Pirouette

- classical position -

{ P I R O U E T T E }

         -     Classical Position     -   

  It is the position you start the dance, the position you start telling a new story, that’s to start in classical position. The glaring spotlight would shine on you, your whole figure illuminated by the bright light, glittering and shimmering. You would stand still, signalling for a grand silence in a theatre of occupied seats, watching the curtains rise, awaiting the tinkles of music to erupt from the speakers located all around the soundproof room, starting your performance with a boom.

  Every classical position would symbolise a new start, a fresh story told through graceful movements, the slick gliding of feet across the stage. That’s how I started, a sad, forlorn musical piece resounding through the empty hall, its sound woven with emotion. I put in my best, swirling to the music on the tips of my toes in my pearly pink pointe shoes, the music matching my movements with perfect precision; my steps were slow and gentle, quickly moving across the stage with multiple pirouettes to end my dance.

  And just when I was stepping gingerly off the stage, I hear your clapping. I can’t help but be shocked, spinning around clumsily, nearly making me trip over the long curtain wings that I stood near. I stare disbelievingly at you, wondering how you had entered this hall, which had been locked and guarded with security guards for the competitor’s privacy while we practiced.

  Your choreography is beautiful, you continue to applaud me, your every clap bouncing off the walls of my mind. Speechless, I curtsey in thanks. You send me an amused look, amused by my shock.

  The piece you chose was delightful, you muse, analysing me.

  Thank you, I whisper, shaking with discomfort that you had appeared out of nowhere, disrupting my practice time before my competition which was within a few weeks’ time. I was nervous for the competition, afraid of the possible failure I would face there and then.

  But you held no emotion, you looked at me dead in the eye, your tone soft, almost sad. There was no life in your movements, I only saw a heart of stone dancing a dance, emotionless moving through the choreography. You were like a robot, like a shell of emptiness.

  I tremble at your words, looking away to hide my disappointment. I was ashamed that a commoner who didn’t dance was able to tell me that, pointing out the smallest detail that most people would never have noticed. I was ashamed that you had picked out such a detail in my dance; I could see a look of disdain that would be painted on the faces of the judges when I performed.

  You need to feel, you need to embrace the future, you need to dare to fail, dare to fall, you say.

  And I realise you were right, walking back to my starting position in the middle of the stage, standing in my usual starting classical position.