The Dancer and the Painter

"Are you done unpacking, Sydney?" My mother screamed from the living room. The flat had previously smelled like mothballs, but now it smelled like vanilla, my mother's favorite perfume.

I took a glance around my room. I knew I didn't want to bother accumulating money to alter the beige paint on the walls. A portion of the wall was covered with inspirational dance posters and a bulletin board with a whiteboard calendar. With a light blue cover, my little twin bed was large (not really), adequate for 5'8 height.

The remainder of the room was filled with my belongings, my clothing neatly divided in the closet and my belongings on my little desk and drawer next to my bed. But some of my other belongings were in a box for the shelf that would be delivered later this week. "Yes, I believe so."

"Would you mind checking the mail downstairs for me?" She stated. I can hear her footsteps coming up the little hall where she had placed photos of me with and without her. Most of them were of me competing in dance contests when I was three.

My mother opened the door and turned to face me as I sat on my bed. Her delicate face was adorned with a little grin. I've been told that I continually resemble her, and I see it. Her Dominican and South African ancestors give her a warm brown complexion. My father was of Filipino origin. Therefore, I was a little lighter.

I rose and threw my thick, highly curly hair into a sloppy ponytail. "I'll go."

I entered the living room, walking past her 5'4 frame and taking the keys off the counter. The little space was a dramatic change from our large townhouse in Toronto. Aside from not seeing my pals and dancing squad, moving to this place was a significant upheaval. Some aspects, though, I knew would never alter, such as my mother's need to know where I was at all times. She was guarded.

As I stepped out the door, I threaded my fingers through the keyhole and shut it behind me. As someone's apartment door remained open, I proceeded down the corridor, the fragrance of cooking filling my nose. I pressed the elevator's down button before hearing my phone's familiar sound.

I pulled it from my pocket. It wasn't anything ordinary; it was a Blackberry Bold. I answered the phone, pushing it to my ear. "Hello, Wesley."

I could almost hear the grin in his voice. "Hey, Sid, how's your new life going?"

"Everything is going swimmingly," I said with a dry tone of voice. The elevator light button went out, indicating that the elevator had arrived.

I entered the empty elevator via one of the two doors. I turned around as the doors closed, facing the grimy mirror on the opposite side. "Did you get hired?"

I glanced in the mirror, noting the rings under my eyes. "They did email me yesterday." It's an advancement from working at Gio's Pizzeria."

"But you're still employed at a pizza parlor," Wesley said.

"I had no idea; thank you for bringing it out." I sarcastically replied as the elevator slowly dropped to the ground level.

"I miss you and your snide sarcasm."

"I miss you and your nonsense, which I've always been averse to." As the doors opened, I let out a gentle chuckle.

Wesley and I have been great friends since we were in junior kindergarten. He was still the same after all these years; weird, witty, and active. He came to all of my dancing contests if they were in town, or he had someone film them if I was someplace else so he could see them afterward. He was quite helpful. I did the same thing for him, and his swimming meets.

"What are you up to?" he inquired.

"I'm picking up the mail," I remarked as I exited the elevator.

"Your mother is enabling you to receive the mail at a different location? You're seventeen, and she hardly lets you leave home. "I'm taken aback."

He wasn't mistaken. My mother was, shall we say, overprotective. There were moments when I understood, but there were other times when I just wanted her off my back and to give me some breathing room. Even going to a friend's house was probably out of the question, particularly when I was younger, but for homework reasons, it was either my house or the library. I've only gone to Wesley's home twice throughout our acquaintance, and the only way I could attend his swimming events was if my cousin, Michelle, could accompany me. It merely showed how concerned and overprotective my mother was, but I was growing up, and it was time to take some chances.

"Have you noticed him?" I requested that we depart from the subject at hand.

There was a brief gap on the phone, and I imagined Wesley shaking his black hair before remembering that we were on the phone and that I couldn't see him. "No, but I did note his vehicle was still parked in the driveway."

I groaned, stepping across people to approach the little open area that housed all of the apartment's mail. "I believe that's comforting."

