Livora Gracely

One bright smile. A hundred dancing folds.

One More Turn

Lucía stopped. Her skirt took a little longer.

The last white fold brushed her ankle and settled over her shoe. She looked down, then quickly back at her aunt.

“I forgot the ending.”

“I noticed.”

“Could I do it again?”

Aunt Inés reached towards the music player. Lucía returned to her starting place, smoothing the lace at one wrist. She knew the opening. She knew where her arms should go next. After that came the turn, which she remembered very well.

The trouble was what happened immediately afterwards.

“Ready?”

Lucía nodded. The white rose in her hair gave a small nod too.

All Those Folds

For the first few moments, she remembered everything.

Her shoes sounded against the wooden floor. She raised one arm, opened the other, and moved into the turn.

The skirt spread around her.

There were folds beneath folds, lifting white edges she hadn’t seen while standing still. One swept past her knee. Another rose farther out, like the edge of something about to take flight.

Lucía followed it with her eyes.

When she faced her aunt again, the music had already reached the place where she should have finished.

She brought her feet together hurriedly. Her arms arrived a moment later.

Inés stopped the music.

“Where did you go?”

“Round.”

“Yes. And where were you looking?”

Lucía glanced down.

“It opens more on that side.”

Her aunt’s mouth twitched.

“So you were inspecting the dress.”

“Only a little.”

Lucía bent to straighten a layer that had caught against another. Inés waited while she freed it. The fabric made a soft, dry whisper between her fingers.

“Show me the ending by itself,” her aunt said.

Finding the Finish

Without the turn, the ending was quite easy.

Lucía placed her feet, lifted her arms, and held the position. She could hear someone moving a chair in the room next door.

“That one,” Inés said.

“I know that one.”

“Shall we put it after the turn?”

They tried the short passage slowly. Lucía turned, found the place for her feet, and let her arms settle into the shape she had just practised.

The skirt brushed past her legs.

She wanted to look.

Instead, she watched her aunt’s face until the last moving fold came to rest.

“There,” Inés said.

Lucía let out her breath. Her shoulders dropped, and she rubbed one arm where holding it up had begun to feel like work.

“Again with the music?”

“Have a drink first.”

She took the glass from the chair beside her bag. The water was warm from waiting. While she drank, she looked at the white shoe sticking out beneath her hem.

A little tap of its toe made the nearest ruffle tremble.

Inés saw it.

Lucía lowered the glass, smiling.

The Favourite Part

This time, she reached the turn without hurrying.

She felt the weight of the skirt move around her, heard her shoe meet the floor, and found her ending before the music passed it.

Her smile came while her arms were still raised.

Inés clapped. Lucía held the position a moment longer, enjoying how it felt to have arrived there on purpose.

Then she relaxed, and the room became an ordinary room again: two chairs, her bag, the glass with a little water left.

“What would you like to practise next?” her aunt asked.

Lucía considered the whole dance very carefully.

“The part before the ending.”

“The turn?”

“Yes.”

Inés reached for the player.

“And this time you’ll remember what comes afterwards?”

Lucía lifted the edge of her skirt clear of her shoe.

“I will. I want to see what it does when I get everything right.”