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Ester (standard:other, 513 words)
Author: gillianAdded: Apr 04 2001Views/Reads: 1895/1Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Ester loves to dance but her body is the wrong shape for a professional dancer. A kind school teacher responds to her grief by offering to teach her to do something which might help her handle her sorrow. Ester accepts the offer and finds solace in her
 



My name is Ester – it means star – and I am fifteen years old.  I have
been fighting addictions for years.  I spend all of my childcare 
earnings on soda and junk food, none of which help my personality, my 
savings account or my figure; and none of which seem to give me more 
than a moment of pleasure. 

As I understand it, an addiction is a something which has been given
power by the mind to replace another something; sort of Pavlovian.  I 
feel sad, I drink a soda which I find to be sweet and good and for a 
few moments I no longer feel sad.  Repeat experience.  After several 
repetitions, the soda drinking replaces my sorrow and I have become 
addicted to it. 

You see, I am in love with dancing.  I have always wanted to be a dancer
but life has blessed me with a pear-shaped body.  I am graceful; I have 
rhythm; but, my body is not ‘right’ and no dancing instructor will 
dance me in a performance, although they are perfectly happy to take 
money in exchange for lessons.  I realize that junk food isn’t helping 
my shape but I was bulbous long before I became an addict. 

My struggle with my addiction became an entry in my English journal and
when my teacher, Mrs. Drayton, read this piece, she said, “I might be 
able to help you replace your addiction with a healthier addiction; an 
addiction that would allow your hands to dance to a rhythm.” 

I knew there was nothing to lose and following Mrs. Drayton’s
instructions, I took some of my earnings and purchased some pretty 
pink, purple and white space-dyed, soft, cotton yarn. 

Mrs. Drayton loaned me a pair of 6.5 mm knitting needles and showed me
how to wrap the yarn around my fingers.  Knitting felt very clumsy at 
first but she encouraged me and told me that it was like learning to 
hold a pencil and write and it would soon begin to feel natural.  For 
20 minutes I struggled to make my hands and fingers do what I wanted 
them to do before giving up. 

An hour later, I was busy with some homework and I realized how neat it
had felt to work those needles and I wanted to experience that feeling 
again.  I picked up the needles and had another go and this time 
everything felt right.  I quickly produced a corner-to-corner 
dishcloth.  The rhythm was soothing and I felt good about the little 
cloth that I had just made and I was eager to begin another project.  
Visions of hats and sweaters danced before my eyes.  I had discovered 
another form of creativity. 

I still feel sad that I will never become a performing dancer but when
the sorrow descends upon me, instead of yielding to my old junk- 
addiction, I take up my knitting.  I relax into the rhythm, enjoy the 
colors and textures that are building before my eyes, and I feel a bond 
with all others who find solace and comfort in handwork. 


   


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