Paul Marshall

H I S T O R Y

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Paul's childhood was doomed to fail from the get-go, being born to a high school couple, who were supposed to be going their separate ways in just a few months time. His father ran for the wind after the realization that he was going to have a kid, and his mother, Rebecca Marshall, was left to raise the newborn with little aid from her own parents. This dreadful, but expected, situation landed the mother-son pair in a junky trailer home that Rebecca had barely managed to afford. When she finally came to terms with the fact she wasn't going to be able to pursue a college career, she became a waitress at a local diner.

Young Paul was a quiet and reserved boy, hesitant to go too far passed his comfort zone. He enjoyed roughhousing with some of the other local boys when his mother insisted he make friends, but he much preferred to be in his room with his miniscule collection of books. There was no chance for his more sociable and excitable side to come out until he reached sixth grade, when he was exposed to theatre for the first time. He wasn't a big fan of the script portion, seeing as though memorization had never been one of his strong suits, but he loved the performing aspect.

It didn't take long for him to discover his love for dance after happily signing up to join the theatre elective in middle school. It had been during musical rehearsal that the dance instructor of school had seen his 'natural groove' and invited him to join the class mid-year. Soon enough, theatre was off his schedule, and he learned the formal art of dance.

Ballet got him through middle school, and had it not been for his mother's long-term boyfriend, it probably would've gotten him through high school as well. Richard Haraldson, the deadbeat who had practically invaded the trailer-home of the Marshalls, was an alcoholic who passed on the addiction to Paul, following a 'father'-son camping trip.

Nights that were spent practicing dance soon turned into nights spent downing whatever liquor he could get his hands on, and it all came to a head when he accidentally trashed an older man's porch with a few of his friends. His friends, who had been much more sober than he, managed to escape, but Paul was soon forced into a no-pay job that consisted of cleaning up sweat from the local boxing gym. One evening, after the place was closed up for the night, the coach on-shift invited Paul to join him in the ring for a few minutes. Those few minutes turned into an hour of instruction, and then into daily lessons, paid for by overtime.

Years of training and attempts at going professional came and went, until he was offered to join a boxing company stationed in New York City. It didn't take long for him to go from the amateur leagues to the professional ranks, only a few concussions, really. The job gave him enough money to afford a cheap place in Harlem, the only issue with the place being that there is an open ballet studio just a few blocks down the way. Paul had always wanted to return to dance, seeing as though it had aided him in becoming a great fighter, but he was now stuck in a world where other's opinions mattered. His macho boxing buddies wouldn't like to see their good friend dressed in tight clothes, dancing on a bar.