Ballerina's Dance

Life through dance.

Feet apart, delicate hands, ribbons trailing, and the music starts.  A silhouette against the stage.  Her arms extend arching over her head.  Slowly, ever so slowly, with the grace of a swan she eases onto her toes.  One leg extends, foot arched perfectly.  The music stalls and silence falls upon the room in a cloud.  In a breath a single note hangs in the air, trembling, until it recedes again, but never falls.  She pirouettes once, twice, three times, goes into an arabesque, plies softly, and suddenly leaps into the air.  The music floats around her.  Pulsing.

 

          Pink ribbons flow from her hair, trailing down her back, her pink leotard hugs her curves, moving with her; the folds of the chiffon skirt swirl around her in a sea of pink, and she dances on becoming a part of the music.  The music is in her soul inspiring her, moving her.  A tear drop falls from her eye unnoticed and still, she dances on.

 

          She moves slowly, deliberately at first.  Her arms push through the air, heavy, strong, graceful.  As the music grows larger she picks up speed, the notes creating a soft cushion around her lifting and guiding her across the stage.  As the music falls around her, crashing into softness, her eyes grow sad and her breathing shallow.  Arms drooping, she spins across the stage in a blur of pink, leaps into the air, and falls back to the stage landing softly, body pressed to the hard wood.

 

A single note hangs suspended in the air for a long moment.  Her breathing ceases and for a moment everything is still.  Timidly another note joins in and then another and another until the music, once again soaks the air.  Her heartbeat echoes through the auditorium in time with the music and once more she moves across the stage.  This time she is faster, her eyes more lively.  Pink ribbons fly from her hair, replaced by white.  White tulle surrounds her and wraps her tenderly in its arms.  Together they dance.  Her face is younger, fuller, less haunted.  She smiles serenely and spins across the stage all the glory of a prima ballerina floating around her.  Spotlights follow her every move holding her in their beams.  A tour jete, a barrel roll, and back into the air for a grand jete.  She lands gracefully on her toes and pirouettes, arms gracefully coming to rest before her, head tilted just so, feet back in first position.

 

As her movement ceases so goes the music, leaving the air enchanted and shimmering with anticipation.  Her arms rise above her head, a tiara adorning the soft curls, blue ribbons trailing down her back.  A beat and then another.  Her feet begin to move, she twirls causing the fabric wrapped around her waist to spin out in a flurry of blue.  In a brave moment she eases onto her toes en pointe.  In complete control she spins.  Her arms �" delicate and strong �" move with the notes, hands perfectly poised.

 

Chest expanding, she inhales slowly and allows her arms to flutter down in front of her.  Her sparkling eyes follow the movement and her mouth curves into a smile.  The smile fades as the music diminuendos and her eyes are sad.  This time her arms float heavily upward.  Laboriously, her feet begin to move.  The tiara falls away, the blue fades, and shakily, she grabs the barre.  Her ankles tremble, crying out in pain as she raises en pointe.  Holding, holding, she falls again, sweating with the effort.  Her heartbeat is inconsistent contradicting the music suffocating her thoughts.  Tears leak from her eyes and trickle down her face drip dropping on the floor, making music of their own.

 

Silent sunshine bursts through the window warming her face, urging to her try again.  Lifting, pushing, she’s en pointe and holding, holding, falling.  A sigh of frustration cuts through the music.  She tears at the ribbons holding her ankles captive.  Free at last, she kicks high and leaps into the air landing softly and begins to twirl.  Her dance is erratic, but it is her own.

 

Arms outstretched the pink tutu ruffles around her, a giggle escapes her lips, and the soft padding of her slippers beats against the floor.  She eyes herself in the full length mirror smiling at what she sees.  She spins in a slow circle and then faster and faster, overjoyed at the sound of the tulle brushing against its layers.  With painstaking care she follows her teacher; mimicking the not-so-easy steps.  Her chubby arms burst into the air above her head not quite meeting in a circle.  The music is simple and she lets herself move to the rhythm, smiling, because she is dancing.  The music ceases and breathlessly her eyes seek for approval.  Finding it in her teacher’s smile, she grins back. 

 

She pushes her arms above her head once more and twirls.  Little blonde curls fly out behind her in her spin and the moon beams spill through the window creating a glow about the child.  Her nightgown swishes around her legs and the music rings through the air �" simple and enchanting.  Her eyes sparkle and she matches the pose of the ballerina in the music box.  Together they spin in time to their own music, dreams of being a ballerina filling her head.  Her spinning ceases; with eyes full of wonder, she watches as the ballerina continues her dance, reflected in the tiny mirror.

