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"To dance is to be out of yourself, larger, more powerful, more beautiful. This is power, it is glory on earth and it is yours for the taking."
----Agnes De Mille
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Eighteen-year-old Makiko Tsukiyama opened her eyes to find the early rays of a Saturday morning sun streaming into her bedroom. Her almost-waifish form stretched languorously beneath her navy blue comforter before she finally rose out of bed. Standing in the center of her impossibly-tidy room, she did a few demi-plies to wear out the kinks in her muscles, feeling the familiar stretch in her thighs before completing the series with a grand plie.
Following that, she turned her feet out in second position, slowly raising up her left leg to the side until it was almost touching her head, keeping her toes pointed and using her thigh muscles to maintain her position. Her hand came up to grab her ankle and she slowly counted to ten before finally letting go. She repeated the same process with her right leg and then began her Pilates exercises.
As a dancer, Makiko could never overlook the importance of the stretching exercises that her teacher and choreographer, Madamoiselle Cardin, imposed on her and the rest of the dancers in the studio. A dancer's body must always be ready to dance no matter what, as she would always tell them and she made sure none of them ever forgot that. It was one philosophy she would always live by.
Makiko's slender body slowly eased out of its kinks as she approached the end of her morning exercises, just in time to hear her mother come up the stairs and knock on each of her children's doors as a sign that breakfast was ready.
"Up and out of bed, kids! Breakfast is ready! Hideaki! Emiko-chan! Maki ~ "
Makiko's head popped out of the door, her face lighting up in the brightest of smiles. "Hai hai, okaasan! You just said the magic word!"
She then lightly ran down the stairs, her pajama bottoms flapping on the steps as she quickly tied her long black hair into a loose ponytail. She stopped to greet her father good morning with a peck on the cheek before sitting down to gobble up the pancakes her mother had cooked. Spreading a generous amount of butter and syrup on three of them, Makiko set about to slicing them, spearing a piece with her fork and then bringing it to her mouth, closing her eyes as she savored the taste.
"Golden, light, and fluffy. Just ~ "
" ~ the way you like it," came her mother's voice, followed by a scraping of chairs that told Makiko that the other kids in the house were joining them to eat.
Makiko smiled and winked. "You know it!" She continued to happily chow down on her food and was about to spear another two pancakes when her twelve-year-old brother, Hideaki, nudged her.
"Oi, oneesan! You're gonna turn into a blimp if you keep on eating like that," he remarked, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Makiko scoffed, taking time to ruffle her younger brother's hair. "I burn it off with hard work, runt." Emiko just laughed and nodded over her pancakes, watching the way Hideaki's sleepiness disappeared with Makiko's teasing.
"Oi! Don't call me a runt! And don't do that to my hair, either!"
"Whatever. Runt."
"Okaasan!!! Otousan!!!" Hideaki wailed.
Both parents just shook their heads and smiled.
~*~*~
As Makiko ran out the house, she vaguely heard her mother calling out something about her therapy and she immediately waved back, calling over her shoulder, "I'll do it in the studio before everyone else arrives!"
Suddenly, she was on her bottom and her half-open duffel bag (which she had forgotten to close in her eagerness to get to the studio) was on the pavement, its contents spilling out. Dazedly, she rubbed her forehead, accepting the hand that had come out of nowhere to help her up.
"Are you okay?" A voice asked, relaxed in timbre.
"I am but I don't think my stuff are," Makiko replied, trying to repress the urge to blush at the sound of the stranger's voice. It was the kind of voice that every girl dreamt their Prince Charming to have...deep baritone, tinged with a bit of humor and cynicism, but still very sexy.
"I'm sorry if I didn't watch where I was going," the stranger replied again, going over to pick up her stuff. Makiko shook her head.
"Iie...It was my fault, I was the one who wasn't watching where I was going." She bent down to help her Good Samaritan, briefly noting that he was tall, even though he was hunched on the pavement, helping her put back her stuff.
She reached for her pointe shoes that had fallen out, checking to see if there were any scratches before gently placing them back in her bag.
"Nice shoes. What sport do you play?" The stranger asked again, attempting conversation with her.
Makiko had to grin. She politely shook her head, still trying to get her brain to cooperate and force her eyes to look up into the stranger's face so she would at least know if he was a looker or not. "No, I'm not an athlete. I'm a ballet dancer. Actually I ~ "
The words died in her throat when she finally DID look up into his face. Gold-flecked brown met deep sea blue and the look of gratitude on her face was immediately replaced with anger.
"YOU!!!"
Mitsui Hisashi grinned.
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To be continued...
