Week 12: Rocio Ruiz- Bailarina de a Ratos Nómade

Full Prompt: “Bailarina De a ratos nómade De a otros hechando raíces sedentarias Viajar en avión Viajar bailando Viajar tomándome un momento para mi Poniendo la pava para un mate”

Story:

Camila sat on a chipped and faded, yellow park bench. The tea she drank warmed her from the inside out- something she needed today. She unscrewed the lid of her plaid patterned thermos, poured some more warm water into her mug, replaced the lid, and set it down next to her on the bench. A small bird landed just near her feet. It craned its head to one side and then the other, looking at her. It began to peck at the ground and hop around, searching the concrete for food. Its hopping unexpectedly reminded Camila of her younger years. She smiled. She had once worked with a choreographer who had orchestrated a routine for her company which all involved had decided made them look like birds, hopping and pecking about, just like her new little friend was doing. As she watched the bird the memories came. She could feel the costuming against her skin, smell the makeup and hair styling products. She closed her eyes and could see the audience. She could see her dance partners. The sun, which moments ago had been merely the sun, now beamed with the warmth of theatre spotlights. Camila's closed eyes welled.

For 14 years Camila had been a professional dancer. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she didn’t want to dance. Her mother had joked she danced before she learned to walk. She recalled the years of practice and commitment; the passion and the physicality. She had excelled in all areas her vocation required. And the places it had taken her- they were so many. She had traveled the world doing what she loved. Camila opened her eyes. Memories so far gone, but fresh as the market’s morning produce. Some of the places she’d been she wished for more time, others less. Looking back it was easy to know which was which. It was easy to know the moments she should have better savored and the moments she should have walked away from. She was ever grateful for what she had been able to do, but now, with it in the past, sitting on this park bench, she wished she had better grasped how special all of the moments were, not just the big ones. 

Now a dance instructor, this was something she worked to impart to her students- yes, focused commitment and determination, but also, breathe deep and appreciate the process, not just the goal. Time will pass, and much of it passes while you’re not paying close enough attention. Devote yourself to things. Take risks. Leave something behind that will last. But in these efforts, remember to reflect on what you are doing. Live your life, but feel it as well.

This curious little bird had brought back a multitude of memories- every step of that avian-like choreography, the pounding of her feet across a stage as her heart pumped blood throughout her body. The exhilaration of perfectly landing marks, of the final step in a routine. The shortness of breath afterward and the holding of position for the eternity of a single second before an audience’s applause. It was like this not only for her friends who danced, but for everyone- the slightest thing can release a cavalcade of memories. Some bitter. Some sweet. Camila likes to say the best you can do is your best. If you’re always striving toward that, you can be proud of who you were in the moments and memories. Some of which you’ll miss after they’ve gone, but you’ll be able to look back in fondness. Every moment is its own. It's the only moment like it you’ll ever experience. Camila did her best to relish them. The sad ones. The happy ones. The joyful ones. The painful ones. All of them. 

The bird now hopped up onto Camila’s foot. She thought to herself, “perhaps I’ve always been a bird.” Not just hopping about on stage in meticulously crafted dance moves, but flying through the air, flying from place to place, living a life full of adventure and freedom. Sitting there on the bench, tears now began to stream down the well-lived lines of her face and flowed into the cracks of a now widening smile. The small bird looked up at her, and then flew away. Camila exhaled a happy breath, her eyes following the bird. She said aloud, “I think I am a bird,” as her friend Sistine arrived to sit next to her on the chipped and faded, yellow park bench.