trip down memory lane...and it will be bumpy:
my senior year of HS, i was dancing a hip-hoppy jazz number to Edwin Starr's "War" (what is it good for....absolutely nuthin'....)
anyway, i broke my elbow during a performance one Friday night. the "room-mom" had a walkie-talkie and signaled Ana (my evil dance teacher) in the booth that i'd hurt myself.
Ana said, "she's fine, tell her to go on. she will be fine."
so i did. i was lucky. it was a ballet piece...no pressure on my arm. it was to Loreena McKennitt's "Bonny Portmore"...
it hurt, yes. i moved my arm around with care and walked off the stage after the blackout. i proceeded to go back to the dressing room and fall to the floor. i tried so hard to cry softly. then i passed out. next thingi knew, my father was carrying me to the car...then i was in the hospital, the pain was awful.
took half an hour for the doc to give my something for the pain...after that i remember nothing...hazy...i sorta remember my parents on either arm carrying me out of the hospital, and then feeling like i was going to vomit.
i was out of school for a week.
whe i got back, i was still in tons of pain. when i walked into dance class, Ana looked at me as thought she thought i was faking at first. then the wonderful women in my class saw and crowded around me to see that everything was ok. "only 5 weeks." i told them...and Ana said"
"hope you get better before the show."
i broke because of her...not directly of course...but she mirrored society. what she exuded was nothing but pain. this is what she said to me (in not words, but actions):
"suck it up...you are pathetic. broken limbs never stopped me."
sometimes i thought that, because i was recavering from anorexia, i was her favorite.
it sickens me to think that.
but i know it's true. a friend of hers (at least 35, and obviously ED) came by one day while we were dancing and said to me, "GOD, i wish i looked like you...you are so THIN. i am so jealous."
at the time i weighed about 90 lbs...nothing to be jealous of for fuck's sake.
when i went back to see Ana a year after i graduated, she was not the same.
i went to deliver the news that my friend, my good friend Jaimee, had died of Cystic Fibrosis, after many years or suffering. she and i had taken class with Ana...Jaimee made me love dance.
all Ana could say was, "i heard about jaimee....wow, you look...different."
what she meant was, "i can see that you have ganed weight. even though you look like a normal human being, i still think you look fat."