Monday, 3 June 2013

The Dancer

The music took her away. She lifted her arms and waved them above her head. The rhythmic bass line led her into a little hip bumping before she suddenly span, flung her head back and froze in a perfectly formed X shape for that brief moment where the song silenced.

It kicked in and she bent forward at the waist, bowing and pouring her hair forward - it was the most fluid extension of her body and she made every possible use of it. Her torso drew a large circle in the air and her hair windmilled along behind her.

There was no power on earth that could stop the smile that crossed her face as she started strutting and shaking her stuff in time to the music.

Her technique was by no means flawless; she almost fell a few times as a poorly placed foot was unable to take the weight it needed to and her audience appeared singularly unimpressed, but she had stopped caring about the outside world. Her gestures pantomimed the meaning of the lyrics and she poured her heart and soul into each moment.

She mimed along with the song as she performed her routine. Occasionally she broke out into audible song, but only for a line or two - her breathing was heavy enough to indicate that she couldn't manage both singing and such an energetic routine.

The introduction of a guitar solo altered her dancing - fast bumping and curving motions were replaced by long drawn out moves that seemed to be more of a slow motion transition from one extreme pose to another.

She was leaning dramatically backwards, extending a mocking imitation of a guitarist wailing for all he was worth when suddenly she shifted her whole body weight into a rapid foxtrot step. Her audience were startled into sitting upright and staring at her, bemused at the sudden motion. It had, however, been exactly timed with the beat of the drums and, grudgingly acknowledging that she seemed to at least have this under control, the audience settled back into stupor with only a mild grumble.

The bass beat picked up again and she began whirling and gyrating wildly around the stage which was, sadly, slightly too confined for such enthusiastic exercise. She bumped her hip against a piece of scenery and stumbled. Having fallen out of time with the music she stood panting and absently rubbing the bumped hip for a second before leaping back into the zone with uninhibited enthusiasm.

Standing with her feet firmly planted she rocked her hips back and forth, before beginning to whirl them like a belly dancer, and stepping in a modified grapevine. Her arms were flowing all over - possibly for effect, but more likely in an effort to remain upright - and as the song burst into its final, glorious verse she returned to strutting and quick steps.

Finally she subsided into a more subtle shrugging motion as the song began to wind to a close but she punctuated every few shrugs with a large, open movement in an effort to seize as much joy from the moment as she could.

"And that was the forever epic "I want to break free" by Queen, and we'll be hearing another of their tracks before the end of the show. You're listening to BBC Radio 2 and right now we are going to the news: Moira! Are you there?"

She relaxed, still smiling, and headed into the kitchen. The kettle had finished boiling early in the song and she flicked it back on. Her audience had followed, meowing and rubbing against her ankles in the hopes of treats.

She picked him up for a brief cuddle and scratch behind the ears before passing him some treats and, at last, making that cup of tea.