Only Dancing

[Juliet is sitting up in bed. She is in a small bedroom. The curtains are drawn but light shines through them, showing it is daytime. There is a small TV in the corner with a battered aerial. It is switched on but with the volume turned down. A full-length mirror faces the bed but has been turned to face the wall. Sloppy heaps of ballet magazines are piled around the bed. Leaning against the bed is a pair of hospital crutches.]1

I gained three pounds last week. I thought I was going to cry. I couldn’t look at anyone all day- I’m sure they could tell. Sarah kind of looked at me as I walked up to the barre, then smirked and looked away. She always looks so thin… I hate her, the stupid bitch. She thinks she’s so perfect because her mother and her grandmother and her great-grandmother were all, like, fucking prima ballerinas. Or so she says. She’s such a liar. She told me her grandmother danced with Rudolph Nureyev in the ‘60s but everyone knows she owns the Happy Sailor on Fig Street. 2

My ankle is a bit better today. I twisted it or sprained it or something stupid when Stefan put me down too heavily. Fucking queer. He was just trying to get back at me because I told him his face was looking a bit puffy. And now my ankle is swollen up like a purple balloon. The doctor says I should be able to walk in a couple of days but I mustn’t dance for at least two weeks. “Two weeks!” I said. “Yes,” he said, “is that a problem?” I tried to explain that I was playing Odette in Swan Lake next week and that I had to dance. But he just said that if I didn’t follow his orders I would never dance again, swans or no swans, and he didn’t see what was in this ballet business anyway and he’d never let any daughter of his on a stage to prance about in their underclothes with fags in leotards. So I left. And now I’m stuck here in bed in this shit hole. 3

It’s a tragedy, quite frankly. I have worked my ass off for five years for this part. Having to watch my weight; bandaging bloody toes every night; crying into my pillow because I was sure that all the other girls were thinner, prettier, taller, better than me; worrying that my posture would go, my breasts would sag, wrinkles would appear around my eyes; nearly having a mental breakdown every single fucking day with the stress of being not just good but the best all the fucking time; going to every single fucking audition in the fucking country just so I could get this part. And now the thing that means the most to me in the whole world, the part that is rightfully mine is being taken away from me. Sarah’s getting it, the fat cow. She came to see me yesterday, acting all concerned and apologetic but I could tell she just came round to gloat. “Better watch your weight,” she said, “lying around in bed all day like that. I couldn’t do it- I’d, like, turn into an absolute heifer.” Bitch. I hope Stefan drops her on her stupid head.4

[Camera pans out until we are looking down on Juliet as she leans back into her pillows and stares blankly at the silent TV screen. Fade to black.5

Juliet is sitting at a little square table in a small kitchen painted a pale blue. Pictures from various ballets are taped to the walls. A strip light on the ceiling flickers on and off and gives an unnatural glare to the room. It’s dark out side but the blind isn’t down. A dead or dying plant is on the windowsill. Out the window can be seen more tower blocks with squares of light shining from random windows. Juliet is hunched over at the table, her hair straggling from a messy bun, a cup of camomile tea clenched in her bony hands. The crutches are now leaning against the table.]6

I fucking hate camomile tea. It’s meant to be good for the skin though and I can’t drink anything with caffeine in- makes me too jittery. I’m starting to be able to walk around more now, though I’m still a bit weak. That’s why I have the crutches. To get around the flat, you know. Ugly things. Make me feel like a fucking cripple. 7

My mother came round yesterday. Started going on and on about my injury.  The usual story. “Didn’t I tell you you’d get hurt one day? Didn’t I? I told you this dancing nonsense would come to grief. And look where it’s got you now, you silly girl. Holed up in this godforsaken flat- on the top floor for goodness sake. I told you, you should have gotten one on the ground floor. What if you get injured, I said? How would you get down, I said? And now look at you. How are you going to eat? Did you think the fairies would feed you? Did you? When are you going to settle down Jane?” “I’m Juliet, mum.” “When are you going to settle down Juliet? When? This isn’t going to last forever, you know and then what are you going to do? Do you think a man’s going to want you after you’ve paraded yourself all over the stage in them tutus, or whatever they are, for anyone to see? Do you? Well?” I didn’t bother to remind her that there was a lift. It would have spoiled her fun. She didn’t stay long anyway. Have to get back to give dad his tea, she said. Hope you feel better soon, she said. Like hell she does. She’d like me to prove she was right all a long and I should have gone and got a respectable job and become someone’s wife and someone’s mother. Just like her. Just like my mum.8

pWith one movement Juliet knocks back the cup of tea, grimaces and sets it down. She eases her self out of her chair, holding on to the table for support all the while. She grabs for her crutches, nearly knocking them over and, with agonizing slowness, propels herself out of the room. Fade to black.9

Juliet is sitting in a chair by a window in her cluttered bedroom, light streaming in. She is pouring over a newspaper. The words “SWAN LAKE” can just be seen as the top of the paper flops over.]10

I managed to get down to the shop today for the paper. Didn’t need my crutches, thank God. Caught sight of myself in a shop window, nearly died. I’m so fucking ugly. And fat. I’m like a fucking troll. I’m trying to lose weight before I go back to work. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to dance Odette for the rest of the season… I’m not letting that hag, Sarah, do it for any longer. [Shakes the newspaper] Seems she made a hit. [Outraged]“Ravishing” they call her. “A haunting beauty,” they say, “Peerless”. They must be blind. Either that or she’s paying them, the whore. I’m surprised she hasn’t come to see me. Rub my face in it some more. [Pause] Come to think about it, I haven’t seen anyone… for days. [Pause]  I can dance again next week. [Pause] I hope.11

[Fade to black]12