Eyes Wide Shut: 9

	I started with a pirouette. It was a simple move; I only had to lift my knee and spin while raising my arms above my head. I stopped after the first turn, and spoke to the audience before me. “Look at my arms and chest,” I said. “Watch them closely when I spin.”

I repeated the pirouette, this time keeping my arms rigid and my chest firm. After I completed the turn, I moved onto the ground in a crawling position so I could get a better look at their reactions. “Did you notice how my arms and chest stayed still?”, I asked. They nodded.

“I want you all to try the pirouette, just like I did.” My eyes settled upon a female dancer in the middle of the line. She wasn’t very focused, I could tell. Her head was tilted to the side, and her posture was lacking.

She would make for a good example.

I pointed at the girl, and asked her “Why don’t you come forward, and demonstrate for us?” She obliged my request, and moved out out of the lineup, walking to just a few inches away from my face. She turned around to face her siblings, and began to perform.

She turned successfully, and her hands were angled well enough. She could definitely perform a pirouette. But I had already taught them that move, and I didn’t see any of the Vaganova method in there, which is what I was trying to teach them. The Vaganova method is a training philosophy that demands an intricate, conscious understanding of the body and full usage of it; not just the legs and feet.

What I wanted out of her, and the rest of them with this pirouette, was a rigidity in the chest and arms. So I picked her up and corrected her movement. “Keep this still” I said as I tapped on her chest. “Stiffen it before you turn.” I held her slender, toothpick-like arms between my fingers. “These too. Keep both of them straight.” I let her crawl out onto the ground, where she stood up. “Try again,” I said. “But do it five times.”

Once more she spun in front of the whole group, making five pirouettes. Five Vaganova-flavored pirouettes. As I watched her, I wondered how I would teach all of them something as abstract as the Vaganova method in just one session. I had other plans for the next class. I began to reconsider my decision to teach them.

The girl completed the five pirouettes in a satisfactory manner. “Good work,” I told her. “That’s how it should be done,” I said to the group. “Be like her.” I ushered her back to the line, and began calling the rest up.

One by one the dancers came to me, and performed. I helped them smooth out their difficulties, and they gradually eased into this “stricter” form of thinking. When I had finished with the last dancer and sent him to the end of the line, I deliberated on what to say.

My children looked up at me with their pale little masks, patiently awaiting my next command. They were good learners, but I might have overestimated myself and them with this material. Did the girl really understand what she was doing? Did they understand the meaning behind the controlment of their body parts? I was unsure.

“Why don’t we all take a break?”, I said. I can’t recall the last time I called for one, but it seemed necessary.

The dancers looked at me for a few seconds, obviously surprised by this turn of events, and then dispersed. I sat myself against the wall, and watched as they started wandering the room. My mind began to drift from thought to thought. It jumped from William Afton to Billy’s faceless head to the mother and her daughter’s smile. Iris and her familiarity lingered. I closed my eyes as I tried to remember where I saw her, to no avail. I only opened them when I felt a tapping on my right leg.

There was a boy, peering up at me. “What is it?” I asked him. He clambered onto my shin and stood there for a second, staring at me with his head cocked like a confused puppy. He took a few tentative steps, but slipped off the plastic surface. I caught him before he hit the ground, and placed him on my shoulder, just out of my line of sight. I closed my eyes again, trying to think. To remember.

He hooked his hand around my ear, and tugged. “What do you want?” I asked, with a tinge of exasperation. He was startled by my tone, and jolted a little. I regretted my brusqueness immediately. He was only a child, after all.

Just like Billy.

I lifted the dancer off my shoulder and transferred him to my tutu for a better look. His body was limp like a marionette’s and didn’t move even as I propped him up against my palm. When I saw him slouching with his head hung low, I knew that I had wounded him more than I thought.

I lifted his chin up with my thumb, while lightly stroking the side of his mask with a knuckle. He seemed to like it; he tilted his head when the scratching started and kept it up after my thumb left. “Do you feel better?”, I asked, taking care to use a softer tone. It was almost in a whisper.

The boy nodded, and then stood up. I offered my hand as a platform, which he accepted. I moved him up to my face. After a few seconds of orientation, he pointed at me with his arm and tipped his head to the side, in a quizzical fashion. I watched his movements, trying to understand their meaning.

“Are you asking me?”
He nodded.

That was a first.

“I’m doing fine,” I lied. “Thank you.”
He shook his head, and continued to point at me.
“Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “Shouldn’t you be playing with your brothers and sisters?”

He shook his head again, and stretched out his arms. I stared, unsure of what he meant. I watched as he lowered his arms, and looked crestfallen. Then I remembered.

