She danced around the atelier, turning her head to her shoulder so she could watched herself in the mirrors as she twirled and pirouetted. Her arms stretched out to her sides, curved as if holding onto a dance partner, she softly hummed along with the violins in Brahms’ waltz.
Head up, shoulders relaxed, posture held high, she performed every nuance of the dance exactly as Miss Nijinksy taught her. Her steps were so sure, so delicate she seemed to float across the parquet floor.
A coy smile trembled on her lips as she imagined her partner’s hand pressing into small of her back guiding her movements, and her hand resting gently on his shoulder. Cheek to cheek she knew he was smiling back at her. With her eyes closed, it was almost like he was there.
If only he could see how graceful and elegant she was, he would be sorry he didn’t ask her. Instead of being at the prom with her, he was lying in the corner of the ballet studio, slumped over like a marionette with broken strings.
He probably couldn’t dance a decent waltz anyway.