“wow, are you a dancer?”
oopse. Maybe I showed off by stretching. I stretch that way every morning, up on my toes to reach the ceiling some day, and then down to touch the floor.
“uh, no,” I said shyly.
“You’re very flexible, for a guy…”
The mirror reveals to me what she says. I am a stick figure.
I should have said thank you, but all I thought was, I look like a guy. I had forgotten.
Until, finally, the class started and I could focus on following the teacher, get on my tippy toes, get my long legs up on the barre and stretch. Ballet barre is great, there is no performance in it. I don’t need the mirror. I am flexible, for a person who was barred from ballet by gender rules.