An Igniting Wind

A breeze trails past my arm, raising goosebumps along my skin. The chill of the air has ignited my nerves as I stand backstage at the Playhouse Theatre. My makeup is a heavy mask on my face and I shiver awaiting my cue.

‘You’re up.’ Emma, my dance partner whispers from behind me. Her breath tickles my neck, bringing me back to where I am.  A lengthy gust exhales from my bloated cheeks as I prepare myself. One pointed foot, second pointed foot. The stage light hits me with its heated presence. My body settles into position, and I begin my dance. The wind whips against my tight-knit bun, swooshing into my ears. The crowd exclaims their awe but I’m deaf to it all except for the delicate yet dramatic music. My dance companions leap past me as we form a circle, leaving a wake of air zinging around me. The invisible force carries me across the sturdy wooden stage, lifting me into my grand jeté. I land it but falter. The music crescendos making me spin with the hurricane of air closing around me. I am transported somewhere else as I twirl. 

The sudden twist of my ankle pulls me back as the winds betray me, abandoning me to my mistake. The other dancers look to me, unsure whether to continue or help. The trance has left me, making me realize that without the breeze everything feels so quiet. I rush to stand up and continue. Once the dance comes to an end, I curtsy as the curtains slowly descend. They hit the ground, the impact shooting dust out, which illuminates against the lights and rises with the air.

‘Mia! Are you okay?’ Emma is holding my arms in a tight grip.

‘Yes.’ I keep my eyes downcast ‘I’ll never get that turn right.’

She gives me a little shake, ‘Don’t speak like that, we’ll practice tomorrow. You’ll be way more confident for the show in two days.’ I give her a slight smile, mostly for her reassurance than my own. 

The next morning, I’m already in the studio, stretching my legs on the bar. Emma walks in, a confident smile on her face.

‘You ready?’ I give her a thumbs up. We spend all morning practising, analyzing, and practising some more, but I can never seem to get it right.

‘I have no balance.’ I drape my arms over the bar, a sorrowful sight. ‘I never will.’

‘We all find our balance, Mia, we just have to figure out how.’

She’s not wrong. I want to be motivated like her, but I feel as though the thing that ignites my dancing has gone, and I don’t know how to get it back. ‘I’m done for today Em, sorry.’ I carry my defeated self home. While I walk along the street just outside my studio, I blast some music on my earphones. Cello is my favourite form of music, it’s so clear, yet so heavy with emotion. I hear the music building up, each note growing stronger, and it pulls me back to my dancing. As I’m walking a strong wind wooshes past me, flinging out one of my earphones.

‘Ugh!’ I’m fiddling with the wire, trying to untangle it. But the chilly breeze continues, tickling my arms and causing goosebumps to appear and I remember this sensation. I can feel the wind pulling me backstage in the theatre. It stirs in me, pulling me into a dance formation. I start to take steps along the pavement, pointing each foot delicately. I’m moving to match the notes of the cello as I follow the breeze, both combining into one compilation. I look to my right and see a park across the road. Yes. This is what I need. Space, air and music.

The wind begins to guide me into a waltz, and a whole new choreography begins. Instead of the heat of the stage lights, I feel the warmth of the sun blooming down on me. The leaves are my dance companions as they spin and swirl beside me. This is a different sort of breeze. Not of a manmade stage but the one made by nature. I swish and sway my arms, following my invisible friends' directions. The waltz has transitioned into a Pas de bourrée, as the graceful point of my leg extends out and lifts me higher. I continue to move, unable to stop until without thought I spin, doing pirouette after pirouette. I land it perfectly and precisely. This is my balance.

It’s the day of the show and I’m seated backstage at my dressing table. ‘Almost done,’ I muse to myself, ‘just the eyelashes now.’ A muted chatter sounds from the other side of the stage, the room smells of fresh hairspray, and there’s once again a chilly breeze in the air.

Emma walks over hesitantly, ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Great.’ I glance at her in the mirror, ‘I’m gonna land it.’

‘Looks like you gained some confidence.’ She says, amused. ‘What helped? It sure wasn’t my lessons.’

I laughed ‘I appreciate those lessons Em, but I found my balance another way.’

I was back waiting by the curtains, the chill against my skin. It’s my queue to step on stage, so I gracefully walk out. I remember the moment in the park, how the wind carried my body through the routine, whispered directions in my ear, synchronizing with the cello. My fellow dancers became the summer leaves, the crowd morphed into trees, and the music was the breeze. I flowed around the stage, completely lost in the motions. When the time came for the dance to spin, I didn’t have to think, I let the wind take over. It grabbed me by the waist and spun me around. I held my head straight, my arms steady as I went around. I came to a landing as graceful as a swan diving onto the glassy river. That night was when I found my balance, a moment most ballet dancers would relish. The wind ignited my dancing and I kept spinning until the music faded.