I Used To Be Quite The Dancer In My Day

• Kalani Herath, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2009

The colours in the world were brighter through my eyes, once in my life. Now I’m just a frail old woman, Lisa, at the age of sixty three, with nothing to do with my life but stay at home watching the time fly by, waiting for a tragic scene to take place and steal my life away. As much as I don’t want that to happen, I don’t have a choice, because I know it has to in order to discover inner peace. I don’t have a liking for life anymore. I didn’t really think about having children and my husband, Trevor had died many years ago.

When we were younger, we would dance. He gave me the rhythm in my feet, the directions in which way to go and the flow of my moves. The music was not needed when we were both dancing. My life had a silver lining, it was complete, and the pieces fit together perfectly without any gaps. Even the way my husband and I wound up together was memorable.

My husband and I were madly in love which had begun as teenagers at a school dance competition, which happened 46 years ago in a small country town in Australia. Our teacher had partnered us up, and for that I am very grateful. At first Miss Frills taught us the basics, until she taught us the complex moves in order to impress the world. Our first competition was stressful, but that’s how we grew closer. If the tears and the pain weren’t undertaken, our relationship wouldn’t be as strong as it was. On this note we had a fabulous wedding with the theme of dance. We won many competitions afterwards. We had a winning streak, and it seemed that we would never lose. For this many people envied us. We became famous for our dancing talent and we would travel the world. One place we didn’t go to was America.

As unusual as it seemed, this was the only place we hadn’t performed. After a few months, it was seen on the Television that there was a special program for the old and new dance talents. I was twenty five years of age and my husband had lived out twenty six years of his life. Many names were called out, and two of those names were Trevor and Lisa. Our dream had finally become a reality to us. Within seconds our suitcases were packed and we were ready to go to America. As excited as we were, none of us knew it was going to tear us apart. It was another dream fulfilled. The program was held in the finest restaurant in the country with the smoothest dance floor. We enjoyed the meals that were offered the many guests had suggested that my husband and I should dance.

My husband and I were dancing to a slow but melodic tune. This was the best dance in my life. He held me close with a sense of security for most of the night until he decided to spin me around. At that moment he was ambushed. He was shot in his back, a direct path to his heart, and the bullet moved in a split second, that I didn’t know what hit him. He was screaming with agonising pain. He was calling out my name for assistance but I was too busy noticing the scrape on my arm from the bullet. Once I allowed myself to hear his deafening cry for help, I collapsed on him wrapping my arms around his blood soaked shirt and I just observed his pain. I didn’t even consider what he said. We had reassured each other that when we departed this world, it would be in the grasp of each other’s arms, and I never intended it to happen this way. The hobby that brought me so much joy had now brought me misery. He just collapsed, and all I did was observe his pain without seeking for help.

If I didn’t spin around and just firmly held onto him, at least I could’ve left this world with him. This was the first and last unfortunate event that had taken place in my life. My winning streak had forfeited, my silver lining became rusty, and the envious feeling people felt slowly disappeared, knowing my dreams had shattered. Unlike the shatter of a mirror, I won’t just be unlucky for seven years, I’ll be unlucky and in grief for the many years in my life that have to be lived, the emptiness without the influence of dance, and the loneliness of yearning for love that will be lost forever.

Ever since then, I have never tapped my feet to a tune, for disturbing memories would always appear and that scenario would play in my head like a movie on repeat. Many people told me to let go of the memory my husband, but he deserves to be cherished, not forgotten since he was my closest friend, husband and dance partner. Our feet would move together, I lost my groove since he left, and I won’t dance again until we meet again, maybe in heaven, or in a future life that is even at this moment being decided or even written for us. Without him I can’t dance, but one thing that is certain is that with him, constantly I could say I was quite the dancer in my day.


BY: KALANI HERATH