A ballerina’s picture is on display in a gallery. She is depicted standing on her tippy toes with a frozen smile in a silk, snow-colored gown. I’m imagining what life she would have led. Her name is  June. She has that radiant face that looks like the first days of Summer. Effervescent and sweet. Porcelain skin with no wrinkles. What would her age be? Early twenties it seems. Her shoes look a bit worn. She’s been doing this dance thing for some years. A prima ballerina. All her fans went to cheer her on like crazy. I can hear the applause now. Little June… little June what? Little June Stevens or little June Bradbury? June Bradbury seems a bit too peculiar for a ballerina. When I think of ballerinas, I usually think of either Black Swan or all those Russian names like Anna Pavlova or Galina Ulanova. All the best ballerinas are usually Russian. But June. June just did it for fun. She was an American ballerina. Little June Bradbury it is then.

Little June Bradbury had a mom and a dad. Their names were Steven Bradbury and Cather Grant. They were Catholic, but not on the extremely conservative side of it. They just enjoyed being in the church crowd. June had three siblings. One boy and two girls. Like me. Ira, Wednesday, and April. Ira was the eldest. He was a brainy, funny type of fella. Liked dinosaurs. Wednesday was the second child. She was also brainy and very sassy. Liked beetles. April was the third and she had a silly thing going on. Very lively and loud. All three were sweet and had aspirations for, something bigger than the small town they lived in, Progress. The city of Progress. And then there’s June. The youngest. June was a bit precocious, but kind of kept to herself. She started ballet through her Private school’s dancing program at five and although she was slightly forced into it by her mom, one day in the dance room when there was no one there, she went in. She looked at herself in the mirror and asked what was it she wanted. She put on music and began to tap her toes. She glided through the room and spun herself until she was satisfied and felt as though she was flying. At that moment, she realized she had fallen in love with this, with dancing. And so she vowed to always find a way to keep doing that. To keep flying.

Now, look at her. She’s flying forever. I wonder if I can still fly like that. Every time I stand, I fall. But not June Bradbury. She stood tall. I remember when I used to be her. Tall and graceful. A man had asked to take a picture of me after a show years ago, so I smiled and bowed like anything then. Now somehow, it’s here. The picture of me when I was younger and still able to walk. When I had all the time in the world to be June Bradbury. Then I became Mrs. June Stevens and life went on. But I am still flying. In that one perfect moment forever.