4. On Point
In this basement studio, a converted raquetball court, sweat competes with mildew for notice. Jun stands towards the rear of the line, near the air conditioning unit that drips into a metal bowl. The pocked mirror gleams.
In tights, leg-warmers, and floating skirt, she is one of many at the bar. Madame sets the pace by tapping the floor with her ribbon-wrapped cane. Her sweet voice carries them through plies, battements, and glissades.
Not unlike a fencer, Jun bends, points, jumps, leans. Her ribs knit together, while sweat creeps along her body and soaks into her clothes.
Jun will go on like this, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning, through class after class after class. Of all the faces she looked upon when she first took her place at the bar, only Madame's will still be there.
She will glide, and groan, and balance, and pivot until she wears out her shoes and her toenails scrape past padding and click on the floor.