The Dance Instructor

The following piece is modeled after Franz Kafka’s “A Country Doctor” with its constant run-on of dialogue and an element of absurdness. Several events happen that are all linked together for one singular event that will lead an individual to the realization that they are not as important as they thought themselves to be, that they do not know all that they thought they did.

The Dance Instructor

“Hurry up and get out of bed! You’ll be late!” the maid from the estate next door twittered in my ear. She yanked at the covers mercilessly, exposing my feet to the frigid, cold air causing a groan to pass between my lips. I fought with her until finally she tore the blanket completely from my grasp and I was left exposed completely in my state of undress in the bitter cold of the room. I stared up at the maid and her cheeks were bright and rosy as if she did not feel a bit of the cold, her constant smile did not give it away either. Her smile irritated me and a part of me instantly despised her for it, but I rolled out of bed and complied with her insistent nagging. “What is there to be late for?” I inquired. She presented a mirror to me and I inspected my clothes making sure that the creases were in proper order and my hair parted just so. “Oh, there is no time for questions! You must go right away!” I was hurried out of my own door as the maid slammed it behind me. Why had I not just thrown her out? Her place was next door, not in my own home! I did not have such bossy maids! I couldn’t restrain the smile that blossomed over my face at the thought of the overbearing woman. “Over here! Here is your car!” a stout, rotund man with pinched eyes and a gaping mouth waved a thick hand to get my attention. The vehicle that he implied was unfamiliar to me but all the same I had seen it several times. Taking careful measures to avoid the man with his slobbery mouth and thick limbs, I walked sideways around him, making sure to give quite enough room to pass by without even the slight danger of brushing him. I reached the car and slid into the driver’s seat. At once the vehicle with it’s chrome silver finish and oiled black leather seats, roared to life before I could even touch the keys dangling from the metal circle of the ignition. Empty buildings, streetlights, yellow blinking traffic lights, and deserted streets flew by in a blur while never once did my fingers brush the wheel. I was left holding onto my seat until there was an abrupt stop and the chrome car spit me out and left me on the sidewalk. I picked myself up from the muddy pavement and cursed at the brown, gritty spots that covered my good jacket while making my way into the studio. All of the lights shone bright, almost blinding as the sign outside radiated letters of blue, white and purple brazenly spelling out “The Best Dance of Your Life”. Inside there were rows of people, people that I had taught to dance years ago, ones that had gone on to success in the world of professionals, although some, of course, were not as lucky as others. “Greetings everyone! Are we all here for a lesson?” I began, sliding my soiled jacket from my shoulders and dumping it on the floor carelessly. “As you well know, we all know how to dance so this is your pupil. She has three left feet and has never been able to keep a rhythm. You must teach her.” The task didn’t sound too challenging, the woman in question was young and fair with golden hair and pale pink lips, an elegant beauty that did not look at all incompetent, if anything the physical state of her body appeared to be perfectly in shape and fit for dancing. This would not be as difficult as the woman that had spoken up had thought it would be. With confidence I rolled up my sleeve and signaled for the music to start, a slow waltz. I took the young woman’s hand and pulled her into position, my right hand on her shoulder blade and my left tilted to the side awaiting her own to take it. It appeared that she did not comprehend what I asked of her so with some labored movements I finally readied her in the proper position, she had lovely stiffness to her back and shoulders, although I probably could have contributed it to nervousness but she didn’t appear nervous, perhaps annoyed. “Very good!” I complimented and began trying to lead her into the movements of the graceful box step, the basic step of any waltz. The young woman did not object and attempted to keep up, although her timing was off, but not drastically so. I had come to the conclusion that there had merely been an exaggeration of the young woman’s talents so I stopped and addressed the crowd. “You are all mistaken, this girl certainly does not have three left feet, she merely needs more practice, which you can give her, so I am leaving now.” I stepped away from the young woman and began to back away when someone grabbed my shoulder. “No, I tell you that she does! Now, go try again and see for yourself.” “I just told you that nothing is wrong with this girl, she only needs practice, which you all can provide for her.” The man shoved me toward the girl again, who was waiting with an almost blank expression, and I stared at her and then the people surrounding me with contempt. Once again I took up the same position with the girl and began the movements, but this time it was more awkward, choppy and uncoordinated. Thoroughly perplexed I glanced down at our feet and to my horror another leg was attached to the young woman’s abdomen. It had to have been curled beneath her skirt because it had not been there moments ago. “See! You cannot do it! I told you all that he could not do it!” “But I can teach anyone to dance! Anyone!” Everyone filed out into the street leaving me alone with the girl. “I cannot help you.” “I know, I didn’t expect you to. I don’t want you to. You can leave now.” I picked up my muddy jacket and went for the door going into the street as well. The chrome car was still sitting there, I had half expected it to have sped off but the door opened and I was sucked in with the seat belt tight against my chest and lap. My customers began banging on the windows and the doors. I tried stepping down on a gas pedal to escape from the assault but there was not a pedal to be found. The car lurched into action but crawled along the pavement as if the tires were slipping in glue and the customers continued to beat along the exterior. Finally the vehicle shot forward, out of their grasp and into the blur of the empty city. I was a failure to my occupation and my customers; I was no instructor. The city went by in orange and shadowed streaks yet I did not make it back to home as lively as I had left it and I was eager to get home for there was the maid to tend to after all and more than likely she would have tea.


*Note: It is intentional that the entire story is a run-on. If you have read "The Country Doctor" then you would know this. If you haven't then this note is for your critiquing benefit just so we all are on the same page. -Thank you so much for reading!