The boy pulled at the hand intertwined with his, but he could not pull away. His mother's grip was too tight.
"I don't wanna!"
At this pronouncement, his mother jerked at his hand, propelling him even faster behind her.
"You will," she declared, "and that's that."
The boy's shoulders hung. He just hoped none of his friends found out about this. He'd never hear the end of it. Why couldn't his mother just listen to him?
"I don't wanna. Why do I gotta?" he asked her in a whine. Her answer was succinct, and it didn't make any sense to the boy.
"Because you never know when you'll need a skill."
She stopped then, the boy almost bumping into her, and she gazed up at the sign above the door. The boy groaned. How his mother expected how he'd use this particular skill he'd never know, but she'd convinced herself, somehow, that it would be helpful for him, even though he'd said he wanted a career in the army. Nothing could stop his mother once she got something into her head. The boy lowered his head in resignation as his mother tightened her grip and pulled him into the Maximus School of Dance.
Years later, in the throes of the ecstasy of his unexpected discovery of the one true God, the boy, now a man, was making another discovery. His mother had been right. All these years, he'd never understood. Now he did.
As the flowers sprung up, Sebastian pirouetted and pliéd across the hot coals, thankful for those ballet skills his mother insisted he'd learn so long ago.
THE END