He had been dancing for nearly an hour, guided by a house light and Loretha’s tempered movement. He kept in her stride, catching cues as he almost departed, vertigo nearly getting the best of him. The stage was a cliff; falling into the pit could have broken bones, caused a concussion, or worse.
The attendants on the lights were not doing their job at all.
Finally, the show was coming to a close, and he was breathing hard—a strange rhythmic interpretive dance to a thumping beat—but the show had already been a success for many weeks. He could not fail. Yet.
In the balcony were creatures of despair: eight-headed monsters with blood-soaked mouths. He feared them. All night they had been restless, jeering when he almost fell, laughing when he caught Loretha loosely, and remaining unentertained during his single, brief monologue.
Years of work and practice to be rejected by these creatures.
“It’s not for them,” he whispered, but even as he scanned the audience, he could not see who it was for.
Loretha looked stressed even as he twirled her against the backdrop of green. Another thundering drum fell. The end of the drama was nigh.
He could see a winged thing in the balcony looking hungry, and sweat poured down his face as he did his best to twist away from its terrible scrutiny. The drums finally fell, and he and Loretha stood before them, the moment of silence that followed killing him inside—deep beyond his heart and deep beyond his despair.
His ego evaporated, and he was small again, dancing in his mother’s kitchen while his alcoholic father slept on the couch in the next room of their tiny apartment. He knew his mother would reprimand him if his feet hit any harder—her shows were on—but he couldn’t help himself, until he had to help himself.
“I will not fail,” he said. Loretha looked at him strangely.
Even later at his first high school performance, the crowd was empty of family save for his cousin who went to the same school. Still later, his first professional performance. No greater critique existed than absence.
While bent over, holding Loretha’s hand and breathing hard, he looked at his dancer’s feet and his legs, and he thought about what he had done. What he had earned. His hubris could know no bounds, but it didn’t have to go on forever.
Just as he humbled himself wisely, the crowd erupted with applause, as thundering as the drums themselves. The echoes resounded far and wide, and by the time he and Loretha rose from their bow, the audience was in theatrics.
Later, as he stood in front, he shook hands and signed playbills for parents, couples, fans, and the like. He saw some of the balcony creatures as well. They were no longer monsters. They wore smiles, patted him on the back, and congratulated him.
“Thank you,” he said as the last of them left, and even the old woman with wings smiled and waved happily as she was ushered into her car.
“I will not fail, and nor shall they,” he said, turning to converse with his parents who were standing nearby to celebrate his performance.
