Rigor Mortis


Her legs, second position. Arms above her head, curved at the elbows, confined to the floor of her apartment. The music starts. Her first time in front of an audience. Blue, sparkly tutu, ballet slippers, she follows the girl in front of her onto the stage. Lights hit her eyes and she scans the audience for her mother, somewhere among the ghosted faces. First position, heels together, plié. The floor of her apartment as cold as her skin, skin stiff, stiff muscles. Her muscles stiff rubber from the hours of practicing her plié. Another girl pulls her hand, pulls towards stage left, wades through the lights, the music heavy against her temples, her knees shake, the room pirouettes. Her heartbeat echoes throughout the hardwood.