The Last Dance

“I’m here because dance is my life. It is all I have ever wanted to do, from when I was just a little girl. Growing up, I constantly played dress-up in tutus, tiara and leotards, skipping around my grandmother’s living room without a care in the world. At school, when my teacher, Miss Freeman, asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up, I wrote ‘ballerina’ on my page without a second thought. I was a fairly clever child, but I never did my best as the majority of my time was spent daydreaming about ballet, about getting the big break I knew I deserved. As I grew older, I cut pictures out of magazines; they were of gorgeous women, beautifully clad in sparkling skirts and satin leotards. I watched these same role models on my television screen, dancing gracefully to ‘Swan Lake’ and ‘The Nutcracker.’ My dear old grandmother couldn’t pull me away until those last bows had been taken, and the curtain had been drawn. At night, I would dream about being a ballerina myself, dancing the night away in show after show after show. At the end, the audience would cheer, throwing roses onto the stage and begging for more. I would oblige, dancing again and again until I awoke. Eventually she enrolled me in dance classes, every Saturday morning. These increased to twice a week, then three times, but it isn’t enough for me. I want to dance all the time. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If I can’t dance, I can’t live. That is why I am here.”

“Thank you, Louise. It has been a pleasure to meet you today, and we will be in touch soon with our verdict. I wish you the best of luck.”

Six years later, and here I am. I passed my audition with flying colours, gaining a full scholarship at The Royal Academy for the Performing Arts. We call it the Academy. It is possibly the most prestigious, well known school for music, dance and theater in the world, situated right here in the centre of London. Thousands of performers audition year after year, to gain one only a few hundred places available in the departments. The most competitive is Ballet. That is why, when I first arrived here, I saw myself as privileged. Completely humbled to be somewhere so magnificent. I was just a little girl, 10 years old, trying to make it in the world of dance. All the odds were against me. I was just the girl from the estate, living with my Grandmother. My mum died when I was 2, and my dad was never in the picture. My Grandma said I took after my mother in looks. My short, dirty blonde hair wasn’t much to be proud of, but everyone I met commented on my deep blue eyes. Someone told me once they were hypnotising, although I’m not so sure. Actually, I think I was quite plain looking. Not so much now. My electric blue hair definitely draws the eye. The Academy weren’t going to let me dye it, but I pointed out that there was nothing in the rules that said I couldn’t, so here I am. Now, my pierced nose, ears and lip get the occasional bemused glance. Nothing more than that. The people here wouldn’t dare. They just brush me off at the strange girl, with “issues.” I stand out. But then, all those years ago, I didn’t. I suppose I wasn’t anything special, you wouldn’t have noticed me in a crowd. Which suited the academy just fine. They like you to stand out in your dance, nothing more. You need to fit in, to be accepted. That’s the same wherever you go probably. Not that I would know.

I dyed my hair blue a month ago now, but before that it went from black to bleached blonde, to a shocking red. I like changing my look, as often as possible. I spend a lot my pocket money on hair dye, make up and new clothes. I can create a new identity for myself whenever I chose. Keeps me happy. I feel confident, hiding behind a new hairstyle and thick black eyeliner. Of course, I couldn’t wear this during the school day, but as soon as that bell rang I would transform. I went out as often as I could, clubbing. I look older than I am, especially when I’m in my make up. It also helps knowing the right people. Sometimes I’d just wander around London, sitting on a park bench, thinking about everything. I would do anything to get out of that school. I just didn’t enjoy it anymore; the teachers were constantly on my back, I had no proper friends and the ‘plastics’ of the Academy were out to get me. Even the dance didn’t make up for it sometimes. But I stayed, because every so often I remembered the real reason I went there, to dance. Although even my love for that was diminishing. I had to stay though; it’s not like I had anywhere else to go.

My grandmother died last year. Cancer. You have no idea what it’s like; loosing everyone you ever cared for. She was all I had. Just before my mother died, my grandmother promised to care for me, and look after me no matter what. She did as well. She brought me up properly, gave her life to make sure I was happy. I will always be grateful. She was also the only person I ever felt I could talk to, because she really understood me. When I got the call that she died, I just went to my room and cried. Of course, I wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but that’s what happened. I locked myself in there for days, as I looked at all the photographs of us together. My 10th birthday, the day I found out that I’d got into the Academy. Our smiles were wider than you could ever imagine. That was the happiest day of my life.

