As I’m on my own and far from home, I’m free to take on challenges that, honestly, I probably wouldn’t dare if I had a life based in one geographical location. Out here, the consequences of failure are low.
I’m about three miles from the necessary things in life: Walmart, Starbucks, a hospital. On that three mile drive, just before the open fields that showcase the sunset, is a small strip of shops. In that strip is a dance studio called Theatre Dance Academy.
I’m not a dancer. I’m barely coordinated enough for step aerobics sequences. But when I was small, my parents drove me into town many times so I could dance with my church group. Someone anonymously provided me a pair of shoes: I still remember that trip to Buster Brown’s to fit my shoes and proudly making all my friends admire them at my birthday party. I wore the little white leather slippers and practiced every chance I got.
Later, long after I’d outgrown those shoes, I sewed together an enormous length of yellow fabric into a circle skirt. A self-conscious preteen, I twirled magical midsummer afternoons away to Enya’s Shepherd Moons while my family played outside.
So the little dance studio drew me. Why not? I went inside on pretense of castle business. Inside, preteen girls in leotards and white tights fluttered around. At the little front desk, a reed-thin brunette with kind, soft brown eyes smiled at me. Her name was Sarah and when I asked for prices she unfolded from behind the desk and ran lightly for a pamphlet. She was wearing gym shorts, white tights and worn leather slippers.
I committed to an intermediate class on Monday night, then bought white leather dance slippers at Shreveport Gymnastics. “Are you like a dancer or something?” frankly asked the associate helping me fit my shoes, and I chuckled. Not really, but why not get the shoes?
Tonight I showed up early for Sarah to inspect my shoes, which suddenly felt silly and much too large. “They’re fine!” she encouraged me. She was tired from being at work since 4:45 a.m. but still had a loving aura.
Class started! Everyone in my class was between twelve and fourteen. They were unfazed by my presence and chattered amongst themselves as class started. They were all preparing for the Royal Academy Dance Exams. To my delight, I could keep up with about three-quarters of the exercises! Then they got too difficult, and I was a supportive audience member as the girls practiced their dance for the March exams.
We filed out of the dance room, tired and happy. Across the way another class started. “Emily!” I asked the studio owner, who was walking by. “Is that the modern dance class?”
Emily shrugged. “She was with Cirque du Soleil,” she smiled. Emily has a halo of blonde curls and stands 5’2″. “Sometimes it’s a very traditional ballet; sometimes she mixes it up.”
I stood and watched, putting my street shoes back on slowly. This was a more advanced class with older students. I could see their passion for dance, and was glad I joined in tonight; I was glad I took this dare. They were dancing to an old song from the eighties…
and all my instincts, they return
and the grand facade, so soon will burn
without a noise, without my pride
i reach out from the inside
– The Dauntless Princess –