The Dance Class

He painted this twice, didn’t he?

I don’t know, did he?

I think so, he gave up on one for a while.

I like the girl on the left, scratching.

Why her?

Her eyes are closed, she seems happy.

Almost like she’s somewhere else.

I used to dance you know.

Ballet?

Paris Opera.

Why don’t you start again?

I did for a while. My mother died.

But the itch remains.

She used to stand so still when she watched me.

Strange, how beauty freezes us.

I stood like that before her body, almost on point.

I think there’s something like fear in ballet.

I like the girl on the left, scratching.

There’s something like fear in her face.