The Final Dance

Millie stared around the dimly lit communal dining room at the other residents. The run-down care home was really just a rather smelly waiting room to enable the Grim Reaper to find you easily, she’d decided long ago and to be quite honest with herself, she was more than ready to move on. With no family and little in the way of friends, her life was really just about time now. What time the meals were, what time they wanted you in bed, what time they dragged you out of bed etc. Daylight never seemed to penetrate the room. There were windows of course, but even on the brightest of days, the sun seemed reluctant to shine its light through them.

Looking back on her time as a prima ballerina in the Ballet de l'Opéra National de Paris, Millie remembered when she was at the top of her career and of her performance as Odette and Odile in Swan Lake. It had brought the house down night after night, standing ovations, flowers and tears. She had maintained the position far longer than anyone else, to finally retire at 39 which was old for a ballerina. My body feels it now though, she thought. It struggles to move, let alone dance.

She’d had rich suitors a plenty during her success. She huffs softly, they’d only wanted her

as a mistress and she’d never accepted any of them into her bed. They disappeared quickly enough though once she’d retired. The only constant was her leading man, Michael. She was going to marry him too; she’d been sure he was on his way to ask her on the day he’d been caught up in a robbery on a city bank. A stray bullet from the police as the getaway car screeched away ricocheted off the car straight into his head, killing him instantly. She'd returned to England alone and numb, bought a house by the coast and started up a little ballet school for the local children. It wasn’t famous, but it was popular and it kept her busy until the time came to retire. After that, time dragged and she guessed she’d let herself go, until finally her doctor had pushed for her to move into this depressing residential home.

One of the many disinterested care assistants plonked a bowl of soup down in front of her. It looked as unappetising as it smelt but Millie thanked her anyway, doubting that the woman even heard. Picking up the soup spoon, she hummed softly to herself, swirling it in the soup, mimicking the moves of the dance that had made her so very famous throughout the world. The soup grows cold as her memories take her through the dance steps. The spoon keeps moving but Millie no longer sees it, instead she sees her leading man, Siegfried to her Odette, her Michael.

Her eyes close and she clearly sees him dancing with her, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his equally dark eyes fixed on her in adoration as they move together, almost as one. He comes alive again in her memories, and dances with her once again. Oh, there were nights when, even while basking in the applause her body screamed with exhaustion but he was always here to link arms, guiding her off the stage so no one noticed she was about to collapse. She could almost smell his cologne again as in her mind the dance comes to its conclusion and the spoon stops its movements in the now cold soup.

“Millie, are you wool gathering again? It’s time you know.” The quiet masculine voice breaks through her revere and she opens her eyes, looking up into Michael’s dear face. “Come on my love, take my hand, we have a dance to perform.” She smiles and stands, soup and spoon forgotten holding out her hand to him as she had all those years ago. The dance must go on.

The care assistant shuffles back, tutting in annoyance that the soup wasn't finished, but had been spilled on the tablecloth, the spoon sitting in a puddle of soup beside the bowl. She starts to scold Millie but after a moment realises there’s no point, calling instead for assistance, while the other residents look on, blank eyed.

Millie looks back once, then smiles as Michael catches her around the waist and whirls her into their final and eternal dance.

For Sandra Darby who gifted me the three objects: Ballet, Time and soup spoon.