The room was elegant. It displayed a profound association with artistic taste. The antique furniture, huge photographs of a ballet dancer framed in creative wooden bends, the shade of mystic orange adorning the walls and the royal cutlery charmingly peeking from cupboards of various sizes were the proof. The fragile old woman who catches wisps of sleep on a metallic chair looks out of place -a misfit in her own house, a jarring present of a glorious past.
It is only when the tuned television blares into a merry ballet song that she opens her eyes, puckering her lips into a smile. Though her old self is a stark contrast to the woman in the photographs there is no doubt about the dancer she had been when her face beams as she rubs her eyes to catch the ballet on the television. She lifts her delicate arms and swings them to the music with perfection like they were given to her just to be able to do that. A melodious hum matches her little dance and she swivels her wheel chair in sync with the rhythm. A joy fills her heart, elates her feet gives them the life they do not have. The sorrows of an unfortunate event that cut short her majestic career suddenly and a lonely life that followed her into the old age are too insignificant, too unworthy of this one hour of her day. Her eyes remain closed but she sees a stage.
This is that one hour that she dances her way into the past, not with her body but her soul. It is divine to feel no limitation, no boundary to the joy. To feel detached from the existence of an earthly being and rising to be a dancer who paints emotions with the twists and twirls, rhythm and beats. The remaining hours of the day were like that waiting before an on stage performance. Her heart looking forward for the clock to strike eleven, her ears anticipating the music they would play today and the audience were her belongings in the house which gathered dust only to be shaken to the vibrations of a song. It was all she lived for- that performance in her own midnight ballet.
It was not a match to the performances she had given in the past but the world it transported her into- that was the best appreciation she had ever received. Someday she would silently close her eyes never to open them again. To get transported into that world of ballet forever and make a grand entrance to - another stage?
P.S: The story is inspired by this image.