The last thing the woman expected to happen today was for a ballet dancer to sit down next to her at a bus stop, but that was exactly what happened. She ran up, out of breath, dressed in a lovely white costume with a tulle skirt and a blue ribbon around her waist, and sat down. She sighed and hunched over, massaging her ankle, covered by pink tights. Her ballet shoes were on already too, which seemed highly impractical for wearing on the street. The woman stared at the young dancer, all made over with red lips and rosy pink cheeks. Her copper hair was pulled back into a perfect bun. She looked absolutely radiant, and also very anxious.
The dancer, feeling the eyes of the elderly woman on her, looked up with two sparkling sapphires. The woman looked away quickly, brushing away some gray hair from her face and adjusting the collar of her long, black dress.
“Sorry if I’m distracting you, ma’am,” the dancer muttered, smiling from embarrassment.
“You weren’t,” the old woman declared with a clear and crisp voice. “Go about your business, dear.”
The dancer said nothing else and continued to do just that, fixing the straps on her shoes and smoothing down her skirt as she sat up. From there, the woman couldn’t help but notice her mannerisms. She itched under the straps of the costume, like they irritated her. Her leg bounced quickly, shaking the whole bench. Then she stopped, took a deep breath and put her hands in front of her, holding them as if they were a begging dog’s paws. She started to move her hands back and forth, mimicking moves that she would have to do on her feet. Every time she made a mistake, her hands would twitch and she’d start again from the very beginning.
The woman asked, “Do you have a performance today?”
“Yes,” the dancer answered with a smile. “I’m in a dance troop; we’re doing Giselle at the Everhart Theater.”
“Everhart Theater? That’s a few miles from here.”
“That would be why I’m waiting for the bus,” she admitted with a small laugh. “I’m afraid I’m running horribly late.” She sighed deeply. “I just hope my troop leader understands.”
“You don’t sound very confident.”
The dancer shook her head and shut her eyes. “I… haven’t been on her good side lately. It’s complicated; I’m sure you don’t want to know.”
Instead, the old woman sat up straighter and adjusted the umbrella she was holding so it stood perfectly vertical. She declared, “This, whatever it may be, is a heavy burden you carry. Even if you cannot discuss it with anyone close to you, you can always tell it to a stranger that you will never see again, and expect no repercussion. If you feel you must, do it.”
The dancer turned up one corner of her mouth into a half smile, but was still hesitant. What the old woman said was very true, and the idea of never having to face consequences for what she was about to say made her feel much better.
“I’m not very good at ballet; I never really have been, but I’ve done it for years because I love it more than anything. I’m a terrible klutz and I can’t stick to schedules, which is why my troop leader and I don’t get along. I’m always late for practices and rehearsals, and now I’m late for the show. She only let me in because she thought I had talent, because she thought I could improve and become something great.” She shook her head solemnly. Her eyes even started to water. “I’ve tried, but it always comes back to the fact that I have no coordination. I’m hardly ever happy there, but I can’t leave behind my passion.” She paused and folded her hands in her lap. “I’m thinking that this will be my last performance.”
The woman sighed, “So, you would leave because you hate the people there? You would give up what you love because you’re not good and because your teacher is giving you a hard time?”
“I don’t want to,” the dancer repeated.
“Then, your answer is simple: don’t leave.”
She rubbed her arms nervously. “I’m not good though! I don’t want to mess up everyone else and I don’t want to look stupid on stage because I can’t do anything right.”
“‘Can’t’,” the woman mused. “What a cowardly word. If you love ballet as much as you say you do, then ‘can’t’ is unacceptable. You must learn, try harder.” The woman pursed her lips, thinking. “Think of it this way: you have what it takes, but it will take all you’ve got. If you truly love what you do, you’ll give it everything - mind, body, and soul - and you can get better at what you do.”
The dancer thought on this for a few minutes in silence. Finally, she questioned, “How do you know exactly what to say?”
The woman beamed at the question. “I was a dancer myself once, a long time ago, and I faced the same predicament you do. I thought I was terrible at the art and I wanted to quit. The words I told you were my mother’s.” Slowly her smile fell. “I did not heed them, and I regret every second after I left my own troop. I didn’t give it all when I could have.” Her eyes connected with those of the dancer’s. “Child, what’s your name?”
“Carolyn,” the dancer confessed. “Carolyn Grimes.”
A bus pulled up to the stop and Carolyn Grimes stood up, signalling that this was the bus that she was waiting for. Before she stepped on, the old woman said, “Miss Grimes, I wish you the best of luck in your performance today.”
The dancer smiled one last time at this. “Thank you, ma’am… for everything.”
She nodded once and watched as the girl climbed aboard, paid her fare, and the bus pulled away. The old woman stood up after the bus was long gone and hobbled down to the corner, where she hailed a cab.
As she carefully folded herself inside, the cabbie inquired, “Where to, madam?”
She shut the door behind her. “Everhart Theater, if you please. I have a show to see.”