pas de deux - josh kiszka

chapter three - heavenmetal.

one month and twenty-nine days until opening night

I breathed the crisp morning air as I waited for the bus to arrive. A warmth in my chest radiated through my lungs, down into my chest, my legs. An itching to get "this" over and done with. "This" was just the first day of rehearsals.

Attempting to regulate my actual body temperature, I bobbed and bounced my knees to get warm.

Jitters. That's what this terribly uncomfortable, itching feeling was. I turned my head towards the end of the road, and saw the bus chugging its way to me. I picked up my bag, got my bus pass out and stood dutifully on the curb.

Jittery, I stepped onto the bus and looked down the aisle, perusing the worn out seats for the day. There weren't many people on the bus at this hour; a man in a suit, presumably on his way to work, an old woman staring out the window as if she was waiting for something, a boy, maybe my age, with a big head of hair. My eyes stopped at the boy.

I know him... from where? It doesn't matter. Choose a damn seat.

Mentally, I shook the mystery from my mind and began to walk down the aisle. As I approached where the boy was sitting, he looked up, and some level of recognition fell upon his face. I looked down next to him and saw a dance bag.

Oh. Right.

I was still new to the company even when I was promoted to soloist. I hadn't made many connections, and since the company was so large, I didn't know everyone. I certainly should've known him, though, seeing as though he's also a soloist.

Silently, our stares met in the middle, then broke as I walked past and sat behind him a few rows back.

I've never seen him on this bus before. Or.. have I? I haven't lived in this area very long either. I was new to the routes.

Maybe the routes changed? I thought, resting my head against the window of the bus.

Staring out the window, my breath created clouds on the laminated glass.

In and out. Slowly. Breathe.

Cloud.

In and out. Slowly. Breathe.

Cloud.

I was broken from my trance by a nasty pothole. The bus was nearing my stop, and as much as I wanted to close my eyes and dream of dancing in the clouds, the coffee I had chugged before I left kept my eyes open.

The bus croaked to a halt and we arrived at my stop. I grabbed my dance bag and trotted off the bus, thanking the driver. The wind was slightly less chilly now that it was later in the morning. The trees were whistling around the Nashville Ballet's building. Morning birds chirped and wailed around me and for just a moment... morning bliss.

I made my way into the building and into the studio, getting my shoes on and stretching before we warmed up. I found myself making note of the other soloists I recognized around the room.

Shana. I knew her already. Ingrid. Knew her. Matthew. Only met him a few times, but he was recognizable. And the boy with the big head of hair.

Now that he was inside the building, he had put on a sweatband to rein in his curls. I admired the winding turns his curls made. Dipping in and out from behind one another, framing his cheekbones. He was a sight to see.

It seemed that this boy and his hair had put me in a trance too, and I was interrupted by Paul beginning to lead us through warm ups.

They went smoothly enough, only one correction from Paul on my alignment. But, truly, I was distracted. The coffee was running through me with no conviction, I couldn't stop thinking about the Pas de Trois rehearsal later that day, and fuck!