photo by ernesto bazan
my brother loves ballerinas. i think he likes that they look like small deer or foxes— delicate, wide-eyed, lithe-limbed. i think he likes that they are dedicated, structured, and obsessed. i think he likes that they are in some way a throw-back to a different time— symbols of classic training, traditional arts, and the legacy and honor of working hard at what you love.
in the summer-time ballerinas come here from all over the nation to train. and one summer my brother lived with me for a few months. the bus he and i rode to get to work downtown in the mornings was the same bus that all the ballerinas would ride from their dormitories to their ballet school. they would get onto the bus a few stops after ours. they all had hair pulled up into tight buns, eyes exaggerated with make-up, arched backs, long necks, and feet that pivoted outwards. they were always in a big group, and all of a sudden the bus was full of 8 or 10 or 12 magnificent ballerinas. they were like a different species—gorgeous and slight and poised. even in their sweatpants that they pulled over their leotards they made the rest of us look sloppy, like a bunch of slouches just trying to make it through the day.
at the stop where they waited to get on, before the doors of the bus even opened, my brother and i would smile at each other. and then we would stare at them, one by one, as they filed down the aisle of the bus.
in the summer-time ballerinas come here from all over the nation to train. and one summer my brother lived with me for a few months. the bus he and i rode to get to work downtown in the mornings was the same bus that all the ballerinas would ride from their dormitories to their ballet school. they would get onto the bus a few stops after ours. they all had hair pulled up into tight buns, eyes exaggerated with make-up, arched backs, long necks, and feet that pivoted outwards. they were always in a big group, and all of a sudden the bus was full of 8 or 10 or 12 magnificent ballerinas. they were like a different species—gorgeous and slight and poised. even in their sweatpants that they pulled over their leotards they made the rest of us look sloppy, like a bunch of slouches just trying to make it through the day.
at the stop where they waited to get on, before the doors of the bus even opened, my brother and i would smile at each other. and then we would stare at them, one by one, as they filed down the aisle of the bus.
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