The Dance

The crowd hushes as the floorlights go dim and the curtain is raised to reveal a dark stage. Then, so suddenly that most jump involuntarily, the harshest spotlight attacks more than shines on a man in a heap on the floor in the middle of the stage. As he raises his head, once again the audience gasps as the see the look of such excruciatingly painful torture on his face. They sit back into their seats as if recoiling from his horror. As he raises his head further he stares at the audience in disbelief. He is dressed in layers of hideously decorated strips of cloth that bind, more than cover his body. Then, as suddenly as the horrible light appeared, the "music" starts.

It can hardly be called music however. It is like every instrument, is playing every song, at every tempo, at every beat, all at the same time. The result is such a white noise that the audience recoils again. There are murmurings and people think about leaving, but for some reason, can't. This clamoring cacophony has made the man rise. He starts his "dance". There is no grace whatsoever in this dance. His movements are convulsions more than anything else.

He bounces across the stage in these tortured movements to the "music". Back and forth, with no meaning to the movements other than a desperate but futile attempt to make this noise stop. He reaches the right side of the stage and as the horrible music reaches a painful crescendo, he reaches his hands toward the heavens. His mouth is open and he appears to be screaming. The crescendo reached, the "music" stops. All is quiet, his scream was silent, and still is silent. Nothing happens, and the man's hands return to his side, and his head bows slowly. He slumps, exhausted, back into a heap on the right side of the stage. Nothing, but the horrible light.

Then, ever so softly, faintly, a single piano plays the most beautiful melody. The lilting purity of this song is so calming, so wonderful. Then, a soft, faint, almost hazy spotlight illuminates a beautiful woman on the left side of the stage. She is dressed in the most pure, beyond white, leotard. She starts to dance. The sheer beauty of her grace is breathtaking. Her fluid movements are in such synchronicity with the beautiful music, it's as if the music is actually coming from with her. As she dances ever closer to the man in a heap, he raises his head.

The tortured expression has faded to one of wonder. She dances right up to him, raises her hands, and as the raise – he stands. She dances around him, and removes the hideous pieces of cloth that bind him One by one they are removed and cast aside. When they are all removed, her hands beckon him to her. They do not touch, but feel each other's aura. The man now dances as she dances. Their movements mirror images of themselves. He is no longer awkward and disjointed, but dances with such grace and beauty that together they are like a musical chord, blending in such total and complete harmony.

Then, as the piano is joined by a single guitar, the guitar starts to peak in a long but ever increasingly beautiful stream of melody, they stop dancing, her reaches for her, lifts her high above his head, and slowly places her back on the stage. They stand there staring at each other, then reach their hands, palms out, and touch. Ts they touch, the two spotlights become one. The harsh light, mixed with the faint, hazy light makes a beautiful light of such clear, pure luminescence, that every thing about the two dancers is now visible. Their hands meet and raise together, up and over their heads. The music stops, their hands separate. His hands go around her waist, and hers around his. They kiss, and the new light starts to move slowly upward as the curtain falls.

finis