And so I went. Dressed in my ballet uniform: pink tights, ballet shoes, black leotard, hair pulled all the way back.
We sat in the crowded theater as the run-through progressed. Here we are, at the culmination of our semester of hard work, and we miss the cue. It’s just the run-through, I think, pushing the girl in front of me out. We’re front row, going through the motions. I can’t see the crowd, it’s made up of the rest of the girls and a few scattered guys from the dance department, but as I look into it, I hear laughter. Oh man, I think, we’re just bombing this. It’s so bad.
From the corner, we hear our ballet teacher. “Make it work, guys! Just make it work!” and so we keep going. On and off the stage, running in and out, in succession…
The run through ends. We’re told that the music level can’t be adjusted, that we’re going to have to hope that we hear it. Great. We sit, clustered in the basement of the theater and we talk. It’s not bad, actually. We laugh a little. I’m being friendly, charming and sweet, all of the things I’m sure the teacher wishes I was.
And then it’s time.
We’re called. We’re waiting in the wings. And it begins. We don’t miss our cue. The audience is packed. The show sold out three hours before it began. No one made it to see me, and for that fact I am eternally grateful. They were all tied up with another simultaneous show.
We did it! We run off and then it’s over. I go out into the cold night realizing that I’m almost done with ballet.