Larceny

37

E

"You think you're ready to do this one with music?" I ask Bruno while I gather my hair up into a ponytail once more and pin back my flyaways. I wait a few moments but he doesn't answer. Instead he travels in a circle going over the moves I taught him weeks ago as though he didn't hear me at all. I start to ask again but I refrain from speaking and allow him to repeat the steps a few more times.

I take a seat in my desk chair and watch him. His feet move in concert with the counts he mouths under his breath. Moving quickly, they conduct his hips to move in a smooth motion that leads him through every step. His arms change positions great time and move with a certain definition and precision I've see in male dancers of my caliber in rehearsals. He stands with confidence almost, a strain of pride that I have seen on the pro competition stages. His chest is held out, shoulders spread head straight; perfect posture. He retraces his steps once more then opens his eyes.

"Let's do it."

I hit play and we assume the regular position: his right hand just beneath my left shoulder-blade, my left on his right shoulder and my right in his. The music starts and we fly into the steps, traveling across the floor in record time, light and graceful on our feet with energy driving us though each step. He leads me across the floor with near ease, re-introducing me to each step all over again from his point of view.

He leads me across the floor with quick steps; quick glances into each other's eyes at each pause and when we separate for our own moves I can feel his eyes on me awaiting the time for is to come back together.

We finish in silence, face to face and chest to chest. His left hand just below my shoulder blades and the other holding my hand. The vein on his neck pulsates and my heart pounds as the two of us breathe heavily on each other's faces. He doesn't move, nor does he let go and we remain together drenched in the silvery white moonlight that pours from the large window along the right wall. My stomach rises like the it would on a roller-coaster as my heart continues its rapid beating. I try catching my breath but it doesn't seam to want to return to my lungs. My body beings to feel heavy and my vision begins to go in and out of focus. I blink a few times in attempt to clear it but when I open my eyes again all the color has been drained from my vision that is now beginning to blur around the edges. I feel my knees buckle and my hand in his becomes limp and heavy. My weight suddenly drops. Bruno catches me. My eyes flutter and I catch a glimpse of his dark brown ones. They look worried and flustered but his face remains calm. I think I'm rubbing off on him.

"I got you."Everything around me fades from grey to black. When I open my eyes, I am sitting at my desk with some assistance from Bruno who stands beside me. He hands me a bottle of water and I slowly drink the entire bottle. He hands me another.

"How do you feel?" he asks leaning down to me, not too close but not too far away. I set the bottle down and put my hands in my lap; he puts one of his hands over mine and squeezes them lightly. My face starts to feel hot as do my hands.

"I'm alright," taking my hands from beneath his. He moves in close and puts the back of his hand to my forehead.

"I don't think you have a fever or anything, you we're probably just dehydrated." He leans away from me and hands me the bottle of water again. "I think we can cut the lesson short today. Keep drinking water." He sits down on the floor and has a drink of water.

"Thank you," I say. Soon I begin to nod off.In my mind's eyes I see my nine year-old self standing in the auditorium of my elementary school, Elaine Mayweather's Academy for Gifted Children. I stand among the other children wearing my standard ballet outfit; white ballet flats, pink tights, a black leotard and my hair is up in a perfect bun. Standing a few feet in front of me is a boy no older than ten. He wears a pair of black converse, jeans and a white tee shirt. His skin holds a tanned completion and his head is covered in a mass of curls, cut just short enough to stay tamed. A pair of drumsticks sit in his left back pocket.