When I first started, it was great. I got to do what I loved ever day; I got to dance. The mirrored studios were state of the art, so huge I felt like a tiny little elf, tiptoeing around a great forest. I was in awe as I wandered the school, brushing my hand against the walls, feeling my way round the intricate etchings and décor. The teachers were a hand picked selection of the best dancers, singers, actors. Nowhere else in the world would you find such a plethora of pure talent. I could not believe my luck. I did not really have many friends, they were more my acquaintances. But I did not have a problem with that; I was never really a sociable person because all my spare time was spend practicing again and again and again. So I flourished in my solitude, gaining countless prizes and awards, as well as top grades in all my classes. For me, it was bliss. This awe of my seemingly perfect surroundings lasted for several years, until that fateful day two summers ago. I got the call about my Grandmothers death, and from then on it all went downhill. I didn’t have the energy to practice anymore, as I was so drained. I regretted not making friends, for now I knew I was completely alone in the world. No family, no friends, I had no one to turn to, to share my life with. When I won the achievement prize that year, I nearly gave it back. It was not worth having, when I had no one to show it to who truly cared.

After that prize giving, that’s when it all really changed. I had to stay at the school over summer, with just a couple of first years and some other students whose parents were travelling the world, or in jail. We certainly came from a wide spectrum of backgrounds. Normally, I would have danced, but this year I just didn’t have the drive. All I wanted to do was cry, to hide away in my room and keep myself company. I spent my time clearing out cupboards, drawers and boxes, unearthing old pictures and other hidden treasures. This only made my sadness worse, as I found picture upon picture of my grandmother. I felt like ripping them all into pieces, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. I just needed a way to escape. Then I remembered the sleepover that a few of the girls on my corridor had held just a week previously. Rumours had been circulating that they’d been drinking expensive wines way into the night. Of course, I hadn’t been invited. But now that they were gone, I didn’t see any harm in sneaking into their rooms and pinching a bottle or two. My grandmother had always had a glass of wine after a hard day. She said it relaxed her. I didn’t see the harm. So I found the bottles (they weren’t very well hidden I have to say, I was extremely surprised that they didn’t get caught), and just took a swig from the bottle. The next day, I woke up on my floor to find two empty bottles on the floor by my head.

From then on, dance became less and less important to me. I decided I needed to get out more, make some friends and just have a good time. And obviously, I could drink. The first time I tried to get into a club, the bouncer laughed in my face. That then prompted me to pile on the make up, dye my hair fierce red, and as the summer went on I spent more and more money on clothes. Tight tops and short skirts were top of the list, and of course several pairs of killer heels. I never had a problem getting into clubs after that. I’d go out two or three times a week, getting absolutely hammered and sleeping on a park bench. I enjoyed it though; it was a thrill not knowing what was going to happen, and not knowing where you were going to end up next. I loved the rush. I told the teachers I was visiting my great aunt. They had no clue about the drink, the parties, and the hangovers. When school stared again, my peers definitely saw a change in me. Unfortunately, that did not gain me any respect. I became the laughing stock of the school. But I didn’t care, because I was free. The people I met in the clubs liked me, they would dance with me and buy me drinks. Sure, I probably would never see them again, but that didn’t matter. When I was out I wasn’t me anymore, I was someone else. I wasn’t boring Louise, the prissy dance student. I was daring, shocking, free!

Then one night everything changed. I went to the club, as per usual, and found a group of really cool uni students to hang around with. I told then I was 19, in my gap year, travelling the world. They were very impressed. They bought me drink after drink, and I got very very drunk. Not that I can remember much of it. I don’t really remember what happened next. I think I must have taken them along to the Academy. The window was broken, and we ran around the Great Hall like lunatics. It was fantastic fun, although all I really remember was running round and round, feeling like I had no worries and no cares. The room started spinning, until fell to the floor, laughing with sheer delight. I must have zoned out pretty soon after that. The next thing I remember is waking up with the headmistress looking down on me, with that condescending glare she has. I could tell in an instant that she wasn’t happy, despite my horrendous hangover. You know the saying, a picture is worth a thousand words? Well this particular image definitely fitted into that category. And most of them I couldn’t possibly tell you.

It doesn’t take a genius to work out what happened next. They weren’t exactly going to keep me, were they? As if the hair and the facial piercings weren’t enough, this was the final straw. I was “a disgrace to their fine establishment,” or something. To be perfectly honest, I stopped listening after the word “expelled.” I realised that actually, I had absolutely nowhere to go. I didn’t love dance, at least not as much as I had done when I was a small child, but it took me this long to realise it was all I had left. It was gone now though. I had nothing. The partying, the drink, it had taken over my life. My obsession with my appearance and acceptance in the outside world lost me everything I had ever loved. But it was too late for regrets, as I’d made my bed. Now I would have lie in it too. This was the end for me, there was no going back.

It’s the final show today, the end of year performance. My last show ever here at the Academy. It’s probably actually my last show anywhere. I can’t see any respectable director casting me after this train wreck. With any luck, I can still make it into university, or at least I can get a job. But I will never perform again. Three strikes and I’m out. Never to dance again. I can feel my eyes prickling with tears, at the realisation that this is really it. The last dance. After this, I will have to hand in my ballet pumps for good.