From: Unfinished basketball story actually
Point of view: The guy.
She was different.
Or at least some part of her was.
‘Saffron White, surprise dance’ it laid, printed boldly, on the running sheet. She was positioned on one leg, another raised behind her body and extended in a straight line, motionlessly on a single spot. Her chest faced the should-be audience slightly and her head raised with a bit of pride. She wore a well-fitted, black leggings with a heart design on the back, and a cream leotard. When her music started she pivoted and pushed off of the floor, coming upward to point on her left foot. Her right slid up her left leg and rested below the front of her left knee, in passe, as she began to turn en dehor. She took the breath out of me, and inhaled it herself, as she extended her right leg to its furthest, nearly touching her ear, as her left leg, being the stretched foot, barely touched the ground. She kept repeatedly kicking up her right leg, her arms curved upward above her head, before she brought both down: one leg gently bent behind another. From the distance I was, her eyes were intensely blue, as if they held a cloudless sky. And her hair, pulled tight into a neat, delicate bun, was a buttery blond. She was so poised, and vulnerable, and gorgeous, that my eyes swallowed her whole. Her movements were clockwise; picture-perfect, on-time, a new move every second. She drawed in my attention, my emotions, and for once, I didn't feel so awkward in my skin. She made me feel better about myself, even though I hadn't done anything. She leapt and twirled, all timely graceful, her body moving like a breathing sculpture. I was being welcomed into her world, becoming one with the music as she was. Saffron did a big jump, from one foot, then floating gently to the other in which her extended leg brushed into the air, appearing that she was thrown. She made it seem like there was nothing to drag her down. She was in the zone. "Isn't she good?" "Good isn't the word, breathtaking is."