The oily paste on my lips tastes like dried lotion as my tongue shapes the outside of my shocking red lips. My grandmother applies the red tube that was once hers when she was my age. As she carefully brightens the pink shade of skin that covers my teeth, I feel grown up and professional, like a businesswoman or better yet, like a prima ballerina. Then I skip off backstage. As the soft, soothing music fades, the perfectly postured ten-year-olds tiptoe off the stage. Behind them trails a mysterious blackness as the deep red curtains slide to meet the hard wooden stage. The teacher rushes my class of five-year-olds into two parallel lines. In front of me lies the empty stage, inviting me and my fellow ballerinas to dominate, within seconds. The uncomfortable feeling of the lipstick fades and the butterflies begin to settle in, fluttering as if they are contained in my stomach, and will do anything to escape. In the back of my mind, I hear the hushes and last-minute fixings of costumes. One ballet slipper brushes in front of the other in time with the soft music playing throughout the high school auditorium. I look out into the audience in search of my mother and grandmother. All I can see is black, except for the occasional flash of a loving parent’s camera capturing the moment of their child’s first ballet recital. My body wants to dance. I don’t have to think about what the next step will be. I let my body take control of my mind. The familiar face of my ballet teacher is visible. She is perched on her knees right in front of the stage. Her pink cheeks, thick blue eye shadow and bright-colored lipstick stand out in the darkness. She motions the next step with her hands in case we forget. She raises her two pointer fingers up to her pink cheeks and emphasizes her cheesy smile. I know that I can’t smile any wider. The smile on my face is twice as broad as hers. I hope that Mother is proud of me What could make a five-year-old dancer any happier? I have my mother’s full attention, I am wearing makeup like a big girl, and I am dressed in a pink leotard with a rainbow ribbon in my hair to match my tutu. A burst of satisfaction shudders from my pointed toes to my dirty-blond hair as a chill goes up my spine. I am so happy. I hope that Mother is proud of me. The music makes a subtle conclusion and I flutter off the stage like the big ten-year-old ballerinas did before me. The whole dance feels like a blur, like when you look at your reflection in still water. As I step backstage, the smell of gooey chocolate-chip cookies fills the air. As I go to join my friends, my mind is at ease. I can’t wait to see Mommy and Grandmother’s faces; they will be so proud of me, their big girl ballerina. Grandparents, mothers, fathers, siblings and friends start to pour into the room. Hugs are received. All I can see is pink and red roses, yellow daisies, sunflowers, buttercups, green stems and purple lilacs. The flowers perfume the theater like the smell of a spring day. My eyes search wildly for my proud mother and grandmother. All around me I see each pink ballerina cradling her bouquet of flowers like a mother holding her precious child. A sudden rush of panic fills my eyes. “Esther.” I hear my name being called. “Mommy,” I reply, rushing into her arms as if I am a puppy running to receive a treat. My eyes glance over to my grandmother. Her hands are empty except for her handbag, which holds the makeup. My mother smells of citrus lotion, but the familiar smell of flowers is missing. There are no flowers. Was I not good enough? Did I mess up? Why didn’t I get flowers? Do Mommy and Grandmother not love me? As these questions flow through my head, it feels like a big apple is beginning to form in my throat. The tears begin to stream down my pink cheeks. Each drop tastes like a salty glass of water. My arms are empty; I have no baby to cradle. “Esther, sweetie, what’s the matter? You were so good on stage, why are you crying?” “Flowers,” I said, as I started to sob uncontrollably. “Flowers, how come you don’t have any flowers for me? Where are my flowers?” My disappointment shuddered throughout my body. I could hear the calm voice of my grandmother as she told me that she didn’t know to bring flowers because it was her first time at one of my recitals; she just didn’t know. Her words went in one ear and out the other. My mother also was upset and said that this was the first recital in our family and so she did not know about this tradition. She wished that the teacher or a friend had told her beforehand. Why didn’t they sell bouquets of flowers in the lobby? My mother scooped me into her arms. My tears got absorbed into her green knitted sweater as if it was a sponge. As we walked out to the car to go home, my grandmother secretly picked a bouquet of flowers from the blooming rhododendron bushes on the manicured grounds. She told me that I was her perfect ballerina. This made the waterfall on my face run even faster. All that mattered at the moment was that I was the only performer who did not have any flowers. As I look back on that day of my first dance recital, I realize that the bouquet my grandmother had picked for me was the most meaningful and loving bouquet that I would ever receive. Each flower that she picked was a flower of love. Ever since that day, my mother never attended a recital without
Ballet
A Sliver of Moonlight
