She stood in the wings, rubbing her feet into the rosin box, the curtains still closed and the orchestra tuning up. This was her final performance. Of the fifty years she had been dancing on stage, she was perhaps least and most prepared for this final dance. She and the choreographer chose a requiem for the last piece, knowing that there would be an encore and that she would be able to choose something lighter to really end the night.
She glanced up toward the lights, thinking of her partners over the years, how the great ones had all died and how, like a spinster, she was taking the stage alone in a solo. Her life had been a solo, really, although the pas de deux and corps de ballet had been delightful and maddening, she was really on a journey of her own in this lifetime.
She could hear the applause begin, and knew the conductor was walking out, taking his place at the podium. He tapped his baton to signal the musicians- a reverant hush taking over the hall. The slick rustling sound of the curtains pulling back accompanied the first notes of the piece, just music in the blackness. Then as she raised her arms and walked slowly into center stage, the applause began again, thunderous, but brief, the audience not wanting to interfere with the mood.
She lifted her head, and expanded her ribcage to breathe deeply, and beginning what was most central to her life, she started the slow circular motions that began the life cycle of this final public requiem.
