Last week, I saw her, flitting across the windows of the grocery store, spinning and leaping like a delighted gazelle as I pushed my cart. She flew down the aisles, and when I drove home, I saw her again, she jete'd along the electrical wires. She flitted from one tree to another and I remembered this was me, three and a half decades ago. Today, the shadow of me followed, showing off moves I never did then, and asking, "Why haven't you kept me closer?"
I wondered, why are you showing up now? I unloaded the groceries but turned on the radio. It was hard not to join her as one of my favorite songs played.
I thought of the instructor, Ms. B. She always came to class, perfect makeup, tall and stretched with a neck like a swan. She made all of us feel as if the Queen would be showing up any minute, and be disappointed if our tummies weren't "pulled in, shoulders back, derrieres tucked under and chins high, faces turned with eyes smiling."
As we grew older, she still demanded that same pose when class would start. Just thinking about her, I found myself pulling into position and tsking, I'd learned to slouch in her absence. My dancer self looked taller. She was. I pulled up even tighter. I could hear, "Much better." Mission accomplished, my dream self curtsied and faded. I worked on posture the rest of the day.
My own interests in dance turned more to jazz than ballet, but I never forgot her lessons even if I failed to practice them.
Facebook informed me today that my teacher passed away. Part of what made Beaumont Beaumont, isn't there anymore and I am very sorry; she will be missed.
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