The True Confessions of Darya Movitz

My parents: my mother, the glorious sun, whose rays I long to bask in and my father, the stoic moon, who gives light to the darkness. I am a product of them. My thoughts are products of their thoughts. All my actions are products of their actions. I decide nothing on my own for they are a part of me. My mother’s hands guide my figure through numerous ballet positions; I feel them at times pressing lightly on my back. I feel her feeble attempts to make up for her inadequecy as a mother. My father’s arms ensconce my universe; I feel safe and unaffected by anything. I sit in my ivory tower and watch blurs. I know these blurs are people, places and various objects but I cannot separate them in my mind. Sometimes I hear things like, “Darya, the blue dress or the red one?” I usually say red. Sometimes I feel things like when Dov puts my hair behind my ears. Sometimes I see things like the two little girls flying kites in the park. Sometimes I say things like, “govno” and “yebatsya” just because it feels good. Sometimes when I miss my mother, I dance. I dance, I escape, I let go. My body takes over and my mind becomes a tabula rasa, which is something Dov taught me. I dance as hard and passionately as I can. Until my lungs burn and my body aches, until I’ve forgotten about everything that hurts and sometimes if I’m lucky, it works. Sometimes I smoke and drink. Sometimes I stand on the edge of the bridge and slide my toes as far off as I can. Sometimes I forget I am supposed to be perfect and I slip up and be myself.