"Father." John mumbled softly, thinking over his words. Only a few days had passed since...his father and he had had that rather pleasant discussion, but he felt gutsy. The next words that came out of his mouth almost made him feel sick inside. He was scared of his father's response. "Can...I do...ballet? Anne does it."

James snorted, stuffing their dinner of linguine in Alfredo sauce into his mouth. His mother bit her lip as she looked between the other three.

It was one of the nights, one of those sacred nights, in which the four of them could be at home, awake, somewhat happy, sober.

Why did John have to pull some stupid shit now?

Still, the response his father gave was far from what he expected.

His father arched an eyebrow, looking at John with an amused expression. "Why ballet? You play baseball, isn't that enough?"

"Okay, so," John braced himself. It had been only a week ago, that the idea had resurfaced. Sometime beforehand, the idea had been crushed, and now he found himself thinking about it again.

See, Anne had showed him some sweet ballet moves, and while she was a quality person to learn how to dance from, John wanted a ballet teacher of his own. He wanted to perform in a recital, like Anne, not just watch her.

John looked up at his father with twinkling eyes and started a explain his reasoning. "See, ballet...teaches discipline," something he got plenty of at home, "And it's almost as hard to do as any sport. It helps, with sports, dad."

Anne had introduced him to pictures and videos on cassette  of men in tights, bending and twisting their bodies around. Such lifts, such beauty, such perfection. He aspired to be beautiful like that.

The attention in the room was fixated on the little boy, reprimanding him with glares. Their eyes said 'This-This is what you get for asking such a stupid question.'

A smile twitched at his father's lips and he sighed. "Ah, whatever. Let the boy do what he wants, right?" The man  nudged his mother softly.

What exactly did his father expect from him? He had to be at something, with such light, careless mood that he displayed.

"So I can do it?" John inquired. Sure, there had to be a catch, but of course, he decided to ignore it. He was impulsive, dangerously brash at this age.

"If we can afford it. Yes. You can." His father explained, stabbing some broccoli and popping it into his mouth.

John smiled brightly. "Thanks, daddy!"

This was the best day of his life! Nothing could ever top this! So he thought.
________

A few days, John explained the situation to Anne, a bright smile on his face. It was 1989, the peak of the summer. The two of them would, hopefully, be starting ballet class at the same time.

John smiled softly as they played with barbie dolls on a couch, talking about ballet. "I already bought a tutu." He beamed.

"Silly," Anne tsked. "Only girls wear tutus."

"Yeah? Well if guys can do ballet, I can wear a tutu." He scoffed.

"Fair point."

And so, the afternoon was well spent, with debate about ballet, whining and apple juice.

_____

Shortass chapter, I know. This is more of a teaser for what's about to come. I promise it'll be longer- and wort something more next time!

If you like this story, give it a vote!

-M