Picking up her wine, she took a long sip. “I need a two-week vacation.”
Shannon grinned. “Any chance of that happening?”
“Not unless I want to get fired.”
“It was awful for me, and I wasn’t even out hunting for Jennifer with Dylan,” Kimber said. “I can’t imagine how stressed you were.”