art by ShotHot Design
T is for Terpsichore
by Tim Pratt, Jenn Reese, Heather Shaw, Greg van Eekhout
She'd stood on line for fourteen hours, since midnight the night before, freezing in the late winter air and bitter winds that whipped in from Lake Michigan near the Olympian Theatre where the auditions were being held. It was a popular TV show, one of the better ones in the crowd that had hit the airwaves in recent years. Many hopeful dancers had turned up in great numbers despite the numbing cold.
As they got nearer, those in the line began moving their bodies in anticipation, performing for one another, showing off, laughing, limbering up. Those nearest her in line were some of the most creative, and the roving cameras found them quickly. A crowd of onlookers oohed and ahhed as a hip-hop dancer mimicked a wind-up toy before spiraling into neck-risking flips. A flamenco dancer stamped intricate rhythms so fierce they made one's heart beat along. A belly dancer seduced six men and three women with the flip of her hips.
She didn't dance along with them, though their moves made her warm in a different way.
By the time she got inside, she felt well-fed, full of ideas, inspiration flowing into and out of her and giving her an almost tangible aura. She crackled with creativity as she walked up the steps from the house to the stage. She tingled as she took her place.
Then, she danced.