The Dancer

The room was always empty when I was there late. The barres were all packed away to the sides of the room. The speaker sat motionless, its cord snaking to the power point.

The lights were dim. Shadows haunted the corners of the room, and I sat down in the middle room to scratch at the bottom of my new pointe shoes with scissors. I butchered my shoes. I could see every jagged movement reflected in the large mirror along one wall and on the scrubbed floor. I wanted to scream; I don’t remember why.

I put the shoes on and I danced - if you can call it that.

The dance raged through me, throwing even more shadows into the darkness, sucking the life from the room. I watched myself in the mirror and saw myself fumble the steps. I saw myself slip from the music. I missed my counts, everything was off.

I paused at the end of the dance. I shook out my legs. I breathed the way that you’re meant to breathe. I held myself tall. Then I danced it again.

I don’t know what I had expected to be different. I was the same dancer, with the same music, the same routine, the same floor, the same shoes, the same everything. It was no different. I missed the same steps, I fell behind the music, I missed my counts.

Then I danced it again. And again. And again.

Growling to myself, pulling at my hair, I turned the music off. I shook my legs out again. They were hurting, cramping through my calves. I growled again and plopped down onto the floor. I stretched, I rubbed my legs, I should have given up.

I grumbled to myself. The voice in my head told me I can’t do anything, that I wasn’t pretty enough or a good dancer or a good person. My hair couldn’t even sit right.

As I continued to grumble to myself, I suddenly became aware that the music had started again. I paused for a moment and looked up towards the front of the room.

A cold sweat broke out on my skin and goosebumps stood on my arms. I could not believe what I was seeing. I wanted to blink but I could not take my eyes away. There I was in the mirror, standing tall in position to begin the routine. My reflection was waiting for the music to count. I must have been tired.

I blinked again and slowly got to my feet. My reflection stayed where she was. The room in the mirror cast delicate shadows over her face and she looked serene and beautiful.

Then, as I watched, she reached her count and began to dance. Her dance was elegant and beautiful, not a single step out of place. The lines of her legs were straight. Each move was strong and powerful, yet graceful and elegant. When she jumped, she seemed to hang for a moment in the air, suspended in time. The music flowed through her and she was lost to it.

I felt like a feeble audience member, in awe as the music spoke through her. My hands twitched and came together in front of me as if in prayer. My head swung back and forth as I followed her movements across the floor, this way and that. She devoured the space, commanding attention and adoration.

My eyes were moist and my vision blurry. This was the way I wanted to dance. My jaw went slack, my lips parted. Tears trickled down my cheeks.

Then the music came to a halt.

I watched the reflection finish her dance and she moved forward to the speaker in the corner to adjust the music. I moved with her, trying to mirror her movements. She bent down and changed back to the start of the music, then as she put her head back up to face the mirror, she gave me a friendly encouraging smile.

I gave her a watery smile in return. I was unsure. I was timid.

We both moved to the centre of the room and I tried to mirror her position, to adopt the same facial features, the same effortless posture. I rolled my shoulders. I could feel my imitation of her posture was near-exact. I did not wipe the tears from my cheeks. They were of joy, why waste them? I had never been as beautiful as I was in this reflection.

Then we began to dance.

My reflection and myself danced, in time with the music, in step with each other. Finally, every line was perfect. Finally, every movement was exact. Finally, I was dancing. I was a powerful force of regality and demure. I felt my facial expression settle into porcelain, hardening and focussing.

I stopped watching her halfway through. I knew we were one and the same. I knew we were reflected in each other. I felt it in my bones. The music consumed me and liberated me. I was floating through the steps.

The routine came to an end and my reflection and I smiled at each other. Then she moved to turn the music off and to take her phone and place it in her bag. I mirrored her, watching her movements again. Everything she did was so refined. I was mesmerised.

She threw me one more smile over her shoulder as we picked up our bags. But this one stopped me cold.

I remembered my shivers from before, the prick of my hair rising at the back of my neck and remembered suddenly that I should be scared. I should be terrified. My reflection is supposed to reflect me, not the other way around.

The unreality of the situation consumed me and I felt a lump rise up in my throat to choke me. I was breathing too heavy as I realised what had happened. I was hallucinating, surely. I had pushed myself too far. I felt myself pale.

I looked back at the reflection. Her smile was broad and defiant, twisting her face in an ugly manner. Her lips curled over devilish teeth. Her eyes were dark and taunting. I felt my breath catch in my throat. I stood frozen, watching in horror as she retreated from the room.

I pulled a breath into my lungs and picked up my bag. I pulled it over my shoulder and hastily made for the door.

Only, I couldn’t move beyond the mirror. I still can’t.