Dancer Archive
Thread: Ode To A Dancer
I didn't write it. But the sentiment is sweet and succint in describing why I love my chosen profession.
*****
She once was young and beautiful. Slim with long, luxurious hair and painted nails. Her face glowed with a dusting of makeup and a touch of glitter. Her smile was brilliant and real, always reaching her eyes. Her dress caught the light and threw sparkles in return. Her skirt billowed and flowed behind her. A light breeze ruffled the hairs on the audience's foreheads, leaving in its wake a hint of sweet perfume. She glided across the floor, even floated, some would say. The music swept her up and its notes carried her through twists and turns that made hearts melt and tears fall. Breathlessly, she danced toward the highlight of her day: the Championship.
Long gone is the music. But the heart still melts and the tears still fall, coming unbidden in spurts and starts. Now, the scales groan in protest any time she takes the second foot position upon them. She looks in the mirror and sees a monster with ragged nails and limp, unkempt hair. Her face is aged and pale, her lips chapped. She lumbers around popping and creaking, moaning and groaning. Her slippers dangle dangerously from her feet, threatening to fly off with every step she takes. She pauses for just a moment to hitch at the waist of her stained, baggy sweatpants on her way toward the highlight of her day: checking the mail.
But we see her in a different light. We remember her grace and beauty. We remember the sweet smile that brightened our day and warmed our hearts. We remember that she was always willing to stop and say hello, to speak a word of encouragement on our own struggle to victory. We remember how she came down to the ballroom, sleepy eyed and grasping a cup of coffee. How she cheered for us, the beginners, when she could have been in her room sleeping. We remember how she hugged us when we lost and jumped up and down with us when we won. We remember how she was honest in her critique and willing to show us how to fix it.
If she could only see, when she looks in the mirror, what we see, she would know that she is not that monster on the way to the mailbox. She is kind and giving, honest and encouraging, loving and beautiful. True, her dancing won our hearts. But it was her heart that won the dance.
--Rea Kelsie Fielden