The Studio

It wasn't until she was leaving, walking down the narrow hallway covered in headshots, that she felt it.

Or the absence of it, rather.

She had not been to this studio in four years, since she was dutifully making the audition rounds at her agent's request. Every single time, she'd walk in the door and her chest would tighten. Girls would be tucked into every corner, legs blocking the hall, stretching and chatting.

Cacophonous, she thought now.

She'd tuck her head and push through, all the way to the back entrance, to the parking lot. There she could breathe, stand in the sunshine, and begin to warm her muscles.

She'd see girls she recognized, well, she used to in the beginning. In the beginning she'd usually have someone to pal up with, someone to chat with to take her mind off of her nerves. At the end, she mostly felt older than the other dancers. Out of place.

She would line up to register, hand shaky with self-doubt. Thank them kindly, and pin a number on her chest.

Learning the combination, she used to push right up front and center. Towards the end she'd hang in the back. She was much taller than the other girls. It was fine.

Things got better once she started moving. She'd usually gain a bit of confidence when she sensed she was picking up the steps more quickly than the others. She'd laugh a big full laugh when the director or choreographer would make a joke. Show them how sweet she was, what a joy she'd be to work with.

She would often be called back. She'd walk to her car and phone work, "Hi! I just got a callback! Yay! It's at 3, so I'll just be an hour or so behind. Thank you thank you thank you!"

Always a callback, never a job.

She'd begun to turn down auditions. Tell her agent she had work. The woman didn't get her anyway. Woman, hah, they were probably the same age. Always submitting her for things that she was obviously so wrong for. Waste of time.

And that was it.

She stopped dancing for a few years. Every once in awhile she'd catch something on TV or on YouTube, and her heart would hurt. She'd take a class here and there, and it almost made up for everything else. She'd throw herself into yoga, and because the city was so big, there was always a new-student-month-unlimited-deal she could afford. She'd hop to a different studio when the month ran out. It was almost the same, she thought. More practical, even.

And then she woke up.

She came back.

She was moving at a snail's pace, but moving nonetheless.