She
danced across the carpet, a sea of faces staring on. In her mind, the
pink shirt and polka dot leggings she wore were skin tight, a tutu
shooting out around her petite hips. Elli had just turned six, and like
any little girl she had big dreams. With her arms bowed out in a “O”
to her front, she leapt gracefully from light brown square to light
brown square on the busy airport carpet. Her mom walked behind her,
trying to keep up as she pirouetted toward the bathroom.
“Look Mommy! I’m gonna be a ballerina someday!” she said while she spun.
“You can be whatever you want to be, baby,” her mom said with a smile.
But
Elli didn’t hear her; she was in her own little world, full of sugar
plum dancers and endless streams of light pink tulle. Everyone was
watching her, sitting in the audience on pins and needles as she made
one beautiful leap after the other, creating music with her movement
across the shiny black stage. Elli danced all the way to the airplane,
where she fell asleep on her mother’s lap, dreaming of orchestras and
stage lights as the plane soared among the clouds, headed for a place
she called home.
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