 

Her dance begins again, the pink ribbons trailing behind her.  Slowly, she rises from the floor and eases into a pirouette, pink chiffon swirling around her.  As she spins faster and faster the ribbons fly away, shaking loose her hair streaked with gray.  Her eyes tell the story of her life; full of joy and sadness.  The music and her movement become her story and another tear falls.  She is a single figure silhouetted against the stage, embraced by the notes. 

 

She is a ballerina and she dances on.

Reviews

[Sean Allen]

Everything I know about Jazz I learned from my son Sean, who took me to a jazz performance by one of the greats, Pat Martino. My first experience with Jazz. Everything I know about a Ballerina I have just learned from you my dear. My first experience with this art form.

I cannot tell you enough how absolutely splendid that was. If I could have closed my eyes, the music I was hearing from your words as my mind danced slong with them would only have got better. I assume that you are a dancer, or how else could you have captured the essence of the Ballerina so very well.
This is a True 5 Star piece!
sa

[SM Davis]

Dez, this is wonderful. I was a ballerina in a former life. I love your nuances and your imagery. It's perfect. Well done.

[Jenny Davis]

I absolutely loved how you made the ballerina's dance a metaphor for life at all stages...there is such a deepness here that I think many missed. The dancer is the creator of her own fate and as she keeps trying she is living and experiencing life....very well done, Dez! I love it! :)

[Robert Luna]

The level of details you give to your writings is always such a treat. I find myself so involved with the characters and feel a bond with them. The way you have captured such a deep lying emotional concern within your reads for your character is so wonderful. I have no doubts that someday I will be buying a copy of your best seller somewhere and saying I remember her when. Always such a deep pleasure.


Great Job!!!!!

[Brette Medb]

The last two sentences tied the whole thing up for me with so much emotion and sadness. I loved the way you ended this. The descriptions through the whole thing were astoundingly beautfiul. There was only one thing that I noticed, you used the word moved too much. There are so many more words that you could use instead of that to be bring the reader more into the story. You could use flowed, glided, slid, floated...all these words are so much more beautiful than moved. Other than that I thought this was brilliant. Great write.


Brette

[BrightEyes]

your love for dance so clearly shines when you write about it....you bring all the emotions, the concentration, the joy and the delicate movements to life for the reader. I can picture this wonderful dance in my mind...thanks to your amazingly descriptive write...yet I've never taken a ballet class in my life. I do hope that you keep dancing...it is so clearly something you love dearly.

laura

[Forest Green]

Thorough treatment of the art and emotions involved in the ballerina. You are a dancer at heart.

Filled with music that moves in the lines and words.

Thanks for the submission.

Forest Green

[Dave "Doc" Rogers]

A nice bit of writing. Nicely descriptive, flowing like the ebb of music. What would have made it a touch better, I think, would be to add some from the perspective of the ballerina, the feeling of the music, the precise counting of steps and motion, flow of the body form inside the music.

Thanks for sharing this with me.

Cheers!
Doc.
Read My Writing at WritersCafe.org

[Carole]

This is beautiful Dezaraye. I presume you are a dancer yourself. Your story flows beautifully and you didn't miss a beat, girlfriend. I danced all the way through your story watching this precious little once dance, whom I presume is you from your own experience.

My daughter took ballet for a short while along with gymnastics, but her real love was softball. Broke my heart at first. I don't know if it is a mom thing or what, but I so wanted her to dance. I finally realized I couldn't live my dream through her and I needed to allow her to be the individual God wanted her to be and not what "mom" wanted. I do think all of her dance lessons and gymnastics helped her learn dexterity though, so it wasn't a loss.

Anyway, this was an awesome story. You painted a beautiful picture of the ballerina! ***Smiles***
Thanks for sharing. :)

[Helen Woodward]

Ballerinas tend to dance on no matter how old or what befalls them! Both my daughters learned classical and jazz dance, they kind of grew out of the classical as they got older, you have a special love for it that will never wane...that is obvious in your beautifully written observations Dezaraye. You took us step by step on the ballerinas journey...Thank you xx

[Emily B]

Is it a requirement that every little girl have the music box with the tulle-skirted ballerina that spins and twirld every time you open the lid? Dezaraye your descriptions are always so gorgeous and magical, it is always a pure joy to read. Especially when there are tears. I never wanted to be the ballerina, I'm not sure what that says about me. But I have one sleeping in the arm chair across the room who absolutely loves to dance. Her eyes shine as she spins and twirls and jumps and kicks to a dance of her own creation. Come to think of it dancing is the nearest thing to actually flying that I know. Thank you for the lovely thoughts just before I go to bed.