Clara was different when she danced. She always felt high in the clouds when she did it. Dancing was her passion, and she was lucky that her parents supported her. They trusted her skills and they were always in the front row in the theater.
When classes were over and the other girls went home, she stayed. She had told her mother that this year classes were going to take one extra hour. It was not true, and her mother knew it. She used to stay in the ballet studio after classes. She danced alone and scrutinized her dance moves to give them something special, something unique. That day she thought she was completely alone in the place, with only the mirrors to see her, but her mom was hidden behind the entrance door. She was smiling. Clara was her angel.
Clara noticed her mom was there, and she stopped dancing. “Mom?” Nobody answered. “Mom, come on! I saw you.” Mrs. López went inside. “How long have you been there?”
“Just a while. I just didn’t want to interrupt.”
“I’m sorry I lied, mom. Classes are always over at four. It’s just that I need to practice more.”
“I think you should start to believe in your talent, my dear.”
“I do believe, but there are much better dancers than me, and if I want to make my dancing memorable, I must practice a lot.”
“Well, now it is time to go home.”
Clara went to the lockers to get her clothes and backpack. Then, they went for a cup of coffee.
Not all teenagers were that lucky. Sometimes our dreams are only supported by ourselves. However, if we truly believe in them, nothing can turn them off.
Bruno was playing the guitar in his bedroom; he was working on new chords. He was a songwriter but also a musician. That was something his parents did not support. They always said he should major in something more “practical”. Bruno hated that word.
He was in senior year and his parents were always asking him about what he was going to study next year. Bruno’s future was written with music lyrics. Music was his destiny, and he was determined to follow his instincts.
The door opened and his mom unplugged the amplifier. She was mad.
“Stop playing the guitar! You must start something meaningful. Do you really think you’ll be able to make a living from music? That’s not going to give you anything, not even a penny.”
“I bought this guitar and all of this,” he said pointing at other instruments. “With the money I have saved. I don’t care if you don’t want to support me. I am going to write and play music as long as I am alive. No matter what. Music is my passion and I am the owner of my future. My future!”
“Not as long as you live under our roof.” said his mom in a threatening tone of voice. “Now go downstairs, dinner is ready!”
There was a deep hole in his soul. He wished so much that things were different. However, he was not going to give up, with or without his parents, he was going to move forward.
Sometimes, we have to let time do its job.
End of chapter 1. Fragment taken from On the road to dreams (Avalaible on AMAZON.COM: http://goo.gl/iLNftK)
©2012 Jorge Vargas Chavarría.
No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission of the publisher.
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