SHORT STORIES

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?

“Murder on the Dance Floor”, was what that awful had Judge called it. That moment was when she had given up her dream of being a professional dancer, once and for all.

As she had sat on the old school wooden form and undone her shiny silver dance shoes with their sturdy heels but delicate straps that secured them to her narrow arched feet, Shona wondered to herself, what on earth she was going to do with her life now? Now that she had all the years of free time stretching ahead of her with no dance classes to look forward to? No more rehearsing in every spare minute for an upcoming show. No dancing her way through life seven days a week. That whole life was over now, Shona realised.

      Shona had been dancing in one form or another since she was two years old. Baby ballet lessons, that had swiftly grown into more advanced levels as her proficiency had been proven. Then came the add-ons. The tap dancing came after watching an old movie about the Cotton Club in New York with her Grandmother one wet winter Saturday afternoon. Then Jazz, Modern, Hip Hop, Ballroom dancing and many more as each new form just had to be added to her repertoire. Never known any other life, in fact! The thought of it all ending was terrifying.

Now dressed in her outdoor clothes and boarding the big red London bus to convey her home again to the quiet suburb where she had grown up, she let her mind wander again. What could she possibly turn her hand to? Teach dance of one form or another? She supposed it could work but she had never felt that she was ideal teacher material. Her faults were all too apparent to her. Inclined to have little or no patience when a step was not executed well. A bit of a perfectionist was an understatement, according to her fellow classmates. Her tendency to speak before thinking about the impact that the words she would utter would have on others. That one led to her frequently having a serious case of foot in mouth. These were not the ideal qualities for a teacher of any subject let alone dance. Patience was what was needed in bucketfuls for that!

          She was racking her brains for another suggestion, for she knew that her parents would only worry themselves sick if she did not have a plan for her future mapped out by the time she broke her startling news to them both, so she tried to think her way out of her quandary once again as the bus rolled and jolted its way nearer to her stop.

Have a shop to sell dance clothing and accessories? That would have to be rejected as she no money to set one up. What dancer earned good money? None, unless they were on an amazing television show, like Strictly Come Dancing. She had never reached that sort of acclaim in the many dance competitions she had entered over the years. Also, nowadays it would have to be an online service and she couldn’t see her parents giving up the spare bedroom or her Father’s beloved workshop to allow her to get such a business off the ground. Even then she would still need to find the money to purchase the stock, packaging materials and postage, Let alone money to set up her website. Even if Di’s Dance Clothing and Accessories did sound quite good to her ears right now, as she tried it out under her breath.

           “Come on girl, think positive.|” I could almost hear my old Gran telling me, “Think positive.” Well, she was trying to. She had to accede that she was fit, thanks entirely to her dance regime. She was always told that she had good legs. What was she thinking, they were great legs, she had enough wolf whistles as she passed men in the street to confirm that point. It was just a shame that any dancer could not say the same about their feet. They were often found to be misshapen by years of being trodden on by inept partners or the point shoes used for ballet dancing. Hence, dancer’s feet were typically anything but beautiful. Her own were often sore and even now she had two blackened and damaged toenails. Hence, she would not be a suitable candidate for a foot modelling job. That was for certain. However, her hair looked good. She’d always kept it long and well trimmed, to prevent spilt ends. Its good condition meant that it was shiny and her natural honey blonde colour was appealing, in fact, she was quite proud of her hair. Those sitting round her at this point in her journey could have noticed a slight squaring of the shoulders and arching of the neck as she held her head higher and straightened her sagging posture. Gran’s talking to had had the desired effect!

           It was a different Shona who got off the bus and walked briskly and purposely the last few yards to the familiar door of her family home. She knew for certain two things. One, she had a loving family who would support her whatever choice of future she made and two, the future was not something to dread. Rather, it was something that would bring challenges but also something that she could get excited about. For as her old Gran, she had often said to her, “With assets like hers in the bank, she could go far.”