The Geisha’s Last Dance

This is the heart-wrenching theatrical tale of the bravest woman, that I, never was given the chance to meet. So settle back and listen close as to what I am about to unveil.

She was flawless and pale, beautiful in every single detail. Petite in size, with the exception of her heart, which was no surprise, for she had to be tough right up until she had had enough. Enough of the beatings, enough of the lying, she would never let anyone see her crying.

She had met him in her homeland of Japan, a real handsome sweet talker. It might have been her job to wine him and dine him, to pour him that glass of saki and serve him some shiitake. To listen to his troubles and make him feel better, then dance so mysteriously he would never forget her. For she might have been a Geisha, but we never knew, many years later a dance in a movie was the only clue. For that one night, that first and only date, had set her fate. She became with child to that American man, that sweet smooth-talker, now faced a dilemma and it was time to pay the pauper. She couldn’t stay in Japan after what had been done, but still she held her head high knowing the struggle had just begun.

He brought her home to America with him, the situation for the both of them seemed very grim. There had not to long ago been a war, and some here still felt the need to settle the score. A beautiful pregnant Japanese lady in the land of the free was, at the time, a sight too see. She taught herself English and tried to fit in, all the while probably missing her kin.

He was never home, for after the service, he took to driving truck and drinking because he was nervous. Nervous because he had secrets to keep and was in way to deep. Deep in gambling, deep in debt, and most importantly, deep into the lies that he couldn’t escape or forget. Two families, two wives, two very separate lives that he could no longer hide. Neither family had known of each other, since he was a trucker he thought he had had the perfect cover.

After those many years of drunken abuse, she knew it was just no use. For the good in his eyes only shone a small fraction of the time, the rest were all lies.

Four children later, and working three jobs to get by she was finally ready to tell him goodbye. Seeing her little three year old boy cowering in the corner as that sweet smooth talker beat her and threw her was the final straw, as that was what that poor little boy saw.

She took the law into her own hands then, by putting a knife to his throat, she couldn’t let him hurt them ever again and that was the only antidote. She told him to leave and never come back, this was the only way out without a doubt.

She stayed true and strong, and not before long, met a new man who would take care of her for a change. She lived many years in a much more peaceful state, even enjoyed going on weekly bowling dates.

Then one day karma came a knocking to that former sweet smooth talker, and in the end he begged for forgiveness as the sickness made him grow weaker, for he knew he would soon be answering to the reaper. Ironically enough the one that forgave him without question, the witness to all his aggression, was that former little boy, the one who was beaten and thrown around like a toy.

Many years later, grandchildren and great grandchildren later, is where this story gets very bad and so very sad. It was Christmas Eve and in her house there were three inside, her, a granddaughter and great granddaughter sound asleep in bed or so it was said. That night in that house a fire had started after everyone else but the three of them had departed. The house went up in fire and smoke quickly and without warning, at the same time as it started snow storming. She managed to escape the flames, and ran outside, only to realize she was the only one who had made it out and sighed. She feigned being restrained by her gathering neighbors, and didn’t think twice to run straight back into that raging fire, because saving her family was her only desire. It is said she never would have been able to live with herself, if she had made it out and they had not. It might have been hopeless and too late, this fate, but still she would try as she wasn’t afraid to die. She could never run and hide.

I am sad to say with a terribly heavy heart, that no one who was in that house came back out and now they will never again be apart. She was the bravest woman, I will never meet, her strength and courage couldn’t be beat. I wish she was still here, to meet a grandson of hers who is always so happy and full of cheer, for she is the whole reason he is here. I am forever thankful to this amazing woman, she is still to this day very much missed and loved, but is now able to be as free as a dove.

I stopped and took a bow, a little bit of sweat dripped from my brow. The crowd leapt up from their seat, the sound of applause was like some thunderous beast. I smiled and blew kisses into the crowd and the single tear rolling down my cheek was the only one I allowed.

Walking backstage to change my costume, my dressing room was silent as a tomb with only the smells of sweet perfume. I pulled out my special celebratory bottle of merlot, and as I poured two glasses and watched it flow I could still hear the crowd cheering below. “ This one is to you great grandma Chizuko.” I said as I placed the glass of merlot next to her picture and just for a moment watched the candlelight flicker.

I sat then a moment to reflect on the life of the bravest woman I had never met, and the first performance of many, that audiences everywhere wouldn’t soon forget. What an honor it was to perform that woman’s life story up on that big stage, for as I danced Chizuko’s spirit was released from its cage. I had felt her right there beside me, dancing with joy at the story our family had made. The theaters had been sold out weeks in advance, all across this beautiful country of France. Her story would reach far and wide, at this thought my heart filled with pride. Then the tears started to flow from my eyes as I realize this is as close as I’ll get, to having that first date with that brave and loving little lady I had never met.

I took a glance at the script, that brief moment was it, with my glass of merlot still in hand I drank the last sip, then touched up my lower lip. As I looked in the mirror I swear I could see her, then I took a deep breath and felt much clearer. “ This is the end of our first, but certainly will not be the last of our dates together” I said to her as I quickly remembered what I had rehearsed. “Thank you Grandma” I said and held out my hand and as I started to stand I swear to this day I felt her warm little hand. “May I have this dance, this Geisha’s Last Dance?” I asked as we walked hand in hand back to that stage, were our spirits would be forever set free.