You Dance

Your chin tilts as your body sinks into itself. Your arms fall to your sides as your knees bend and your chest lifts. You face me with your open palms and your taut back and your turned out knees. My voice raises your arms above your head. My touch opens your legs. One knee straightens as the other bends. I am inside you. Your body balances under me and over me. I push you. You turn into me.

An extended breath. I am behind you. Your back bends, and I am holding your waist, tracing your arm’s extension. Your breath catches as I lift you. You will not move away from me. You cannot. Lightly, harshly, sensually: your body pulses against me.

A painting exists by the colors on the canvas. You exist by the lilt of me.

Awesome Things #3-6

How many days since I’ve posted my first two awesome things? I’m not sure, but here it is, 11:30pm, and I’m ready to list more awesome things.

3. Going to bed before morning: The time is 11:30pm, and I plan to be in bed within the hour!

4. Leftovers: I ate (that should be read as “inhaled”) some wonderful–no, awesome–leftovers from yesterday’s trip to Tokyo Japanese Steak House. This means: no cooking, minimal cleaning, yummy food. All these things are especially good when one does not leave the dance studio until 9:52pm.

5. A full barre: I have twice the number of Primary 4 dancers this year. I think I may even need to get my first demonstrator for this class. All these chatty little girls are wonderful–I mean awesome, talented, and take up the full length of the ballet barre!

6. Vladimir: Last year, my white-knuckled Intermediate 3 dancers grasped onto the barre too tightly one day, provoking me into lecture them about pas de deux courtesies and how to treat the ballet barre as a partner.  Since then, we have taken to calling the barre in my studio “Vladimir.”  I think it is quite the fitting name for him.  I enjoy personifying a wooden pole.

In other news, I must confess that I have not yet checked to see what other awesome things are being listed on the 1,000 Awesome Things blog. Perhaps my emo tendencies are once again over-powering me. Perhaps I would be more likely to read the aforementioned blog if it were listed on my blog roll. Perhaps the fact that I started a new dance company, planned my parents’ anniversary dinner, and start teaching at a new school this week have prevented me from indulging in that twice-aforementioned blog.

I also just read fmylife… though I don’t “f” my life 🙂

Peanut Butter Sandwiches

Francis just didn’t get it. Spank, drop, step. “Three steps!” I wanted to scream. “How can you *not* get this?” For three months, she just didn’t get it. This eighteen-year-old senior could solve Trig problems, but she couldn’t will her body to repeat three dance steps.

The steps kept evolving. I tried every metaphor and trick I could muster. These aren’t drawbacks. This is a passe that you fall out of. These aren’t drawbacks. This is walking backwards. These aren’t drawbacks. This is scooping peanut butter, closing the lid, putting away the jar. No matter the metaphor, no matter the number of demonstrations, no matter the number of repetitions: Francis would make three steps that never equaled spank, drop, step.

In Modern, the problem wasn’t three steps. The problem was five seconds. Miss Sarah said those five seconds took thirty minutes–thirty unsuccessful minutes.

We stood and vented and worried and compared stories as Terri listened. Terri doesn’t know a plie from a brise’. Terri has never worn ballet shoes, tap shoes, or tights. Terri has never danced across the studio. I don’t know that Terri’s ever walked the entire length of the studio. There are tens of steps on the marley floor where Terri’s feet have never walked. Terri is the reason Francis is making peanut butter sandwiches in tap class.

Today, Francis did not walk into my studio.  She danced into my studio.  Five steps.  She kept repeating five, not-quite-perfect Modern steps.  I could not say for sure, but perhaps Miss Sarah’s five seconds were composed of the five steps I saw Francis dancing.

Thirty minutes later, we reached drawback practice.  Every other student quickly beat out the rhythm of those three steps.  Francis stood next to the ballet barre.  Though everyone else could both complete the steps and balance without aid, she held the barre with her left hand, rose onto the balls of her feet, and lifted her right foot off the floor.  Spank.  Her right foot brushed back against the floor toward her left ankle.  Drop.  Her left heel dropped to the marley floor.  Step.  Her right foot, having been balanced in the air for the duration of one tap step, stepped decidedly to the floor.

I completely erupted into an applause.  After three months of working, Francis completed a drawback on the first try.

But she didn’t stop there.

Every three steps composed a drawback.   Every three steps across a thirty foot studio.  Francis must have completed fifteen drawbacks!

Within five minutes, my three-months-behind student had not only conquered her nemesis-of-a-step, but she was completing a more complicated form of the step.  Every other student had already learned Cincinnaties.  Not three steps, but five: I likened Cincinnaties to making a peanut butter sandwich.  Scoop the peanut butter; close the lid; spread the peanut butter; close the sandwich; take it to the table.

Today, three months of work and years of my on training were left wanting in the face of one woman’s single prayer, and Francis is making peanut butter sandwiches in tap class!

What Shall We Grow Today?

“Alright, my little ballerinas, arms en haut!”

10 leather soles press their share of 4-year-old weight into the wooden floor.  Each dancer holds her arms en haut–arms up and rounded, some more than technique allows. Then, as soon as those 5 sets of feet reach their favorite color dots on the floor, little bottoms jump down to replace their feet.  A quick prayer time begins class.  I pray, “Dear Jesus, thank you for the cold weather outside and the leaves falling.  We pray that you would keep us warm so we can dance for you.  I thank you so much for Megan and Emily and Kaitlyn and Abi and Sophia, Jesus.  I know you love them very much. Amen.”

In my head, I add, “please let Emily talk, let Abi not cry, let Sophia skip well, let Megan listen, let Kaitlyn get 3rd position, and let me find gas on the way home.”

The pink leotards sit quietly, feet pressed together, knees out while I start the music. Lisa Harris’ rendition of “I Dreamed a Dream” floats through the classroom, while my girls describe their butterflies to me.  Our knees beat the air–up and down–as we list all the colors and stickers that decorate our leg-butterflies.  Everyone’s butterfly is pink.  Sophia’s has sparkles.  Kaitlyn’s has glitter.  Megan’s has hearts.  Abi’s has purple along with the pink, and Emily’s has sparkles, glitter, hearts, Christmas trees, flowers, a rainbow, and bows.  One prayer answered, maybe a little too well.

We tell our butterflies, “hello.”  The butterflies love the cold weather and at least our bug creations are ready for ballet class today.  Now, no one can have butterflies without also planting a garden.  So we stretch our hamstrings while planting a lovely garden of…

This is the most controversial part of class.  Will we plant carrots and apples or roses and daisies?  Pale pink tights stretch toward the mirror, peachy-leather toes and pink nails point at me.  We will dig between our ankles and make a hole, plant a pretend seed, let our fingers sprinkle rain as they reach from heaven to our pretend dirt ankles.  The wind will blow as our backs twist from side to side.  Then, we’ll find our arms in that perfect en haut position as the sun shines so our plants will grow.  But first, we have the most important question of class.  Butterfly colors are important, for sure, but we always know that our butterflies will be some variation of pink.  This decision requires team-work and careful thought.  For this moment, my empty gas tank, my sister’s new boyfriend, my mad-dash to get home in time for trivia night, those don’t matter.  For now, the only decision that has to be made isn’t even mine to make.  For now I just offer, “what shall we grow today?”