The (Un)Secret Childhood Dialogue Chronicles -Tap Shoes.

I remember once when we were only about 5 years old, and minutes away from our debut on stage in our first (and last) dance recital; I was so nervous I couldn’t see straight, but S could’ve cared less about the people or the lights or the crowds of strange little girls to compare ourselves with.I recall so vividly too, as we sat backstage finishing the touches on our stupid little outfits (which were, by the way, exceptionally glitzy and covered in sequins and glitter, complete with a huge feather we each had to pin in our hair), S was fidgety as usual and muttering to herself.

“What? I can’t hear you…” I shouted to her ear as I pulled the hairbrush through her dark, wild hair before attempting for the final time to get the obnoxiously huge feather pinned in.

“I just still don’t know how good of an idea this whole “dance recital” thing is, you know?”

S had both hands up to make the bunny ears around the words dance and recital. The feather floated from my hands once again and glided in rocking motion to the dusty floor. We both sighed; I looked her over and saw that she was messing with her tap shoes, struggling to get them and tie the puffy ribbon laces.

“I know you hate this…but we’re almost up, S…get your shoes on!” I leaned down to help her with shoes as I hollered, “We’ve been over this – I know I owe you big time for coming to dance class with me…”

“-…and especially for making me dress like this!…my feet are killing me and we haven’t even been on stage yet!”

S’ helium voice rose to a staccato above the music and clapping of the audience. She pulled and heaved at her little feet in vain to finish getting her shoes on as I searched desperately for my left shoe. It only took me a second to see that S had it and was trying like Hell to make it fit on her right foot.

“Well, no wonder your feet hurt, that’s my shoe…”

Needless to include, our debut was hideous and we dropped out of dance class immediately following the police inquiry.

The Unsecret Dialogue Chronicles – The Hospital Files.

“Remind me to never let you follow through with any of those ‘Motivational Speaking’ plans that you may have when this is all over…”
S’ voice trailed off slightly with a faked giggle under her breath – she was nervous and edgy as Hell – but also knew that her best friend meant well.
“I meant that out of nothing but love, S…you know that I don’t think of you as a Tumor…”
J was shaking her head and lightly wrapping an arm around her trench mate as they slowly made their way into the hospital entrance.
“I know, I know…but your wording is like a sideshow freak sometimes…I knew what you meant.”
The two walked along in silence for a few moments before they turned to one another in synchronized time, and began to laugh loudly in the sullen corridor – so hard that they each doubled over in side-busting glory. The laughter became snorting and short gasps for breath that fell in between words muttered in vain, and soon enough, several orderly nurses popped heads around doorways with stern faces.
“Sorry, sorry…”
J managed to snort out as she peeled S off of the tiled floor and back into a standing position to continue the walk to the surgery department;
“We were just…oh, get fucked, we aren’t bothering anyone.”
The two figures strolled into the blazing sodium lights ahead, still trying to compose themselves from a minute ago.
“Did you actually just tell me to ‘Be The Tumor’, J?”
S hardly managed to get the sentence finished before her lips peeled upwards once more and she bore her big, white teeth as a means of a laughter warning.
“Aye…I did, Kid…and I meant it, too.”

Ninety (Plus) Seconds at Terminal Velocity.

Classic "Frog".

“Okay, so you’re gonna be all the way down here (draws a line straight downward) but you’re gonna be looking up here (draws another diagonal line upwards across whiteboard) and you’re just gonna wanna go this way over here, land over here (yet – one more downward arrow) – but you don’t wanna do that, don’t do that. No matter what you do, don’t do that.”