Pirouette

- battement fondu -

{ P I R O U E T T E }

-     battement fondu     -

  Over the past week of practicing for the competition, I met a fellow competitor while practicing. Her name was Daphne and we soon became good friends. I hadn’t seen you since you told me I danced without emotion. Today I sat in the plush seats of the theatre while watching Daphne practice.

  She wanted me to give her feedback on her dancing and I had gladly obliged, happy that Daphne had invited me along to watch her practice and practice with her. I was grateful for my new friendship with her, especially since I’ve always had a difficulty in making new friends.

  I look up at the stage, watching her glide across the stage to launch into a perfect one hundred eighty degree grand jeté, her arms held out in fourth position. Immediately after her graceful landing, she swiftly sweeps into a series of pirouettes and posé. She does a pas de bourrée piqué before stepping into a penché en pointé, ending her dance with grace. I clapped loudly, smiling encouragingly as she curtsies.

  Daphne! That was great! I say, standing up to stretch because it was my turn to dance. She tells me to do a trail run first, saying she had to go to the toilet. I step onto the stage after setting my music into the player. I begin in a classical position, sinking into a Battement Fondu, ready to lose myself to the dance.

  I had been working on my emotions when I danced, heeding your advice. Just as I was about to begin, Daphne received a call, shooting me an apologetic look as she grabbed her bag and raced out.

  I watched my only friend leave; my heart sank to the pits of my stomach. I had been hoping to gather advice on my dancing ever since you had mysteriously entered the theatre hall while I had been dancing. Daphne had been my only chance of gathering any advice at all. As much as I struggled not to feel hurt, her retreating footsteps replayed in my mind like a broken tape recorder, like stabs of ice to my heart.

  Battement Fondu refers to one sinking down on one foot, melting down with emotion. You told me I didn’t have the emotion.

  I tried.

  With the sadness of loneliness weighing down my heart, I started again. Fondu, Posé, Penché... I chanted silently to myself as I went through my routine with a heavy heart. In my ending position, I heard your words ringing through the walls of my mind: you were like a robot, a shell of emptiness.

  I was that shell that got thrown away despite being beautiful as well. My lower lip trembled as I begin my routine once more. This time, I felt like I was actually flowing to the music, unlike all the other times I struggled so hard to feel emotion, struggled so hard not to crack.

  As I danced, a tear rolled down my cheek. Maybe the only way to dance was to feel emotion, to crack and break down. Maybe the only way to dance was to let go, to finally release my pain and run. Maybe the only way to dance was to finally fall, and be able to stand up again.

  From the shadows at the edge of the theatre hall, you smiled.