In another reality where her alter-ego had it all, she finds herself. Penny longed for the feeling that she was worth it and hoped she would find her purpose one day. Everyone rushed her. They hurried her into becoming an athlete, finding a career, and living a life she never hoped to fill her shows with. Her alter ego lived a successful life, filled with love, and the pressure from which she caved no longer held her captive. Her past was a prison, and her future was yet to become her own. But there was no way out. 

Mom shook me awake. "Get up; you have ten minutes to get ready, hurry," she quietly demanded. It was nearly 5 o'clock in the morning, and a lonely glow hung in the sky. It had been five years since I started elite competitive dance; it was now 2021. The darkness, pain, and mental torment I faced because of the decision, which was solely my mothers broke me. My mind spun in many directions, not able to settle. This was normal. Every day was dedicated to becoming someone they wanted me to be. As usual, my competition was early, and my hair and makeup had to be done to a higher standard to set myself apart from the competition. But it hid me. Behind all the glitter, the thriving girl everyone knew me as was not who clung to my heart. But I still got ready. I still plastered the mask on my face. Each time taking more and more glue to stick, my bottle was almost empty. We left without anyone noticing, no one waking up to wish me good luck, no one caring that yet again my work ethic in a sport I didn't choose had won all the gold trophies that lined our walls. 

The car ride was silent; I knew if I said anything me and my mom would fight. All my memories of her were of the heavy footsteps of disappointment as she left my competition, her seething breath in my face, or side coaching instead of parenting. They clouded my vision of the person she probably was, the mom she tried to be. And that was the last thing I needed. To be perfect, all my anger was sheltered, which drove me; it kept me sane. She constantly glanced in my direction as if judging the way I let out a single breath. I pretended not to notice, my Spotify playlist ringing in my ears. I was ready, not willing, and that's all it took. We rolled to a stop, my mom mumbled a few words, and I got out of the car. This time was different. Instead of walking in, I watched her drive away and round the corner, her car becoming a mere speck on my horizon. The same way I would watch as she picked me up a few hours later. I think at this moment; sadness weighed on my heart. I wished so often that I could hug her goodbye, feeling a warm embrace that told me it was all okay. But I knew that if I didn't have a gold medal around my neck, she wouldn't love me. It was evident that she expected only the best. That she rarely applauded because nothing impressed her and chose ignorance by not acknowledging me. I pushed past these thoughts because wishing for a mother was a waste of my time, and so I turned around, game face on, the elegant, golden russet sky rising in the distance. 

I had a contemporary dance routine. This dance particularly resonated with me, as it put my feelings into the picture, into a perspective that met the eyes of those watching. You could watch the endlessly shifting emotions play through me and watch as the words presented someone who was so broken but so beautiful. I inhaled, my chest rising and falling, the swaying audience drowning with applause. Now, life would repeat itself, and the build-up for today would be forgotten. I would start over, the same routine, the same cycle, it all repeats. There will be another competition, another competition to leave and to not look back on. 

I stood outside, not long after my standing ovation. It was hard in those moments because I knew I had done well, but I could never find the gratitude to be proud of myself. I was raised to never feel the satisfaction of success, never be thankful for the good every day because it wasn't good enough. 

The crisp autumn air filled my lungs, leaving a tangy dry taste as if I had just swallowed warm water. I stood questioning why my punctual mother was even a few minutes late. Maybe it was a good thing; I wouldn't have to critique my reruns for hours on end just yet. But there was an eerie presence, an uneasy filling that sent shivers, slithering snakes of doubt running through my veins. A car I’d seen before, yet that was strangely familiar to me, rolled up next to the curb where I stood. I was expecting my mom's well-loved far traveled SUV. But a small black car awaited my arrival instead. 

My mom's ex-friend stepped out. Her hair was still a neat bob, tucked behind a neon pink headband, and the preppy clothes she wore framed her body like the many times she came to drive me to dance. I hadn't seen her in ages, but I vividly remembered the last time I saw her. She and my mom had been best friends for as long as I could remember. Since I was a baby, she was in my life, almost a second mother-figure to me, however the one I dreamt of. She held me when I was crying, reassuring me that life wouldn't fall apart and that I was still living even after my lowest moments. She was the person who quoted famous athletes, giving me the inspiration and motivation to keep living, pressing on. She knew my deepest secrets; she knew I only did dance because I was forced to and was given no decisions of my own. But, much like my own mother, she didn't remain a constant in my life. After all the hours, meals, holidays, and events she shared with my family, she used us. The day we caught her, I was just arriving home from another competition, much like today. I walked into the scent of fresh fall candles. However, the hominess and warmth I felt walking in drained as I saw the sprawl in my kitchen. My dad had a duffel bag thrown like a wet rag on the floor and all its contents on our island.

Sam, my mom's best friend was crying, and repeatedly whispering, "Sorry." My dad screamed at her and ended with the words, "get out; you're not welcome here." The coldness in his tone showing the anger that our family was built upon. We had caught her schemes, her front. The illusion of friendship, deceit hiding the fact that she had stolen my family's possessions over the years. I can still hear the sound of her pounding footsteps, willing her to leave our proximity before the shock settled in. I can picture my newly teenaged face, pressed against the cold glass, a mere child watching the one person I had I needed leave me forever. 

But why was she here now? 

