Aris Part 2

I agreed once again and entered what was a spacious dance studio. At the barre located on one of the walls, a tall woman with red hair was stretching one of her legs with her back to me.

She turned to face me, and I couldn't help but think how beautiful she was. From her face, I wouldn't have guessed she was over fifty, although I believed she was a bit older given that she was a grandmother. She wore a form-fitting dance outfit that highlighted how well-toned her muscles were. And something about her seemed familiar.

"Hello? My name is Odília. My grandson said you came for the teaching position."

She came up to me and extended her hand, which I shook.

Suddenly, the name alerted me to where I knew her from.

"Odília Magalos?" I asked, knowing I couldn't hide my surprise.

"...And you are?"

"Oh... Sorry... I'm Aris Katsaros. I attended your performances in Athens when I was a child, and... Wow, I really admire your work."

She gave a slight and polite smile, as if it was nothing special. As if she wasn't one of the most famous dancers in the country.

"So, Aris... Did you bring a resume?"

Damn... I didn't even have anything to include in a resume about myself.

"Actually, no."

"Then how will I assess your work? Know where you've performed, where you studied..."

Aside from childhood and youth performances at the ballet schools where I had studied, I had never performed anywhere else. How could I have been so foolish to think I might have a chance?

"I'm not a professional, actually. But I've been dancing since I was seven. I've taken contemporary ballet and, for a while, urban dance classes too."

"And how old are you now?"

"...Eighteen."

She gave a slight smile again, this time with a “how cute” look that we give to children trying to act grown-up.

"Alright. Look, leave your contact details with my grandson at the reception, and if anything comes up, I'll call you, okay?"

"Ms. Magalos, I have videos on my phone of my performances. If you prefer, I can show you something in person as well."

"Sorry, dear, but... I'm looking for a professional. Just because the students are children doesn't mean they should be taught by someone who is looking for a side job to help with college expenses."

"I'm not looking for a side job, I want the position. And if you give me a chance, I'll show you that I have professionalism."

"You told me you're not a professional."

"Because I've never done this in competitions or championships, nor have I worked in this field. But believe me, dance is my life. It is... literally my life."

I wasn't exaggerating. Dance had initially been the physical activity I chose for my full recovery after the transplant. But it quickly became something much more vital. The way my heart raced when I was dancing... So fast, so strong... it proved to me, day after day, that I had truly survived.

Odília Magalos seemed like a very serious woman and even maintained a demeanor of someone who was unmoved by such requests. However, something in my words made her reconsider, and she turned her back to me, slowly walking back to the barre on the wall as she said:

"Children these days aren't very fond of classical ballet. They like more modern rhythms, upbeat beats. Do you have something like that to show me?"

Then, she stopped and turned back to face me, resting her elbows on the metal barre.

"Do you want me to... dance... now?"

She raised an eyebrow, as if I had just asked a stupid question.

"You told me you could show me something in person, right?"

I nodded. I had indeed said that. So, it didn’t matter that I hadn't even thought about or rehearsed anything to present there; I would have to improvise.

I grabbed my phone and opened a music app, heading straight to the playlist I had created to gather the songs I loved dancing to. One of my favorite hobbies when I was alone in my room was creating choreographies for my favorite hits. It was something I did just for fun, but at that moment, I hoped it would impress that woman.

...Who was a true dance queen, I must say. And just that thought made my heart race. But not in a good way. It was somewhat terrifying.

I chose "Can't Stop The Feeling" by Justin Timberlake. With the music still paused, I took the phone over to Odília, then returned to the center of the room.

I positioned myself with my legs slightly apart, arms at my sides, and head down.

She started the music. The first beats reached my ears, and I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to calm myself. I just needed to feel the music, allow every pore of my body to absorb the melody, letting it flow through my veins driven by the beat of my heart.

When Justin’s voice started singing, my eyelids opened, and I lifted my face, letting my body follow the instinctive movements of the choreography I had already practiced so many times in my room.

“Under the lights when they start the beat

There’s no place to hide when I pull you close

When we dance, well, you already know

So just imagine (just imagine, just imagine)

I see nothing but you when you dance, dance, dance

A good, good feeling taking over you…”

It felt like there was nothing and no one else in that room but me. That was how I felt while performing each step of the choreography.

I finished with a pose on the floor, arms extended upwards, my heart beating faster than the everyday rhythm, but in a pleasantly accelerated way within healthy limits, giving me the feeling of being alive.

A feeling that no walk, morning run, or any other physical activity could give me. Not with that intensity. Only dance could do that for me.

I focused on Odília, who was staring at me in silence, with a serious expression on her face. An expression as if she hadn't seen anything particularly impressive.

Then, I was overcome with a huge sense of frustration and stood up, going over to her and retrieving my phone. I was going to thank her for her attention, but before I could say anything, she spoke first:

"Do you study at Aristotélica?"

"Yes."

"And what are your class times?"

"Usually in the morning, but I’ve taken some courses in the evening as well."

"Alright. Be here on Monday at one p.m. Bring your documents. And don’t be late."

"Does this mean... I’m hired?"

"I don’t usually hire people who aren’t sufficiently experienced. So, don’t make me regret it."

I clenched my hands together, trying to hold back the urge to jump and shout with joy. Instead, I simply replied:

"I won’t make you regret it, ma'am. I promise."