Imperfect

It seemed like the entire class hushed when she walked in the door. Eyes shifted, nostrils flared and noses pointed up. She commanded the attention of the room, its inhabitants her audience, its setup her stage.

She waltzed to her chair, all eyes on her. She held herself with high prestige, her every motion to product of years of meticulous changes to her personality. She transformed from a wild young girl to a studious and careful woman, her every action thought-through and planned. Her arms swayed rhythmically, her steps in a constant beat. Her hair swung with the same tempo, picking up when she went down the stairs or turned a corner. Her heels clicked to the beat, providing symbols to the melody. Her every movement was a sound of its own, her body the instrument of her life force.

She sat down and looked forward. Her outfit was planned days in advance, everything in place and set in motion. She was not one to make foolish mistakes or errors. Mind you she had her days of unconfidence, her attitude and sharpness blunted by a series of unfortunate events, but never was she one to push her faults onto others. Whenever she made a mistake, she claimed them happily, to express the remnants of humanity she clung to. For years of practice, thousands of hours of dancing, singing, acting, and living had replaced the vivacity of life with the cynicism of obligation. She loved her sport and the woman she became, and with all respect, she should have, but at what cost? Her eyes were lifeless and uninteresting, her demeanor so thoughout that it became robotic. She contained so much individualism that she lost the ability to connect with average people. She became invalid through her dance routines, emotionless through her acting lessons, voiceless through her singing. She was not a shell of a woman. She still maintained the passionate personality that she clung to so dearly. But she was nothing to be jealous of. She had her faults and she accepted them. She was the perfect girl, and imperfect at the same time.

As I watched her, I felt both the swell of envy and the ache of disdain. She was truly a peculiar person, that Imperfect Actress.