Hummingbird Wings

Your heart has hummingbird wings.

They beat frantically against your ribcage as you breathe deep.  

In.  

Out.  

You close your eyes.  As the music starts, you inch your way to the wings, one careful step after another.  How many eights have gone by? How many left until you step into the light?

Dress rehearsal hadn’t gone well.  Marks were wrong, ankles were rolled, turns completed only halfway.  You had hoped to feel prepared by this point.  Instead, you feel a complete lack of control, a helplessness in your situation even years of rehearsal wouldn’t have fixed.  You can’t help but wonder if you’ll even remember the choreography once you get out there.  Panicking, you start to go over everything in your head, only to quickly realize that all hope is lost and you’re about to make a fool of yourself.

The countdown begins.

Five. You clasp your hands and send up a prayer.  Clearly you can’t do this on your own.

Six.  You shake your body loose.

Seven.  You tap each toe on the floor in a ritual you’ve done before every performance since you can remember

Eight.

You plunge.

At first, you’re disoriented.  The lights are far too bright, the audience far too dark.  The stark contrast makes your head spin and for a moment you forget what it is you’re supposed to be doing.  The music thrums and your body starts to respond.  Steps are tentative, unsure. 

But slowly you change.  The orchestra swells and you are calm.  You are strong.  You are untouchable.  The music is no longer playing behind you. It IS you.  The high notes flow into your fingertips, a sharp vibrato in your toes.  Notes are flowing from your body of their own volition and you sigh in contentment.  Had you been worried?  How silly.  Unfathomable love swells up within you.  You smile, laughing inside.

Then you see her.  She has a white bow in her hair and her smile could split the sky from the audience where she sits.  Something more than adoration has filled her countenance, something closer to worship.  You are everything she hopes to be.  And she was you. 

The ballet flies on and all too soon you’re taking your final curtain call.  You can hear your family in the audience as you bow with your friends.  Your heart is soaring.  You view the scene almost outside of yourself, drinking in every detail.  At that moment, you are invincible.

And there, in the front row, is the little girl with the white bow.  She is up on her feet now, giving a standing ovation with every fiber of her being.  The curtain starts to descend and you lock eyes with her.  Her eyes widen in ecstatic astonishment as you wink. 

Who knows, someday she could be you.