Before Wesley spoke, I heard a loud noise in the background. "I have to leave, Sid." "I'll Skype you later tonight?"

"I'll chat to you later, Wes." I hung up the phone and placed it in my pocket.

I inserted the key and checked for new mail. My toes twitched in the empty room while I did this. I have a strong desire to dance right now.

I've been dancing since I was three years old, beginning in a baby ballet class my mother enrolled me in. When I was a toddler, I was thought to be quite jittery. She looked into it, and a buddy recommended a dancing studio. The dancing studio where I grew up was nothing like Abby Lee Dance Studio, nor was it anything like Dance Moms.

There was a family member present. I made pals, albeit not as close and wonderful as Wesley. I performed solos, duets, trios, and many ensemble pieces to display my skill. That was pretty much the only way I could leave home. I served in several locations around Canada and the United States. I was the dancing captain at my studio for months before I left, but things occurred, and I was here, away from home.

I breathed heavily before snatching some letters and trash mail, shutting the box, and turning back. I smacked into a chest and instantly backed up. "S-Sorry." My uneasiness and timidity were rolling in.

I searched up the individual. He was an Asian man around 18 years old. He reminded me of Wesley with the backdrop and black hair; only this man had a red stripe in his bangs. He was wearing Dr. Dre beats and clutching an iPad with a highly nice multi-colored case. He motioned with his hand. "Don't worry. "Are you new to the building?"

I nodded slowly, attempting to gather my thoughts. "Hello, my name is Sydney."

He shook my hand, a maniacal smile on his face, yet the energy he gave out was absolutely good and made me relax. "My name is Jon Ming, and I'm a soon-to-be world-renowned engineer who speaks twenty languages."

I raised my eyebrows even though I shouldn't be chatting with strangers, but everyone was a stranger in this town. " Really?"

He opened his lips and began speaking what I assumed was probably Italian...fluently. I made a blink. "What exactly did you say?"

"I inquired as to whether you attended Bark-Ridge High School. Since I graduated in June, I'm now considered an alumnus there."

"Bark-Ridge? Is it a school name?" I inquired. It truly sounded strange. Was the world running out of names for schools?

Jon Ming burst out laughing. "'Home of the Dogs,' yeah." "Are you planning on going?"

"No, I'm going to start at Hamilton Academy School of the Arts in downtown Hamilton." It wasn't even that far downtown. I checked the bus schedule; it was just a half-hour commute from my flat.

Jon Ming's eyes widened when he recognized her. "That school." To get admitted to such a school, you must be very gifted. What do you do as a painter? Singer? Musician?"

My head trembled. "I'm really a dancer."

Jon Ming smiled. "Wow, I'm a dancer as well."

"Really? "What exactly do you do?" From being a DJ to speaking many languages to dancing, this guy seems to have a lot of skills. The concept never dies, and his optimism was something that everyone needed in life.

Jon Ming shook his head. "A wide range of things." Mostly hip hop and break dancing, but as an engineer, I concentrate more on music for other artists. I recently received an opportunity to relocate to Los Angeles tomorrow to work as a DJ for a rising artist. Therefore, I'm leaving after nearly five years."

I placed my hands in my shorts pockets and glanced at the stranger I had just met. "Wow, that's incredible."

"I know. Just graduated from high school, and out of 6,000 candidates, a Korean man from a Canadian town earned a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. My mother assumed I was lying and the contest was a sham on the back of a cereal box."

He laughed along with me before asking a question. "So, what kind of dancing do you do?"

"Uh, I'm primarily into modern and ballet, but I also do tap and jazz."

"Really? So, if I decided to have a dance battle with you right now, you'd go all dancy and wipe the floor with me?"

I sighed and rolled my eyes. I could easily see myself like him. "Well, I didn't stretch beforehand."

Jon Ming motioned with his hand. "Perhaps another time. I need to leave my work at the Tech Shop. That's the only way I could have afforded this and that." He flashed his iPad about and pointed to his pricey headphones. "It was great to meet you, Sydney."

"And you, Jon Ming." He smiled at me as he exited the room and the building.