Dance

This is for one of you who assured me that I should keep on writing stories. (Thank you for believing)

Dance

Lydia could feel the frustration building up within her. She could not understand why Mrs. Peterson was not paying attention to her. Was she not the star of the show? Within months of her joining the little ballet troupe, she has outshone and outperformed everyone else.

Unconsciously, she pouted as she watched the grey-haired instructor talking animatedly to a smaller girl who was looking very earnest. Mousy Melody. Lydia had wondered why this awkward, gangly and shy girl was part of the company in the first place. It had been so obvious to Lydia that Melody was a misfit. Not only did she not have the lithe bearings of a ballerina, she was the clumsiest person she had ever met.

Lydia had never really noticed Melody’s presence. The girl, for obvious reasons, always stood at the back of the class. While everyone flexed their limbs and warmed up, Melody sat and watched; her eyes big with wonder. When they pirouetted and went through the various movements, the girl would have her hands firmly fixed to the floor, and closed her eyes.

Everything about that girl screamed wrong. While the other young ladies spoke in low gracious tones, only once did Lydia hear a low guttural laugh coming from Melody. Lydia was repulsed for what followed after that sounded very much like the slurred speech of a drunken man. Yet the others had gravitated towards her, and often, Lydia would see people standing very close to Melody, speaking directly to her face.

Melody – what a cruel joke. To be christened as such, and yet without an ounce of rhythm and grace in her. Lydia turned away. She had better get back to practicing for her solo. She imagined herself on centre stage; with the spotlights following her.

“The best dancer amongst you,” Mrs. Peterson interrupted Lydia’s reverie. “…is not the one who is the most skilful, nor the prettiest, nor the most agile. It starts with a passion from your heart, and when you dance, you do not perform, you become one with the music. So find your soul. Today, someone wants to try. Melody, take your place.”

Lydia smirked. She thought she was going to enjoy this show. Hesitantly, Melody took to the dance floor the others had cleared for her. She looked very nervous. She faltered at first, her movements disjointed. Lydia felt it was even too embarrassing to watch. Then Melody took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and began gliding around.

A hush fell over the room. It was eerie. There were no concertos, no beats; no sounds. Yet the transformation came before Lydia eyes, a nimble nymph with wings on her feet. Melody was not necessarily a ballerina, but she swayed as if her body and soul were one with the music – a music that was not there. Her moves were one with her emotions, and she was compelling to watch.

She fell to her knees when she ended, and opened her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. “I danced,” she said, softly. “I can.” It was a moment of triumph.

It was only when the applause died down that Lydia finally made the connection. It all made sense now. She bowed her head in shame as she felt that she has been taught the most humbling dance lesson ever. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Mrs. Peterson leaned to whisper in her ear.

“You know now, don’t you? You see, Melody is deaf. But it does not mean she cannot hear the music. She shuts her eyes and imagines herself in that world of sound, and her body responds accordingly. She thinks she dances in her dreams, and today, she showed that in reality, it can be done. We, who can see and hear, must find ourselves from within. Dance from your heart. You will be great one day.”