I brought him against my upper body, his head tucked away under my chin. He wrapped his arms around part of my neck, hooking himself onto the crevices between the panels. I had been hugged before, but never had it been by my own kin; my own children. It was comforting.

I held him there for a few minutes, and only pulled him away when I realized that he was sound asleep.
Now there was a good idea. Sleep would be nice. It had been a busy day, after all. I moved slowly, taking care not to stir him as I placed him into a pod.

“Bedtime,” I announced to the rest. The children congregated around me without protest, waiting for me to gather them up and put them to bed. I counted them off as I did so- at the end there were twenty dancers, all fast asleep in their sleeping bags.

With everyone accounted for, I took a spot below Billy’s coffin, and closed my eyes. A scene came back to me.

I was at Circus Baby’s.
Standing on stage I introduced myself to a medium-sized audience, and explained to them that I would be dancing to an excerpt from the opera “Carmen”, composed by Georges Bizet. I noticed that Iris was sitting in the front row, next to an empty chair. She was watching me closely, but not in the way William did during his tests.

As I danced, I saw William Afton enter the room, carrying two slices of pizza.  He sat down in the chair next to Iris, who was enraptured and leaning forward. William saw this, and a faint smile began to form on his lips. It quickly subsided when his eyes focused on me.

William stared at me as I twirled and jumped with cold eyes and an indifferent expression on his face. While Iris had a wide grin, William looked shell-shocked. It pleased me that Iris enjoyed my dancing so much, while I didn’t know what to make of William. He hadn’t touched his food at all, and it was hard to believe the two of them were related. Iris’s happiness had an innocence to it that I hadn’t found in anyone else.

When I finished the performance and took a bow, Iris clapped rapidly while her father’s face was buried in his hands. While everyone else was leaving, William stood up and said something to Iris before joining the crowd without her. Over the noise of the other people, I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Iris stayed in her seat, and looked around the room.
Normally I would have gone backstage to prepare for my next show. But I didn’t. When everybody else had left the room, I sat down on the edge of the stage, and waved to Iris.

“Hi Iris!”, I exclaimed. “Are you enjoying your time at Circus Baby’s?” I was genuinely curious. I wanted to hear her thoughts. What did she think of it?
“It’s neat,” Iris said.
“Which one of us is your favorite?”
“You. I like you, even if my dad doesn’t.”
I laughed. She was sweet. And funny, too.

I didn’t feel as lonely with Iris as I did when I was alone backstage. She deserved something special for that. I wasn’t sure what it was- the thought popped into my head spontaneously- but she deserved a gift. And I could take her to it.

After convincing her to come with me, I approached her table and took her hand in mine. It was small, soft, and warm. I had to stoop for her to reach me, but that was alright.

I took Iris away from the Party Room, asking her more questions as we walked down a long hallway. Do you really have two brothers? What are they like? If you could be any kind of animal, what would you be? What’s your family like?

As I watched her smile, and listened to her laughter, I wondered what it would be like to have a daughter like Iris. It would be lovely to have children of my own, I thought. I wouldn’t be alone, and I could have someone to share all my knowledge of dancing with. I knew it was impossible, of course, and a silly wish to have, but the thought remained in my head as we reached the room.

Upon entering the room, a haze enveloped me. The following moments proceeded like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, where I could not find a logical reason for my own actions. It felt like I was watching a movie. Iris was held in my own arms, and seen with my own eyes. But I couldn't remember what compelled me to raise her onto the stage, or why I brought her here in the first place.

 Circus Baby stood in the center of the stage, waiting for Iris. She beckoned with a hand, excitedly. In a cloud of confusion, I watched Iris approach her. I did not follow her. I did not yell "Stop!". I only observed, with detachment from my body and the events unfolding.

I did close my eyes when Circus Baby closed her panels and the noises started. I was able to do that. The wet gnashing was eventually overlapped by the sound of footsteps, which became louder, and broke into a run as they neared the stage.

William Afton climbed onto the stage while I stared at the spot Iris had been standing on less than a minute ago. He ignored me as he approached Baby, walking with a slow, deliberate pace. He slipped on the blood anyways, falling on his knees. William didn't move for a few seconds, and only looked ahead at Baby before. Then he began lurching forward. He vomited once. Twice. He hunched over a third time, and heaved. But nothing came, aside from some choking sounds.

He then used me as support to stand up, leaving red marks on my legs. His hands were shaking, while his face was calm and collected. It was also covered in in blood and tears. He stared at me intently, while pressing a button somewhere underneath my tutu. The world soon faded into darkness.