The Gray Dancer

09. DANCE STUDIOS

A FLIMSY WHITE CARD RESTED ON HER TABLE BESIDE HER TINY BAG. It laid there with its crinkled corners, waiting for Hanna to read over it, begging for her to spare it just one glance. Hanna didn't want to read it, unwilling to read what it had to say. She hadn't touched it since yesterday, letting it lay on the wooden table. The card called for Hanna, begging her to read over it.

Hanna groaned, shrugging away from its calls. She believed she had better things to do than reading over its contents. Today happened to be the last day of the weekend for her, her last day of freedom. By the time the sun slipped past the horizon, Monday would arrive. She clenched her jaw, disappointed by the passing weekend. Hanna couldn't figure out if she hated the weekends or weekdays more. Both brought her some sort of pain. Every day of her week felt meaningless, almost as if the days dragged Hanna along, forcing her to continue.

Hanna continued to rock in her rocking chair, absorbing the beauty of the outdoors. She soaked up the beauty she could never possess, enjoying the world move on without her. She stared at the breezes blowing past the sturdy oak tree outside her apartment. Hanna only wished to stand as tall as the tree outside her door. She wanted to stand tall and mighty. If only she could. The small gusts and breezes of life blew her away like the petals of a dying dandelion in some ways. As soon as a light gust blew her over, Hanna fluttered away. Except, unlike a dandelion, she wasn't reborn.

Hanna's soul would only fall to the ground to be tainted by the dirt.

Hanna blinked, letting out a prolonged sigh. The sun rose to its topmost position as Hanna rocked in her chair. She swayed back and forth for hours, having nothing better to do. It wasn't that Hanna had nothing to do. She had enough papers to fill out and housework to complete, but she simply couldn't do her work. Mustering the courage and the strength to complete the daily tasks was much harder than the jobs themselves.

Hanna's glance shifted around the room, eventually falling upon the card she had overlooked. Even if she didn't want to take a look at it, something inside her told her to. Her heart begged for Hanna to scan over it. She stifled a groan, knowing she had nothing better to do.

Hanna's rocking chair creaked as she got up from it, an annoying noise escaping the chair she loved. Hanna held back her frown, making her way towards the small wooden table that happened to be similar to her. In fact, the wooden table was just like Hanna. Its wooden frame over time had scratches and cracks etching over the once magnificent structure. Its beauty had faded over time with its scars.

Hanna pressed her lips together, picking up the crinkled card. She held it in her hands for a few seconds, observing it. As she read over the card, Hanna's eyes fell upon the name of the studio. She had encountered it a dozen times before. The studio was near her apartment, no more than a fifteen-minute walk.

Hanna stood in silence. She didn't move as she read over the card once more.

"Hanna." The card spoke to her, "It's not like you're going to dance. What's the harm in visiting?"

The card mocked her. It pushed at her buttons, making her fears come to life. Hanna couldn't go to a dance studio and dance. She had given up on that ages ago. She quit after being deemed a failure. The last thing Hanna needed to see was watching others master something she loved to do: dancing.

The card snickered at her, "What would Derrick and Roy think about you?"

Hanna pursed her lips, fear rising within her. They would think of her as a failure, wouldn't they? They would see Hanna's true colors, the shades she tried so hard to hide from them. She held her breath, her heart slamming into her chest at the thought of them hating her already. Hanna didn't want to go, but she had to. She couldn't show anyone who she really was. Hanna needed to bury her real self from plain sight.