Bloom

A ballerina only behind the walls of her room, her posture is ill practiced but crackling with passion. Green curtains are parted enough to allow slivers of light shine directly onto her awkward, yet graceful first position. The silence is thick, even with the vinyl giving soft scratches to find its place, but suddenly the record spins, her soul swells with notes, and her heels lift off the ground.

A young lady stuck between fading childhood comfort and rising sexual awakening, she stretches and bends in skin that now feels foreign to her. Arching out newly swollen breasts, unsure fingers ticking down smooth hips; the indecisive nature of her quiet, yet loud moves are breathtaking. She spins softly, eyelashes batting as she smooths her hands down her sides, hesitates, and removes them as if she’s been caught doing something heinous behind closed doors.

There is no real audience—only her teddy bears and a poster of her favorite boy band on a pale blue wall—but for the moment she’s stepping into the realm of being a figure of desire. Her toes bend a bit as she spins and her head lolls around in a loose circle as she slides her hands up her opposite arm and parts her lips. It’s uncomfortable, it’s nerve wracking, it’s… exhilarating.

She exhales, the melody slows and her eyes, wide with all the uncertainty of the future, drift towards the ceiling with arms wide and feet flat on the ground. For another moment, there is silence. Without warning, the drums pick up pace, the melody goes into a youthful overdrive, and the child comes to light as her lips part in a smile and she pivots with a bounce and gives light leaps in the safety of her room. This is the realm she knows best: the realm of a girl who still loves her bears and playing on the swings and playing dress-up. Laughter spills from her throat into the air and her confidence exudes in her smile and her now playfully dramatic flair.  

She begins to twirl as fast as she can without losing balance, arms inching higher and higher to the music going into full production.  The melody once again begins to deepen, the bass starts to slow, and the reality slinks back to the forefront of her mind. The twirling loses energy, becomes more slow and thoughtful, and her body gyrates as she drops her arms behind her head to lightly grip her neck. Her breathing is labored, but without losing pace she swings her hips to a stop. Her hands slide down her stomach, brushing past her thighs and knees, and slide back up her calf as slowly as she can muster in her last effort of seductiveness until she’s back to full height and the music fully cuts off.