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

[TL Boehm]

The music is in her soul, inspiring her, moving her. A tear drop falls from her eye, unnoticed and still, she dances on.

Beautiful....seeing child, woman and crone in this one...woven wonderfully to gether. This is a strong write. So many great images and a real message in this one. It would make a great childrens story or even a published piece in a magazine.

[H. H. Kraabel]

Your story is so beautiful and very detailed, with a few pictures my daughter would love this story. She watches Reading Rainbow just about every morning and this story reminds me of one of those great books. Good write! :) HHK

[Yvonne Heidt]

THIS IS AWESOME! Absolutely beautiful. Gave me chills.

Perfect descriptions and I love how the story plays her life from the dance. This is amazing, and I am speechless - hard to do.

Excellent. Period.