The theatre is pitch black. Khaya stands at the back of the stage, hearing nothing but his heaving breathing.
The spotlight comes on with a thunk, creating a bright circle in the middle of the stage.
But before he can catch his breath, he can feel his ballet shoes pattering against the creaking wooden floors, his fingers tingling with excitement at his sides. A force pulls him to the light, almost magnetic.
He tries to resist. The pull strengthens. He tries again.
The force shoots him to the middle of the stage.
“Dance, Khaya, dance.”
The voice is soft, urgent. He squints into the dark, but can’t see a soul.
“Dance, Khaya, dance.”
His chest tightens. He’s sure nobody is there.
“Dance! Dance! Dance!” The voice becomes louder, and his heart pounds with every word.
The music starts. As if on cue, his body moves to the sound. His toes arch up into a plié and fall lightly into a relevé.
He knows this music. It is the instrumental version of Beyonce’s “Ave Maria”.
His body replies, moving with every note across the stage. The song builds up; he feels his chest relaxing, his feet landing ever so softly.
When the song ends, he stands on the stage, facing the audience. There is no one there. Yet––
“Khaya, vuka…wake up.”
He tries to hold on––
“Khaya! No man, wake up! You are going to be late.”
His eyes jolt open. Under his cheek, his pillow feels hot and sweaty.
“Yintoni…what is it?” His mother takes a step back.
“Uhm…” He looks up, trying to scramble for words to ease her concerned frown.
“Nothing…just a…a dream, nothing serious,” he says, rising from bed.
She opens her mouth, but he’s already out of the room before her words reach him.
Tell us: Is there something you long to do, but only feel free to do in your dreams?