The Ballet

Herr Naumen was very clear about punctuality. "You must be punctual. Dance is precision, and precision is time." I, so eager to learn, was obedient, and always exactly on time. I knew that should I fail to make any of our meetings at the precise hour, that he would abandon my instruction; and that, I could not bear.

"Straighten your leg, Baroness! EXTEND!" he would bark, and I would wince as the muscles, unaccustomed to such abuse, would strain "Serenity! Always, in the face, serenity! Your body may resist but you MUST remain graceful despite the discomfort!"

After the first lesson, I doubted my ability to continue, but my determination took me through the aching muscles and weariness.

Every week, three times a week, Herr Naumen's carriage would arrive exactly at the prescribed hour. He would alight, his walking stick in hand, and walk confidently through the front doors of my home as if he were the owner. I would be waiting in the ballroom, stretching my limbs beyond comfort. The musicians would be in place and he would rap his walking stick on the wooden floor, each solid thump resounding,like thunder, in the empty room as he bid me stretch this way, extend that way, twirl, jump, reach...

Each instruction left me exhausted, but the joy -- oh, the unequaled joy of such movement astounded me! And so on the days between instructions, I stood alone in the ballroom, the musicians playing the music of dreams and beauty, and danced to the imagined tempo of his walking stick, extending my arms beyond their reach, and becoming a bird whose wingspan could encircle the world. My legs were on full view, which should have made me ill at ease, but to move and leap through the air with the grace of a doe was beyond the scope of social expectation.

After six weeks of instruction, Herr Naumen stopped calling me "Baroness" and began to address me as his dove; I took no offense at the familiarity -- it was the symbol of my accomplishment, and yet, I have so much farther to go. I barely sleep, for needing to maintain my proficiency in other arts; painting, embroidery, music. But when I do sleep, it is to the tempo of a stick on the floor as my body bends like a tree to the winds of the music, and in my dreams, I fly.