Breathe in, hold, and let go. I relax my grinding teeth and stiff jaw, soften the tense muscles on my shoulder and hold down my shiver. My eyes scan nervously up and down the auditorium as I search.  I don't quite know who I am searching for, but no one was wearing masks or staying six feet apart. Then, my gaze lands on this little girl. 

She has an ankle-length white dress, just a few sizes too big, with red polka dots encircling the top. Her brown eyes sparkle with curiosity as she impatiently bounces on the cushioning seat. I imagine the back of her dress is full of creases from when she forgot to flatten it out before sitting down. Two brown eyes staring into two brown eyes. She smiles, and I smile back. I stand unsteadily behind the black side curtains backstage, and I feel the hot red lipstick applied on my chapped lips crack as I force them to stretch upward. She looks almost familiar. For some reason, I don’t want to disappoint her. 

Thump, thump, thump. My chest drums louder than the landing of an Aerial cartwheel backstage. My eyes wander through the crowd as my ears slightly blur my team’s exciting chattering around me. It wasn’t until I feel Valentina gently taps my right shoulder that I refocused on what was in front of me. “You ready? This is our show,” Valentina said. 

My heart skips before my feet do. The cold dance floor shoots chills up my spine like stepping onto the Minnesota March snow. All my doubt evaporated as I try to look as confident as possible approaching the center of the stage. This has been the moment I have been longing for, now it’s my moment to shine – Masquerades National Dance Competition National of 2020.

The sweat on my body smoothens the hair sticking up on the back of my neck. I feel each face in the audience blur in my peripheral vision as I feel the heat of eight LED stage lights pierce through me — cast upon me as if I own this moment. 

Breathe in, hold, and let go. I kneel down and crawl into a ball. I embrace myself on the floor as I battle with the naughty butterflies inside me. I can feel my heart loudly pounding against my knees, about to burst through my chest. But I have done this a million times. I know I have. From something as big as each formation changes narrowing down to every facial expression, I have rehearsed this dance in my head so long I know I can just trust my muscle memory to perform. 

The little girl in the crowd flashes before my eyes as I close them. Her one dimple smile gives away her excitement.

One, two, three.

My body slowly uncoils: from the tailbone through the spine and back up to the neck. Everything begins to slowly unravel from the drop of the first note of the song, Ocean. I feel the muscles on my neck pull. I stretch my arms out far to the left – reaching for something intangible. Lunge, grasp, and leap. My skeleton legs and pointed feet swing before me, and suddenly I am flying. I feel the inside of my body burning as my blood dances with the music. My lukewarm body makes contact with the cold rubber floor again and again. The occasional hard landings on my bruised knee send vibrations to the rest of my body. I extend my body as far as I can to wrap my arms around the Earth's crust. I imagine having a long leg leaning forward in a penché. I hear my back crack. With my supporting leg digging deep into the dance floor, my back leg sways back and forms a ninety-degree angle with my spine.  

I wish the little girl is seeing this. I wish she is inspired. I wish she savors this moment this moment of glory.

I feel my naked foot catch onto a stubborn piece of masking tape that wasn’t pressed down fully on stage, then I find myself crashing onto the grey dancefloor without mercy. 

***

My head feels heavy like I have just woken up from a coma. 

5:28 A.M. 

There are no soft beams of the dawn sunray for the sky is too cloudy, and also because it’s Minnesota. I feel myself surround by darkness and haunted by the dream that never happened two years ago. 

Breathe in and hold. Soft music plays from my Spotify that I forgotten to turn off last night. I bury my head into the huge pillow beside me and continue to flop my entire body onto my left arm. My breath deepens and sinks inside the soft mattress when I start to recognize the lyrics:

“You call me out upon the waters

The great unknown

Where feet may fail

And there I find You in the mystery

In oceans deep

My faith will stand…”

***

Breathe in and hold. It’s time to wake up.

— 

Splash. 

Water swims up my nostrils, and I feel tiny air bubbles lingering on the tip of my nose and the top of my lashes. I feel my eyes burn, and suddenly I wonder how fish can cry underwater or if they even do… 

“Let me walk upon the waters

…

Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander

And my faith will be made stronger

…”

I submerge my head deeper into the water until I can no longer make out the lyrics of the songs as the water around me rings in a high-pitched A. 

I lift up the edge of my polka-dot pajama dress to wipe my wet face, and I stare into the mirror only to be met by a stranger. The stranger has a dull and gloomy look. The right side of the face is slightly bloated compared to the left side. The flared-up red pores are everywhere – spreading from the forehead all the way to the chest. The puffy hair that once sat in a bun now hangs over her shoulder like a hag’s. Where are the sparkles and twinkles in those pretty brown eyes? Those swollen eyes stare at me with boredom, despair, and disappointment. Where is the warming smile on those cheery lips? They hang chapped, holding the not-so-white teeth under the tungsten glow of lights. 

She looks confused, and I avoid her intense gaze, which hunts me. 

The bruises around my knees are not there. My ribcage is no longer visible when I lift my arms. I stare disgusted at the three long stretch marks resting on my hip – I don't remember when they appeared, much less when I last wore a leotard. I rotate my body sideways, and I see my shoulders cave in and my smooth belly sticking out – giving off the wrong type of S no one would want. I raise up my head and suck in my stomach, trying to look like a ballerina again, but the stubborn lump of loose fat around my waist dangles like a hula hoop. I stare down at my feet; they feel naked without the wraps, bandages, and toe pads. 

Suddenly, I swing my right leg up for a leg hold, and I sense a painful shock shoot up my spine. I crash ruthlessly onto the unforgiving bathroom floor, and I attempt to stifle the scream inside me. My vision wobbles and refocuses back and forth with each blink. I dig my nails into the center of my palm to remember how I danced in the dream. 

When I can finally look up again, she cries. Then I am crying.

Breathe, I remind myself, breathe.