Picture Window
Anna was folding laundry in the living room. Her ailing mother was sitting in her armchair nearby looking out the picture window. She turned toward her daughter with soft, searching eyes, "Would you like to be a ballerina, Anna?"
An Open Door
Among her mother's important papers Anna found a program for a ballet recital from forty years ago. As she read the faded blue lettering, Anna glimpsed a girl slipping inside the school auditorium through an open door to watch the recital, her eyes full of wonder at the sequined never-never land that was a universe away from her own world.
Relevé
Anna's first ballet lesson was not a success. She always seemed to be two steps behind the other students, all of whom were young and experienced dancers. The look on her teacher Gerard's face as he watched her struggling body confirmed her own opinion of herself, "What on earth could be done with this middle-aged, awkward woman?"
"I can teach you technique but not the passion you need to persevere as a dancer. That must come from within you," pronounced Gerard at the beginning of the class's fourth lesson. Anna still struggled with many of the steps, but noticed her body was more flexible, her movements smoother. Her embarrassment tempered by pleasure, she liked the way her body felt when she danced.
Anna began arriving at the studio with its mirrored walls an hour early to practice. By her tenth lesson, she had lost eight pounds. Her movements were more fluent and controlled. And she could kick her legs as high as the other dancers.
"Your relevé is almost perfect, Anna," remarked Gerard on the morning of her eighteenth lesson. "Don't forget to lift your chin." Anna raised her chin and smiled. The girl at the recital, the girl she once had been, was looking back at her, her eyes full of wonder.