It was just a regular day. I happened to be at a local store where I was minding my business, trying to get some shopping done. Then, I noticed this pretty girl, about seven years old, with her parents. Adults busy, probably, making money fulfill their short list. The girl was wearing a pair of something which look like silver-colored leather shoes. Silver-colored? Yes. Leather? I don't believe so. A narrow strip of "leather" around her ankles kept the shoes in place as much as possible, because the shoes were, probably, two sizes larger than her feet.
We looked at each other unintentionally for a brief time, long enough for me to see her gracious ballerina movements, using those shoes as the main point of attraction. She was dancing — I would say — a created dance, as instant as coffee or pudding. It was an act of isolation because she was by herself in her own world, present on that magnificent stage only created by children in a moment of isolated greatness.
She tried different positions, moving around on her own stage. I tried not to interrupt, so I didn't stare, much to my regret. Because I knew if I insisted, I could lose a golden glimpse. Or should I say, a silver glimpse?
The girl didn't interrupt her inspiration because it was genuine, carried by a pair of cheap, tough non-dancing slippers. But for her, everything was real, so much so that she was not part of an aisle, a store or the daily routine of those, like me, who go there to solve a daily routine, to be part of parking the car, using a cart, finding the stuff, standing in line to pay and leaving. No, no, she was not part of that sketch. She was by herself in that incredible world where kids become a certain character, performing and creating body movements backed by face expressions.
That day, at that time, I was lucky enough to be her audience, because after she saw me for a second, she ignored me the rest of the time while I attended one of the best dancing performances I have ever seen. And because I am a ballet fan, I have had the opportunity to see a few of the considered great dancers of the world, either in personal appearances or in the movies. I have a few names of the greatest, but their names could fade like the brief work of an early devoted fresh bud. So natural and fresh, impossible to be compared.
I believe this was a unique opportunity to watch a natural act of dancing in the early stages. No practice, no daily routines, no learned positions. Pure inspiration, as natural as a plant leaf moving slowly and unnoticed, making it possible to face the sun.
About the opportunity for me to have such an experience, I believe we might expect every day — even unobservantly — to be the recipient, the secret microaudience of the unexpected. I just want to be there, always, as I did this time, when a little girl performed her best dancing act, not wearing the proper attire — including her shoes — who gave her the inspiration of a real dancer. Yes, I want to be part of it, because she shared with me her impromptu idea what real dancing is.
She looked like a Walt Disney creature. But no, she was real, she was pure, and I was there to be enchanted by a great dancer with regular tough shoes, transformed into real silver dancing slippers.
DODGE CITY —
