pas de deux - josh kiszka

chapter four- new space

one month and twenty-eight days until opening night

The bus steps never changed. Not once in the six months I had been a part of the Nashville Ballet had a speck of dust and dirt been moved. It was as if time stood still every breathing morning.

Sluggish, I boarded the bus and began to make my way down the aisle. Glancing from seat to seat, searching for an empty, or ideal spot.

The same business man, the same old woman, and Josh sat scattered throughout the seats. He met my eyes and smiled in recognition. His eyes were round as any circle, and found warmth in every light. His skin basked in the early morning twilight; blue and gold cascaded against his features.

I wasn't so entranced that morning, as I had been the previous day, and I walked past him, smiling in observance of his own grin. I sat down behind him, head swimming with the Pas de Trois choreography and memories of the whirlwind pirouettes I couldn't manage to complete.

The outside world blurred through the bus window, one blink and we were another block past the other. Another blink, another block. Until we reached our stop. Josh stood up and grabbed his bag, walking off with a nodding smile. I followed quickly, and found myself tailing him into the building.

As we approached the studio doors, he turned to open them for me.

"My lady..." He winked at me. I let a smile slip out and I thanked him before making my way into the room.

During rehearsals that day, we began the Dance of the Little Swans. I stood in front of Paul with the other three "little swans."

"Little swans..." He addressed us with a grandiose tone. "Let's get started."

He began to point out in which order we'd be in, and where to start. We scattered to our spots and watched him as he continued his instruction.

We began the cou-de-pie's, followed by the sissons. As we held each others hands, I breathed. In, and out. In, and out. Slowly. Breathe.

I settled into a groove the more we moved around the room and I was filled with sweet hope. There was a chance I could go above and beyond. I was capable.

It wasn't as if I thought I was unskilled, untalented. But, the pressures of impressing Paul, impressing the rest of the company... proving to everyone that I was worthy of all these opportunities being given to me... they weighed on my body like wet clothes.

There were times where I could forget the heaviness, and those were the times I was my best. When I could float across the room, whipping my arms around, leaping, swimming beyond any semblance of simple movement. Those times I was full of breath.

"Okay girls, fondue! Changement, changement, échappée!" Clap.

"Eschappée!" Clap.

"Eschappée!" Clap.

My body bounced up, then down, then up again, and down once more. And each time I rose closer to God.

My ascent up Jacob's Ladder was cut short, though. My legs, try as they might, couldn't keep up, I was stumbling over the other dancers in an attempt to make it to the sisson at the same time as everyone else. A bumbling fool. My groove fell apart, and I felt the threads that held me together unravel.

"Stop. Stop!" Paul called from the other side of the room. He walked towards me, frowning. Fuck.

"What is this? What is going on." He stared through my eyes and out the back of my head.

"I-I'm sorry I'm having an off day." I mumbled. "Please, I'll do better next time."

He shook his head and sighed.