2 hours ago
The Overheard Argument
Taking stage was always calming. Even when his life was shit it meant that he was at least able to dance a little.
His mother wouldn't like that he was dancing in a burlesque -- taking off his clothes and totally in the moment for the sex appeal of it all. But she'd be glad he was dancing -- and did it well enough that he could get paid for it -- and that others paid him to help them. Not that they paid him exactly, but they came to him when they wanted help.
As he danced it was also the one time where memories came back. Today's session was no different.
He danced by firelight. His mother tapping her foot as he spun around. He couldn't be more than six or seven. The only time his father didn't really squawk when he danced. Though he could see him over his mother's shoulder. His frown was apparent.
His father didn't say anything while he could hear, no he waited until they'd gone to bed to bitch at his mother.
They fought about him a lot. And they thought it was quiet in the confines of the car, or in hushed whispers by the campfire.
"Bryan, he's so good at it. You can't make him stop."
"He's a boy. Not a fairy." Those were words his father uttered often. As if he were already defining his son before he even understood what the words meant.
"He is beautiful when he dances, Bryan. I've taught many students until now -- don't let him faulter. Don't make me watch it die."
"Boys are not beautiful." He growled. "I forbid it."
Nox had heard it all. Aurora calmed him, curled around him and he cried silently into her embrace.
Their father found Nox crying. He hadn't asked why, only saw the end result and dragged him into the forest. "I'll give you something to cry about." Was the last thing Nox remembered before he threw the walls up. He didn't want those memories. Nox hated those memories.
His father had forbid dancing for all of a week. His mother found a dance -- a dance that taught young women how to fight. She choreographed her own sequences -- the things his father wanted him to learn, she slowed them down, made them her own and after a month. Nox and Aurora sparred beside the campfire. Nox finally bested his sister -- his father saw the merits of the practice. He begrudgingly let his mother teach him dance. But she didn't just teach the new combat techniques -- she taught the rest -- let Nox learn to rely on the grace of the dance. To feel the beauty in it all.
It was the rare and beautiful praise Nox remembered amidst the hatred of his father. Nox caried the beauty and grace through his life though few ever knew why or where it came from. He didn't understand it all himself. And if his father ever even thought it was more than his mother's teachings -- Nox was surprised to be a live.
Taking stage was always calming. Even when his life was shit it meant that he was at least able to dance a little.
His mother wouldn't like that he was dancing in a burlesque -- taking off his clothes and totally in the moment for the sex appeal of it all. But she'd be glad he was dancing -- and did it well enough that he could get paid for it -- and that others paid him to help them. Not that they paid him exactly, but they came to him when they wanted help.
As he danced it was also the one time where memories came back. Today's session was no different.
He danced by firelight. His mother tapping her foot as he spun around. He couldn't be more than six or seven. The only time his father didn't really squawk when he danced. Though he could see him over his mother's shoulder. His frown was apparent.
His father didn't say anything while he could hear, no he waited until they'd gone to bed to bitch at his mother.
They fought about him a lot. And they thought it was quiet in the confines of the car, or in hushed whispers by the campfire.
"Bryan, he's so good at it. You can't make him stop."
"He's a boy. Not a fairy." Those were words his father uttered often. As if he were already defining his son before he even understood what the words meant.
"He is beautiful when he dances, Bryan. I've taught many students until now -- don't let him faulter. Don't make me watch it die."
"Boys are not beautiful." He growled. "I forbid it."
Nox had heard it all. Aurora calmed him, curled around him and he cried silently into her embrace.
Their father found Nox crying. He hadn't asked why, only saw the end result and dragged him into the forest. "I'll give you something to cry about." Was the last thing Nox remembered before he threw the walls up. He didn't want those memories. Nox hated those memories.
His father had forbid dancing for all of a week. His mother found a dance -- a dance that taught young women how to fight. She choreographed her own sequences -- the things his father wanted him to learn, she slowed them down, made them her own and after a month. Nox and Aurora sparred beside the campfire. Nox finally bested his sister -- his father saw the merits of the practice. He begrudgingly let his mother teach him dance. But she didn't just teach the new combat techniques -- she taught the rest -- let Nox learn to rely on the grace of the dance. To feel the beauty in it all.
It was the rare and beautiful praise Nox remembered amidst the hatred of his father. Nox caried the beauty and grace through his life though few ever knew why or where it came from. He didn't understand it all himself. And if his father ever even thought it was more than his mother's teachings -- Nox was surprised to be a live.
![[Image: nox_sig.gif]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/nox_sig.gif)