The Terpsichorean by Emma Robertson

And when I was a child, clutching golden gewgaws proclaiming I could kick the highest kicks or jump the cleanest jumps, I was a competitor, an athlete; to be the winner meant that there was an objective best – most accomplished, most polished technique – and when I went to college to study the mechanics of the body, the precise kinesthesis of that kick, of that jump, it made me a scientist for I was not just doing, but I knew why and how, and again there was the concept of the best – the most efficient, most aerodynamic – and when I became a performer I felt the connection between the athleticism and the musicality, the storytelling, the blending of thoughts and actions, no longer moving for movement’s sake, to prove what my body was capable of, but because there was an impetus, a stimulus; I was an artist, but still we talked of the best – most innovative, most avantgarde – and after the accident, they talked in the past tense, in modal verbs: she was a great dancer, she could have been the best, and I understood that I was no longer an artist, a scientist or an athlete; my potential had dissipated and the use of the word best shifted to best case scenarios and best outcomes in the circumstances, and now that I dance in my wheelchair they tilt their heads and say I am an inspiration, a shining example of triumph over adversity; no one talks of the best anymore, but I understand my body better than ever and I am in awe of what it can achieve.

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Emma Robertson is a dance tutor and writer from London, UK with work in Idle Ink, Sledgehammer and 101 Words among others. Recently longlisted by Cranked Anvil and Furious Fiction, she was also runner up in the TL;DR Word Herd and has upcoming stories in Fudoki Magazine and several anthologies.

 Twitter: @emmadancetrain