He walked into the empty room with the boombox, scared and unsure of himself. Scanning the room, he saw a set of ballet bars next to the broken mirror. Stepping over the cracked floors, he sat the stereo down and reached into his bag to grab the nicest pair of clothes he owned.
He wanted to tell a story, something that could finally get him off the streets. So… he stripped, taking off the tattered linen and slipped into his cotton shirt and shorts. His sneakers squeaked as he took a few steps forward towards the mirror. Seeing the fractured reflection brought tears to his eyes, but he took a deep breath, and plunged forward.
The music started automatically, and the single spotlight engulfed his figure. Highlighting his best features and swallowing his mistakes. He spiraled, turning as if it were his last day on earth. Adding his best moves, he pliéd, working from one foot to the next. Grande Jeté and Soutenus, avoiding the splintered chips in the floor. What kept his focus? How can he be so… jovial when she was there?
He could hear the screams in the air as he jumped performing a Tour en l’air. When he lands, the screams stop and he pirouettes to the mirror, only stopping just in time. He glances up, anguish on his face, not understanding where to go next. The music crescendos as his pulse raced. He saw himself and his baby girl as he held his face, performing an arabesque to the center of the room and transforming into an attitude. He held the positions as the music stops and his face morphs into happiness. A lighter tune plays as he rolled onto the ground, the broken chips injuring his side. Blood moved down his leg and while there was nothing joyful about his situation, he balanced graceful to the next move as drops of crimson stain the already damaged floor.
Hearing the faint whispers of his lover, he fell to the floor again, wildly looking from each side of the room. A vision of the inferno blazed on, as he shuffled his feet to the front. He span until he felt disoriented, until he felt whole again. An image of his babies’ crib rotting and deconstructing appeared before his eyes and he performed one last arabesque. His leg straight and perfectly balanced… the music stops. He held the position for two minutes then dropped to the floor trying to catch his breath. The visions and auditory disturbances ended. He felt at peace. He felt as if she were guiding him to another universe, not stopping until he understood the trauma.
He sighed and stood up, moving the bars back to the corner to collect dust. He stripped again, feeling cleansed and refreshed as his muscles ached, putting his ruined clothes back on. Grabbing the stereo, his sneakers piped as he walked to the door. He slipped out quickly, but quietly, and left through the corridors once again blending into the background.
*This is my original work. DO NOT COPY!*
Featured Image Source: Photo by Ahmad Odeh on Unsplash
UnaPOETgetically Me 