Page 9 of Count Down

“Wow,” I say, more to myself than to Gina when I look around. “It’s kind of intimidating.”

“Yeah,” Gina looks up at the balcony. Her posture changes. It’s not that she was slouching before, but being on the stage seems to cue her to automatically lengthen her body and hold herself alert in a different way. “It’s a good thing the house lights are off when we perform.”

“I always wondered what it was like up here.”

“Do you come to many ballets?” Gina asks me.

“I used to. My mom took me to every show for a few years. I actually took ballet for a bit as a kid.”

“Really? Did you take it for sports or something?” Gina asks.

“No.” I’m surprised to hear the question from her. “I played sports. But I took ballet for ballet. Did you take ballet for sports?”

“No. I don’t know why I asked that.” Gina frowns to herself. “You just don’t seem like… I guess I’m so used to guys feeling like they need some excuse to dance.”

“Fuck that.”

“Haha, yeah. Fuck that!” Gina smiles broadly. “I completely agree. I guess I just know so many guys are defensive about dancing.”

“Not all of us are that fragile. Some of us can like art without having an identity crisis.”

“Why’d you stop?” Gina asks.

I think about how to answer that. “My mom couldn’t bring me to shows anymore. And I guess I also lost the desire to dance.”

Gina nods quietly.

“Do you like performing?” I ask her.

She looks out into the theater again. “I love it.” She steps onto one foot, stretching the other out behind her with her toes touching the floor, and raises her arms in front of her chest, then opens them wide like she’s presenting something to her imaginary audience.

She glides across the stage. I recognize her steps. It’s a common combination, but she makes it look effortless. Tombé, pas de bourree, glissade, step into an arabesque, balancing on one foot with her back leg lifted behind her.

Maybe it’s because we’re on stage. Maybe it’s because I want to see what it’s like to dance with her. But as she balances, I move behind her. I put my hands on either side of her waist, holding her in position. I’ve never done this part, but I’ve seen it many times in performances.

I feel Gina’s core tighten under my fingers and she extends her arabesque to hit a perfect pose.

“Point your left leg out,” she instructs me. I put all my weight on my right foot, but straighten my left leg out to the side, trying to point my toe on the ground into a tendu. I remember some of this.

Gina lowers her right hand and I feel her tip forward, lowering her head to the floor and raising her back leg even higher. I hold her balanced over her leg while I try to keep my own balance. Gina’s back leg extends all the way up in front of me.

She lifts her head back up, lowering her leg back down and I try to shift her balance back over her leg as she goes. She stands on both feet again. “Do you want to try a lift?”

“Uh, I’ve never actually done partnering before.” I know I can physically lift her. But I also know doing it right is harder than it looks.

“Let’s just try it,” she says.

She places her hands over mine and moves my hands just a little higher on her waist. “I’ll do one small jump…” She demonstrates the movement, bending her knees, straightening them without coming off the ground. “Then after I land from that, I’ll jump higher and you lift straight up.” She bends her knees again and does a little hop. “Ready?”

“Ok.” It sounds easy enough.

Gina bends her knees and does her first little hop. As opposed to the demonstration, she bends her knees much deeper in preparation for her jump. Instead of bending my knees along with her, I instinctively lean forward to keep my hands on her waist. That was a mistake.

When she leaves the ground, I’m already leaning forward off balance. Her shoulder goes into my face. I still try to lift her, but as I flinch from being hit in the face, I pull her back into me. Instead of the jump going straight up and back down, I awkwardly slide her down my body while trying not to drop her.

As soon as I set her down, she spins around to check on me, having felt her shoulder hit me. She holds my head in her hands, looking over my face for any injury. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I touch my lip and check my hand. No blood, and I do feel fine. “I leaned forward instead of bending my knees. Sorry.” As the shock of my terrible attempt at a lift wears off, I realize how close she is to me. I feel her soft hands on my face, and look into her eyes. She is beautiful. I was trying not to see it before.

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