****************************
"To dance is to be out of yourself, larger, more powerful, more beautiful. This is power, it is glory on earth and it is yours for the taking."
----Agnes De Mille
=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=*=
Eighteen-year-old Makiko Tsukiyama opened her eyes to find the early rays of a Saturday morning sun streaming into her bedroom. Her almost-waifish form stretched languorously beneath her navy blue comforter before she finally rose out of bed. Standing in the center of her impossibly-tidy room, she did a few demi-plies to wear out the kinks in her muscles, feeling the familiar stretch in her thighs before completing the series with a grand plie.
Following that, she turned her feet out in second position, slowly raising up her left leg to the side until it was almost touching her head, keeping her toes pointed and using her thigh muscles to maintain her position. Her hand came up to grab her ankle and she slowly counted to ten before finally letting go. She repeated the same process with her right leg and then began her Pilates exercises.
As a dancer, Makiko could never overlook the importance of the stretching exercises that her teacher and choreographer, Madamoiselle Cardin, imposed on her and the rest of the dancers in the studio. A dancer's body must always be ready to dance no matter what, as she would always tell them and she made sure none of them ever forgot that. It was one philosophy she would always live by.
Makiko's slender body slowly eased out of its kinks as she approached the end of her morning exercises, just in time to hear her mother come up the stairs and knock on each of her children's doors as a sign that breakfast was ready.
"Up and out of bed, kids! Breakfast is ready! Hideaki! Emiko-chan! Maki ~ "
Makiko's head popped out of the door, her face lighting up in the brightest of smiles. "Hai hai, okaasan! You just said the magic word!"
She then lightly ran down the stairs, her pajama bottoms flapping on the steps as she quickly tied her long black hair into a loose ponytail. She stopped to greet her father good morning with a peck on the cheek before sitting down to gobble up the pancakes her mother had cooked. Spreading a generous amount of butter and syrup on three of them, Makiko set about to slicing them, spearing a piece with her fork and then bringing it to her mouth, closing her eyes as she savored the taste.
"Golden, light, and fluffy. Just ~ "
" ~ the way you like it," came her mother's voice, followed by a scraping of chairs that told Makiko that the other kids in the house were joining them to eat.
Makiko smiled and winked. "You know it!" She continued to happily chow down on her food and was about to spear another two pancakes when her twelve-year-old brother, Hideaki, nudged her.
"Oi, oneesan! You're gonna turn into a blimp if you keep on eating like that," he remarked, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Makiko scoffed, taking time to ruffle her younger brother's hair. "I burn it off with hard work, runt." Emiko just laughed and nodded over her pancakes, watching the way Hideaki's sleepiness disappeared with Makiko's teasing.
"Oi! Don't call me a runt! And don't do that to my hair, either!"
"Whatever. Runt."
"Okaasan!!! Otousan!!!" Hideaki wailed.
Both parents just shook their heads and smiled.
~*~*~
As Makiko ran out the house, she vaguely heard her mother calling out something about her therapy and she immediately waved back, calling over her shoulder, "I'll do it in the studio before everyone else arrives!"
Suddenly, she was on her bottom and her half-open duffel bag (which she had forgotten to close in her eagerness to get to the studio) was on the pavement, its contents spilling out. Dazedly, she rubbed her forehead, accepting the hand that had come out of nowhere to help her up.
"Are you okay?" A voice asked, relaxed in timbre.
"I am but I don't think my stuff are," Makiko replied, trying to repress the urge to blush at the sound of the stranger's voice. It was the kind of voice that every girl dreamt their Prince Charming to have...deep baritone, tinged with a bit of humor and cynicism, but still very sexy.
"I'm sorry if I didn't watch where I was going," the stranger replied again, going over to pick up her stuff. Makiko shook her head.
"Iie...It was my fault, I was the one who wasn't watching where I was going." She bent down to help her Good Samaritan, briefly noting that he was tall, even though he was hunched on the pavement, helping her put back her stuff.
She reached for her pointe shoes that had fallen out, checking to see if there were any scratches before gently placing them back in her bag.
"Nice shoes. What sport do you play?" The stranger asked again, attempting conversation with her.
Makiko had to grin. She politely shook her head, still trying to get her brain to cooperate and force her eyes to look up into the stranger's face so she would at least know if he was a looker or not. "No, I'm not an athlete. I'm a ballet dancer. Actually I ~ "
The words died in her throat when she finally DID look up into his face. Gold-flecked brown met deep sea blue and the look of gratitude on her face was immediately replaced with anger.
"YOU!!!"
Mitsui Hisashi grinned.
****************************
To be continued...
****************************