Female. 25+  165 words. Portia: “I Flew.” From: The Tempest Within.

By Paul Pasulka

East St. Louis. My father played piano with Miles Davis in high school. And for me. For my first dance recital. He made my first costume. I was the Firebird. – construction paper, five colors. Plastic straws and Elmer’s glue. And I flew. Dance classes. High school. Chicago. Broadway. I flew and I never looked back. But I flew too high. To high to see him. I was so busy. (Beat.) When I went back home after his stroke, he miled at me - kinda crooked. He couldn’t talk, but he was still so proud. He pointed to the closet. I found my ballet slippers – even my first pair – and clippings of all of my shows. The Firebird costume - colors faded, torn, straws fallen off. He saved them all. I put Miles Davis on his old turntable. We sat. He wanted me to dance with him. I did. The next day, he died. I haven’t danced since. I can’t. And if I can’t dance…