Human - phan

Four

"Port de bras and rise to releve, grande plie endu devant - keep it slow I want to see you working through the demi-pointe - hold for two counts — Jamie I want that head on the working foot - now close for two good Jamie.

Tendu derriere - close - tendu a la seconde — work the inner thighs!"

Ballet is different. For ballet, you have to be immaculate. You're rarely able to dance long enough to really get into it before the music stops and the teacher yells. Technique and showmanship, no matter what cost. Modern is a kind of rebellion to ballet. It's like someone said 'well that's cool, but this actually looks better.' And the ballet people just said 'that's not how to dance. Your left foot is out of second and your arm's too low for fourth.' So modern was born, built on passion and impulse. I'm not sure which I like more. Ballet requires discipline, and it's the knowledge that you can always do something better that appeals so much and keeps you working right into the night. And sometimes I do, when the curtains are closed and no one's around. I dance until my feet are numb and my whole body is aching.

*

I wasn't in any of the same classes as Phil, but I had drama with Chris three times a week in a dilapidated theatre building next to the sports hall.

"Och aye!"

"Ock ai!"

"No, the 'aye' needs more of a sway — you need to hear the 'A' just a little bit, it's not just 'I'."

"Okay, okay, och a-i?"

"Close enough..." Chris grinned.

His accents had always been his forte, along with crazy, side splitting characterization. Previously I'd watched from across the room, but now I was at his side and getting the full force of his humour. I was more of a serious, 'truthful' actor I guess; I had my Stanislavsky volumes but I'd never have Chris's flair.

"So uh, did you have a hangover yesterday?" I'd been trying to bring up the party all morning, but Chris had a film project coming up and didn't seem too interested.

"Nah, not really, I'm still young. Okay, for the opening sequence I really need you to do that old man thing - when the zombies first arrive? And it's a good thing we're supposed to be doing a monologue each because I want you to learn Shakespeare."

"What?! Why do you need Shakespeare for a zombie movie?"

"Don't worry, it's a really good soliloquy, the Macbeth one? You probably know it already so you'll get a good mark for it, and you'll be helping me out." Chris had his head buried in the costume rack, in between the revolutionaries' jackets from last year's 'Les Miserables' and a polka dot pantomime skirt.

I watched him for a minute before trying again.

"Phil was er, pretty drunk on Saturday, too. Um..." I trailed off lamely.

"Was he? I don't really remember." Chris's voice was muffled by pantaloons and I couldn't see his expression.

"Yeah he, was really funny." I cursed myself quietly. "And I didn't know PJ could sing."

"Well seeing as you had only just met him I wouldn't expect you to." Chris replied sarcastically, emerging triumphant with half a rubber duck and a pistol. "Ha!"

I blinked. "I'm not even going to ask."

*

We wandered out into the sunshine after class, Chris drilling me on my Macbeth lines.

I took a deep breath unwittingly mixed with a sigh. "Is this a dagger which I see before me; the handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee! That's literally all I know though, and you still haven't explained why you want it in your film thing." My Scottish had accent collapsed pitifully after the first sentence.