The Studio

By Tiger Irving

Once upon a time, I was beautiful. Laughter filled every corner of my life, and hope brimmed within me. There was so much joy in those early years after the elegant lady found me. She fell in love with me, and I with her. She extended my space, adding another room to my back end, and we spent many days together, just her and me.

The lady — my lady, loved to dance. She would dance and sing while she cleaned and got the place ready. My attention followed her from room to room, to hear her voice and to watch her leap into the air so gracefully. I was never lonely. But the real treat was when she opened her school. Thus began the happiest time of my existence.

Her school started modestly. A month in, she had one student, then two, and then, before we knew it, there were dozens. It became the heart of the community. Dozens of students filled my rooms. Each one merrier than the next, especially her son, who danced like an angel, just like his mother.

So much love, happiness, and giggling passed in and out of my doors. There was only one day a week that the place was quiet, and on those days my lady would come in and dance on her own. Sometimes she would bring her male friends to show me off. I was so proud of her, and she of me.

My walls were so vibrant back then. Cheerful colors of sky blue, cotton candy pink, and lavender were backdrops to the mirrors in the room. On the opposite wall, my lady covered the top half with wallpaper featuring ballerinas dancing in a garden. Chairs lined the wall in two short rows, and a television sat mounted in the corner. Pictures of the classes, students, and my lady decorated the wall between the two hallways.

In the front, there was more of an elegant feeling. Eggshell white, adorned with gold and red trim, covered the walls. A portrait of my lady hung on the wall between the hall's enormous windows. Those windows lined the entrance wall so the world could see the more experienced dancer’s practice. The sunlight bounced off the mirrors, bathing the room in a magical gleam. It was a student lure. I learned that from a fishing show.

It was magical for ten years. I watched so many children grow into lovely teenagers and some into young adults. Even her son grew into a strong, lean celebrity. I heard my lady bragging to another mother about his skill. There would be a scout coming to watch him, and she hoped he would bring her back into society’s good graces, whatever that meant. I only hoped it didn’t mean she would leave me.

My lady, though I loved her so, wasn’t very nice to her son. She acted caring and loving toward him while the students and their parents were around, but once they were gone, she shifted. Her hugs transformed into hits, and her encouraging words became vulgar. If he made a mistake during class, she held it in until they were alone, when she would scream and yell at him. I pulled away when this happened. I didn’t want to see her like this. Not my lady.

Then came the day that changed everything. My lady announced the spring concert and the arrival of a recruiter to watch the show. Every parent attended that showcase and everybody was buzzing about how important this show was for her. My lady looked amazing that night, in a dress of crimson and gold. She sat up in the front row with the scout and beamed at how well the performance was going.

I learned a lot from the television hung up for parents in the back room. There were always television shows on: westerns, soap operas, and comedies. When the laughter started, I didn’t understand. I didn’t recognize anything funny. He lifted his partner into the air, and people from the audience pointed and laughed. Then he ran out of the room.

The show stopped. The audience chattered and shuffled in their seats. My lady went berserk, screaming at her son and dragging him out by his hair. Murmurs of concern went through the crowd. Nobody understood what had just happened. Most parents went straight home, but some stayed to talk.

“Somebody needs to call the police,” said one woman with auburn hair.

“She looked like she wanted to kill him. Did you see her eyes?” Said a blond woman.

I was there when they called and asked for an officer to check on my lady. Then they too left, and I was alone with my own fear.

I stayed alone for months. Only an unknown man came during that time to sweep and mop. When my lady finally came back, she wasn’t the same. Her head hung low. She didn’t dance or sing, just cleaned. She began renovating the front area and touching up the back. I was a watcher, unable to give my support. All I could do was be there, so I was.

The school reopened a year later. All her hard work showed. The place looked amazing, but a stain of the past haunted it. None of the old students came back. There were months with no students, and any new students were yanked away as soon as their parents learned about the incident. One day nobody came.