BLACK ROSE

Prince charming

Ashley. 

I observe the little girl with careful eyes. There's something familiar about her. I follow her dance moves, focusing on her a little too much and overlooking the other kids.

She's dancing with grace, outshining the other kids. Her moves are swift, but sharp enough. They're strong and precise, she has absolute control over them. For such a small human being with such a small frame, her coordination and control is immaculate. Every step is calculated, yet she seems to be doing it so freely. So naturally.

She's in perfect harmony with her dancing.

Though there's a long way for her to go in order to succeed as a professional dancer, it wouldn't be a struggle for her. Lately I've stumbled upon less and less kids with a natural talent for dancing. It feels like most of them are being forced to dance. And though you can teach someone the correct dance moves, and even the correct technique, you can spot the difference. The most important element – the feeling of harmony between the dancer and the choreography – is missing.

This girl is young but possesses all the elements to be a successful professional dancer. I can imagine working with her intensively and individually, perfecting her talent. She has potential to make herself a good name and win countless competitions.

When the music stops I realise I've focused on her for too long. I failed to keep an eye on all the kids for an equal amount of time. Some of them lack the drive, a very necessary component. They might be skilled, but their performance is dry and forced. It's usual for little kids to have a lot of energy, to be eager to perform. They tend to lack skills, but possess the drive.

The class is almost over, and so is the choreography. I've been told to go easy on them and I'm intending on following my orders. Their choreography is bouncy and fun, exactly something they need. It's the perfect way for them to ventilate their energy.

The parents start to come to pick up their kids. One by one the kids leave, until there's only a few left. The little girl that caught my attention calmly packs her stuff and leaves by herself. No one stops her, she says bye to her friends and leaves.

Once all the kids have left I start to dance for myself. I repeat my stretching routine and start with an old choreography. I dance for over two hours.

I finally clear my head and allow myself some time free of overthinking. I focus solely on my choreography, trying to change a few moves. I play around with it for almost an hour when I decide to create a new one. I've told myself to try again – to build myself a new, much improved career. To ameliorate my dancing skills and improve.

It's late when I fall down on my knees, panting for breath. My throat is dry and itching, my heart's beating out of my chest causing me physical pain. Though I'm in pain and I can feel my body aching, there's a smile on my face. Sweat's dripping down my forehead, soaking my clothes and messing up my hair. Through all that, I'm finally happy I've danced again.

I pack my bag and head to the locker rooms. I've always avoided showering or changing at public places, but after Christina's tour and the individual locker rooms with an individual shower she showed me, I opened myself up to the possibility of having to try it one day. And that day is today. I have less than an hour to get ready, then someone will pick me up, as Mae informed me. 

********

I'm not surprised when I step outside.

I should've guessed, made a bet with someone. When Mae told me she'd get someone to pick me up, the first name that popped up in my mind was no other than Alex's. Understandably, we've been unintentionally crossing paths a little too much lately.