Class With The Director

Lately, my present situations have reflected the past.  Yesterday was no different.   Girls were scattered about the studio, talking with friends and stretching for class.  Their conversations came to an abrupt halt when we heard the  sound of a door opening, followed by the echo of footsteps.  The short hallway that lead from the lobby to the studio prevented us from seeing her, but everyone knew who it was.  My classmates scurried to their spots at the barre.  Did I step back in time, or was it possible some things never change?  The entrance of the director had always been enough to command silence from a roomful of girls, and apparently she still possessed that power.
Coming out of the hall and into the studio she clutched that familiar stick, used for banging against the ground to the counts, or teaching us proper alignment by placing it gently against our bodies.  Relief drove out all my anxiety when she gave me a smile.  I wasn't sure how she would react to me being there, but now I could relax.
I had a great time during class.  Once again it was challenging, but I managed well enough.  While I tied the ribbons of my pointe shoes for the last part of class she told me I was doing well. She joked that I even remembered a few things.
I'm taking class from her again today, but it will be level five instead of level six.  While I can still take level six, my teacher thought it would be a good idea to throw in a level five class.  I'm not too proud to agree.  I'm willing to carry out whatever needs to be done for my training.  It's the only way to realize a dream.