I know that everything Hashem does is good, but sometimes, it’s literally impossible to see it

I dream of ballet. There’s a stage, a beautiful empty stage, wooden floors just waiting for the swish swish of satin ballet slippers. I wait in the wings, slippers tightly laced, hair wound in a high bun, heart fluttering, and then it’s my cue. Music, glorious music, swells up, it fills the hall, the stage, the room. And I soar on it, I ride its waves as I leap and bound, spin and turn. I see my family, Atara, Shayna, as I race by, but I don’t stop, I won’t stop. Because how can I give up, even for a moment, my chance to fly?

I wake up with a wet pillow and the taste of blood in my mouth. I’d bitten the inside of my cheek, probably while I was landing my leap. I laugh dryly, the sound echoes around my room.

It had been eerily real.

And so was my pain.

****

I knew we would win the dance-off. I high-five a beaming Atara, and dry my hand quickly on my skirt, because hers is really sweaty. But hey, that’s what you get when you dance your heart out.

“Chametz, chametz, cookies and cream! We’re gonna cheer for the other team!” the girls are chanting; I smile and accept compliments on the amazing costumes. The girls look amazing and I find it hard to believe that I’m the one who outfitted them. Kay, me and the other sewing girls, but you know, mostly me.

It was fun to choreograph the dance, but there’s no way I can do it again. It’s too painful to watch the other girls dance out my vision, to watch them pirouette and jig, and know I can do it better.

“Pesach, Pesach, once a year! Come on, team, let’s give a cheer!”

Atara is surrounded by her fellow dancers, the teachers are laughing and clapping, Pori, dance head for Pesach, is red in the face but wearing a brave smile, and nobody is watching me. So I duck out the back door and head to the furthest corner of the school grounds.

Pesach, Pesach, once a year… it really is almost Pesach. I’m excited for the seder, for Goldie and Effie, for all seven of my annoying brothers to be present, to listen to them while away the hours speaking divrei Torah with Daddy and Zeidy, to go to parks and eat matzah and cream cheese until our fingers are black. And then, after that, our Girls Trip!

I pluck a blade of grass and twirl it through my fingers. The sun is finally shining but I am more than ready for some real vacation.

I feel tired, and old. Much older than 15. So much has happened, so many things have gone wrong.

I close my eyes and feel the sun baking my pale skin. I’ll be covered in freckles by the end of the day.

And so many things have gone right.

I know that. I know that everything Hashem does is good, but sometimes, it’s literally impossible to see it.