The Dancer

1

"Dégagé," Miss Debbie called. I didn't dare pull my gray eyes from my reflection.

My image in the mirror shook as fighter jets roared over the studio, off to defend our country from the ever growing tense "conflict." The government refused to put the title of war on what was happening even though most of America agreed that we were on the brink of disaster.

"Alright ladies. Holland, will you stay behind for a moment?" Miss Debbie requested. I nodded as I stepped away from the tan barre.

I watched the other girls change their shoes and waved goodbye. They were mostly new women. All the others either left the country or just dropped the class because they were afraid to be so close to a marine base.

Miss Debbie approached me. A light smile played on her weathered lips, exaggerating the lines around her eyes. She laced her thin fingers in front of her black tight-clad thighs.

"So, what do you think of the class?" She asked.

"I think they'll be good," I answered honestly. "They're energetic."

A breathy laugh escaped from her. "I think you're right. Anyway, I have a question for you," she started. "Are you still looking for a job?"

I nodded as I unwrapped the ribbon around my ankles. "It's kinda hard to find something that works with this."

"Since you've been dancing with me so long, I thought you might be interested in teaching a little. What do you think?"

I couldn't stop the cheek splitting smile that took over. I strived to make ballet my career, but my father's illness prevented me from going to school.

"Are you serious? I would love to!"

"I'm glad you said that. They need someone with clearance," she warned.

My eyes scrunched together. "You want me to teach on base?"

"Well, you already have clearance and I thought you might enjoy starting off with just one girl."

I nodded slowly. I was disappointed that it wasn't a real class, but I couldn't really complain. I had to start somewhere.

"Okay. Who is she?"

"The girl's name is Katerina. She and her father speak very little English, but she understands most of it."

"Yeah, okay. When do I start?"

"Well, if you're not doing anything tonight I can give her father a call. See if he wants to meet you first."

"Yeah, that's fine. Carol's home anyway."

I dropped my attention to my dance bag as Miss Debbie left the room. My shoes were weathered and worn; it was time to get a new pair. If the job worked out, I could finally get some.

I checked my phone. Every time I checked it, a small pulse of fear coursed through me. I wondered if I would find the call that told me my father finally passed away. I knew it was coming-- and soon -- but that didn't make it any easier. He had been sick for a long time, as long as I could remember, and I knew he was in pain every day. Even his medication started to fail him.

I tossed my phone back in my bag and stood up to stretch out. Miss Debbie walked back into the room with a phone pressed to her ear, lower lip tucked into her teeth as she smiled. Her eyes danced with flirtation as the person on the other end spoke.

"Of course, Mr. Cuza. She'll be there," her voice light and airy.

She pulled the phone from her ear and stared down at it as she ended the call. A light smile stayed on her lips as she glanced up at me.