Whether or not this is a picture related to dancing is debatable. See, I coudln't think of anything. At all. And then, since, being the nerd I am, I spent the whole weekend learning to write in Elvish, I thought, "I'll write 'dance' in Elvish and take a picture of that. Unfortunately, said pictures were blurry due to a bad DOF. This was a test picture I took of another random word. It doesn't say anything related to dancing. It's my friend's name. But it's the thought that counts, I guess...
She steps out, small, cubby legs shaking, to face her audience. So many faces, blurring together as they stare back at her. Her eyes scan the crowd for her parents, but it is just a mush. Mush, like the oatmeal she flattens with her spoon. Like the mud her brother tracked in on his boots. Mush, meaningless.
But their eyes. Their eyes are staring at her, all those pairs of eyes making her cringe. And then the disembodied music starts, coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. Her fellows begin skipping around in lines, as per instruction, but all she can do is look.
Where are her parents?
“Move,” one girl whispers as she passes her. “Remember what Meg said.”
Right.
Her arms flap arnound her sides as she too skips. As she does the twirls and leaps that are required, mimicking the others’ clumsy attempts.
But she is staring at the faces.
And the dance carries her away, a dozen awkward bodies in a line, skipping and hoping and flapping their arms like birds. In their tutus, the tutus that made them feel grown up. Pretty pink tutus that fly around hem like feathers. Her mother had taken pictures of her as she left.
Where was she? Her mommy had promised to get off work, promised to come, so why wasn’t she there? She bites her lip.
Spin.
Shake left foot. (Left with the L hand.)
Attempt of half-pirouette.
Where are you Mommy?
Eyes on the crowd.
The music picked up tempo, then started to slow. Started to get quieter, and this is the part where they are supposed to go back to a straight line. And she runs towards it, spreading her arms (like a little bird, like they’re wings, like they can let you fly) and stands.
That’s when she sees the familiar glasses near the back row. The smile that greets her in the morning. And now she feels that she can dance, that she can concentrate on what she is supposed to do. But by then they are taking their bows, and the moments are gone.
