Dan claps when she finishes. "I'll believe it's the slippers. Ain't like it matters. We ain't auditioning for Swan Lake."
Besides, he already told her his échappé is weak, and he isn't exaggerating any of his flaws when he demonstrates for her; he isn't quick enough to reach his relevé to land right, and the misplaced pressure of his feet against the floor means his feet scoot an extra inch out to each side and leave him returning to third instead of fifth.
But he transitions from that fumble into an improvisation of his own. He rarely dances with a mirror, didn't learn with one, so he isn't really paying attention to it as he turns, sautés, arabesques, a pirouette - he defaults to developé almost like an um in his movements, a filler gesture when nothing else is immediately coming to mind, a demonstration of balance and flexibility made almost absentminded.
He misses his mother. He can demarcate his life perfectly, the before and after, the happy years and then everything going to shit, based on finding her body, and most days her corpse is how he remembers her. When he's dancing, it isn't that he doesn't remember her that way, but that it's more complicated, like her being dead and her raising him up and the fact that he thinks she would have loved but wouldn't have approved of the man he is now can all live side-by-side in his mind.
He doesn't freestyle for long. He intended to do so to try and open the door to Elle being less self-conscious; she's got more skill than Dan does, a stronger foundation of technique, and he saw her avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. Rough and half-remembered as his form is, he can still lose himself in it, and he hopes that that gives Elle permission to do the same. He hopes it's a demonstration that neither of them need to be good to enjoy it in front of each other.
"I might would say I'm rusty but you can't forget what you didn't really learn in the first place." He shrugs, smiling.
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Besides, he already told her his échappé is weak, and he isn't exaggerating any of his flaws when he demonstrates for her; he isn't quick enough to reach his relevé to land right, and the misplaced pressure of his feet against the floor means his feet scoot an extra inch out to each side and leave him returning to third instead of fifth.
But he transitions from that fumble into an improvisation of his own. He rarely dances with a mirror, didn't learn with one, so he isn't really paying attention to it as he turns, sautés, arabesques, a pirouette - he defaults to developé almost like an um in his movements, a filler gesture when nothing else is immediately coming to mind, a demonstration of balance and flexibility made almost absentminded.
He misses his mother. He can demarcate his life perfectly, the before and after, the happy years and then everything going to shit, based on finding her body, and most days her corpse is how he remembers her. When he's dancing, it isn't that he doesn't remember her that way, but that it's more complicated, like her being dead and her raising him up and the fact that he thinks she would have loved but wouldn't have approved of the man he is now can all live side-by-side in his mind.
He doesn't freestyle for long. He intended to do so to try and open the door to Elle being less self-conscious; she's got more skill than Dan does, a stronger foundation of technique, and he saw her avoiding looking at herself in the mirror. Rough and half-remembered as his form is, he can still lose himself in it, and he hopes that that gives Elle permission to do the same. He hopes it's a demonstration that neither of them need to be good to enjoy it in front of each other.
"I might would say I'm rusty but you can't forget what you didn't really learn in the first place." He shrugs, smiling.