"I need you to come with me," she quickly voiced. 

I was hesitant; my feet planted to the same concrete spot I had been standing in for these dragging-on minutes. I needed an explanation. Why was she here and not my mom?  "What's going on?" I boldly persisted. 

She told me we didn't have time for explanations; instead, she said, "If you don't get in, you'll never see your mother again." 

I didn't want to trust her; everything I had learned about strangers and predators was all useless. Still, I knew my mom, and this wasn't like her to be late. Her threat pierced my thoughts. If I didn't get in, she could be right, and I might not see her again, but she could be lying the same way she had in her past.

Reluctantly, I got in, throwing my bag across the seat, and sliding in beside it, my back to the car door. She remained silent, and I, still clueless, had no idea what was going on. I didn't recognize where we were, and I couldn't help but note the line of cars that tailed us.

Around what felt like twenty minutes later, she stepped out, locking the car behind her, locking me in. It was hard to put a measure on the time as the clock in her car had clearly been broken for years. As a dancer, I learned a pretty good perception of time, and it was to my advantage in this situation. I saw her talk to many people one after another, none getting much attention, just a brief acknowledgment. They all seemed to have one thing in common, the stares that searched me. There was still no sight of my mother, and I couldn't make out the faces of the others. My alter-ego would know how to handle this.

They all slowly made their way back to the cars, seeming to have a shared consensus. My mom's friend was last to get in. She turned around, her eyes like lasers staring at my nervous intentions, which were to divert any contact with her. 

She pulls something from her pocket, a single red rose. I glanced at its wilting petals, and pain flooded the many emotions spiraling within me. I missed her and couldn't ignore the many nights I cried silently, wanting to have her back. I was in denial for many years now, not wanting to accept how much it broke me to see her leave. I missed seeing her in the crowd, with the big bouquet of roses, which she would place in my arms after the competition. I felt safe with her, and even though my family didn't trust her, I never lost the love I had for her and giving her a second chance was worth not losing her again. 

We began to drive away, starting the line of cars once again. I had no idea what the rose symbolized. The only conclusion I could draw was that she had given me this rose in congratulations, coupling the many times she had brought me flowers after a performance.

I waited patiently, silently, and the quiet spoke to crowds. Here and there, she tried to make conversation such as "How's your family?" or "How'd your routine go?" But answering her felt like a betrayal to my family, and forgiving her was far from where I was at this point. Therefore, I refused out of respect because I longed to tell her what she'd missed, but a second chance and getting in her car were more than my dad would've allowed. So, I watched the homes, fields, and trees out the window, colorful blurs leaving just as quickly as they were there. The ten by ten piece of glass limited the world I saw. The color of the scenery slowly faded, my eyelids closing the gap in my sightline. My head was fuzzy, spinning, even, and after many silent minutes, my restless but sleep-deprived mind drifted asleep, a ghost enveloping the air between us.

***

The standing ovation was back again. People from all directions were launching the red rose petals soaring onto the stage. They found their way into my hair and dispersed like confetti across the stage. Everyone was shouting, chanting my name, "Penny, Penny, Penny."

 We pulled up to my favorite restaurant, a celebration of my award nomination solo. The car rattled from the rocks that lined the parking lot. My mom, my dad, my brothers are all standing and clapping. Balloons crowd the area behind them. A sign read, "Congrats Penny." And a warm feeling, a sense of stability and security came in waves, crashing my wounded soul. And I felt home; I felt like my life had built up to this moment. They indeed had given me a second thought. 

But like all good things, this would come to an end, and I watched in terror as the brightly-colored balloons popped like small gunshots off in the distance, just a wish of a far-off alter ego. 

***

My eyes flutter open, darting around. Sam is staring at me once again, and her expression says it all. "The situation is unfortunate; I need you to listen. You deserve this explanation," Sam said. I stare intently, wanting but also afraid of the words spilling out of her mouth. 

"Earlier, your mom's car flipped, the glass shattered, and the windshield impaled her. She wasn't able to make it out, as the blood she lost was an injury so fatal she wouldn't have been able to recover. I love you, Penny.”

I have nothing to say. I don't know how to feel, as I wished this upon her for years, but I never wanted the genie I never believed was there to grant it. I know I should feel grief and deep sorrow, but my mother was less than humane and treated me as a toy, controlling me completely. 

We've gotten out of the car and are amongst a crowd of people neatly formed in rows, their cries striking the wall, echoing and ringing throughout the room. The red rose lightly gripped in my right hand is for my mother. Sam had mentioned that the precede to the funeral where she got out had been to hand out the flowers for my mother's memorial. 

I watched in awe, wanting to leave, but a motionless pain kept me tied to my seat, and like a plastered stone, I dared not move. 

I watch as the casket is lifted, displaying my mother. I was speechless, ecstatic, and shattered like a vase hitting the floor. I walked with the rest of the line as they went and placed their flowers beside my mother's resting expressionless body. The events of my day had all clicked, forming the puzzle. The cars were an assembly driving to the funeral home, the rose was for my mother, and my mom's friend was there because my mother was dead. I lost the person I loved, feared, and hated the most, but she always deserved a red rose, a standing ovation of her own, even though I wasn't in the crowd. I hope losing her was worth it.

Penny would become her alter-ego; she wouldn’t have to live someone else’s life. She could find the person she aspired to become.