I Wait In The Box

• Amy Roff, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2013

The darkness stares at me. Solid as a brick wall. The anticipation keeps my eyes bright, and not dimmed from the curtain of black that holds me still. I can tell it won’t be long until she comes and I can begin. I’ve done this before. This will roughly be my 14467th show. And every single performance she’s there, often with a friend or her mother. It’s her smile that keeps me dancing. Often I have long breaks in between shows, and other times I’ve danced 3 or more shows, one after another. However tiring, as the professionals say, the show must go on! I glance down at my costumes. Shoes tied correctly, check. The last thing I’d want to do is fall over in my point shows and break my ankle. Tutu fitted properly, check. Leotard comfortable, check. I move my hands up to my hair, and ensure the tight bun sits perfectly on the peak of my head. No ballerina performs with loose hair. The orchestra begins tune slowly. I quickly take my place knowing the show will start in only seconds. I scramble to my starting position, kneeling down, my hand gracefully folded on the floor.
The music crescendos’ into a slow tune as the lights flash across my face like a speeded up sunrise, blinding me for only a second. The adrenaline powers through me, and brightens my pink cheeks. I rise suddenly; my arms flow above my head, propelling my body into a soft twirl. My leg rises and gently angles outward, steadying my continuing twirl.
She sits at the dresser, her head resting on her folding arms, watching me with a sweet innocent smile, just as her mother used to, and hopefully her daughter will too. I dance, and spin, and twirl for her, enjoying this blissful moment. Because dancing for her is what I am meant to do. As the key ceases it’s slow wind, the music decrescendos’ into a calm silence, and my twirling stops. I stay completely frozen, enjoying the last moment of the performance, my face beaming.
She sighs, and gently closes the lid of the box. I heard the latch snap back into place, as I am plunged back into darkness. When I am sure she has left the room, and the silent blackness echoes once more, I rise and take my bow. No applause. Yet a standing ovation would not replace the value of one smile. I settle happily into the darkness. Waiting for her to open the box again. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. But I will be ready to twirl, and to see her smile.