So She Dances NOW AVAILABLE ON AMAZON

The End is A New Beginning

I take a deep breath before getting started to clear my mind, knowing that I need to work on my depiction of torment in this scene. I have all the steps but need to show Giselle's madness better.

Ridding my mind of all thoughts, I stretch my body against the barre. As I warm up, only the image of a flawless performance is allowed in. I have to nail this because it's a crucial part of the story.

I must be perfect.

Closing my eyes, I allow the music to fill my ears, letting it take control and guide my motions as I work through the choreography. I allow the music and my body to become one, the melody making every big and tiny movement flawless, all the way to the stretching of my fingertips.

Mid spin, I realize that I need to let my hair down. It should be dancing for this scene too. Many great ballerinas have used their hair to exhibit Giselle's madness.

I made a note to talk about that later with Madame.

I finish out the scene as the room begins to fill and my daily routine continues.

1,2,3.

I like to count to three. And no, it's not the ballroom kind, but a calculated repetition. On this rubber floor, it is my fuel and I use it to my advantage.

My palm hits the door to leave and I inconspicuously tap it with one finger before opening it.

1,2,3

A bench I pass by every day comes into view and I lightly knock my knuckles on it.

1,2,3.

I am the creature of habit.

Sighing, I wipe the sweat off my brow and finish the last class of the day. Sometimes it's like I'm repeating the same day over and over again, like Groundhog Day. The only thing that shows me I'm not is how the performances change from Giselle to Swan Lake to The Nutcracker, etc.

The hallways are lively with chatter and gossip, but everyone stops and eyes me while whispering to one another as I walk by. Ballet can be very cutthroat, especially when you're the number one dancer.

I've heard the whispers. To some, I appear ungrateful because a way of showing your gratitude is to be prideful.

And I hate being prideful.

To others, I'm a weird combination of the tin man and cowardly lion, which is actually pretty accurate.

I'd love to go see the wizard and receive a heart and courage.

One ticket to OZ, please.

At the end of the hallway, Lucas is hovering over Clary with one arm above her head and his other pulls her in by her tiny waist, fusing their bodies intimately.

Light footsteps fall behind me as Lucas and Clary follow me into rehearsal. It seems like she's his new fling, poor girl. Clary is cute and very pixie-like, while I'm more of the plain, classical look. I follow each step with precision, whereas Clary feels the music, lets it drive her, and expose her passion. Unfortunately for her, the instructors care more for discipline, which is what she lacks. And that's why she's my understudy.

I love dancing, I love ballet, but I hate performing for an audience that expects perfection. If I miss a step or falter, I go home and have a hard time concentrating on anything but my mistakes.

Dancing for me is so much more than performing a story for the audience. It's about living in the moment, not being rewarded or applauded. It's about being free. When I'm alone with no one watching, that's exactly what I do, I dance freely. But when I'm performing... reality sinks in and I revert to the girl with a disorder. I have to look perfect because, well... I'm broken. My whole life has revolved around not letting people see that.