Click, clack, sounded the dancer’s feet, echoing out in the auditorium. The smooth piano accompanied her and the audience and judges looked very pleased with the performance. I took a deep breath behind the thick velvet curtain. I was up next. My heart thudded louder than marching drums. I had spent months and months practicing to get this far. I was in the National Level Dancing Team. I breezed through the community and state competitions, but the Nationals were a whole different story. I patted my tight bun and smoothed my tutu out. I was a ballerina. Other dancers around me were quickly reviewing their routine. I was too jittery to do anything. I hoped I would relax once onstage. I was competing with a lot of serious dancers and I had to admit they were looking pretty sharp. The dancer on stage right now was Opal Vasnull. She was a very talented tap dancer. I breathed slowly and tried to soothe my mind by listening to the rhythmic beat of Opal’s performance. I needed to relax. All of a sudden my mom rushed in. “Mom! What are you doing here? I thought you would be in the audience,” I said. “Yes, hon, I just needed to check on you. Are you all right? After this piece there will be a short intermission and you will be next.” I looked at her grimly. “Mom, Opal is really good. How am I supposed to beat her? I can’t possibly polish up my dancing until I’ve calmed my nerves!” My mom gave me a quizzical look. “You’ve never been worried about any of the other dance com- petitions before. Maybe you should take a breather. You know, to freshen up a bit and relax and maybe practice.” Butterflies were having a party in my stomach I nodded shakily. My mom patted my shoulder and went back to the audience. I peeked out of the curtains one more time. Opal was clicking away as the piano pounded her finale. I closed the curtain. Butterflies were having a party in my stomach. One of the other contestants named Suzy Roo came up to me and asked, “Are you nervous?” I shrugged, even though inside I was saying, “Yes, yes!” Suzy smiled and said, “If I were you I would go outside for a bit to cool out during intermission.” I nodded, too anxious to reply. My mom and Suzy had both told me to go outside. I quickly walked out of the crowded backstage area and out the door. A blast of fresh air greeted me. Somehow this made me feel a little more relaxed, but I would need more than that if I were to beat Opal. I walked around the building and stood in a patch of grass. I looked up. Stars glittered everywhere, but the moon wasn’t to be seen. I sighed and sat down. I had so many ribbons from dance competitions and all my friends and family expected me to bring back another blue ribbon this time. This wasn’t helping to ease my nerves. Maybe stretching would help. I got up and at once my legs turned to jelly and started shaking. Great, I couldn’t even stand up. I sat down again and put my head between my legs. The worst thing that could happen would be if I totally goofed and got last place. At least my mom would still give me the roses that she tried to hide in the car. I put my head up and listened. I heard nothing except for my racing heart beating. Everyone was inside and the animals outside were asleep. It was very still. The world outside the competition seemed frozen, as if waiting for me to perform. I gulped down a flock of butterflies, but they kept fluttering back up. I looked down at the dark lush grass below me. Then I noticed a glimmer of light on the grass. I peered at it. This was odd. Then I looked up. The moon had peeked out behind the dark clouds ever so slightly, directing its powerful moonlight right onto where I was sitting. No, not where I was sitting, it was on me. It was my spotlight just on me. Somehow this relaxed my bubbling thoughts and eased my anxiety. I realized the moon would always be there. No matter what competition I was at, the moon may not be visible, but it is always there. Win or lose tonight the moon will still shine upon me. Win or lose and the beautiful outside world was going to stay the same. Win or lose tonight the moon will still shine upon me Suddenly my mind was brought back to when I was a little girl. My very favorite uncle had brought his music player over to our house for Thanksgiving dinner. I remember so clearly my excited little shrills and squeaks when he turned it on and classical music poured out. My small six-year-old feet instantly began to move as I twirled in my flowing pink dress. My parents clapped and cheered when I was finished. I remember the feeling of pride so big inside of me that my cheeks had glowed. My parents said that was when I first showed my love for ballet. It made their hearts warm at the sight of their dancing baby girl. They also said that was the best Thanksgiving we ever had. Now, seven years down the road, here I was on Thanksgiving Day again, completely nervous and jostled by a National Dancing Competition in Kentucky. I danced for the ribbons and glory. I realized with a jolt trickling down my spine that I was not the little six-year-old dancing for the love it. Now it seemed I just loved competing. This had to change. I didn’t need to try to make it happen. It happened by itself. As if on queue birds started to chirp and squirrels began to chatter. I
To Be a Swan
“And remember, auditions for Swan Lake are tomorrow!” Sydney’s ballet instructor, Elise, chirped. “Ballet class is dismissed!” “Syd, who are you auditioning for?” Sydney’s best friend, Natalia, asked as they walked into the dressing room. “Odette, the Queen of the Swans, of course,” Sydney laughed as she tucked a loose blond curl behind her ear. “I heard Michelle is auditioning for Odette, too,” Leila, another friend of Sydney’s, said, catching up to them. Sydney groaned. “Michelle! She’s the best dancer in this entire dance school! Why does she have to audition for the role I want?” She sat down and began taking off her pointe shoes. Leila laughed sympathetically. “It is the main role in Swan Lake. Who wouldn’t want to be Odette?” “Me!” Natalia spoke up. “I want to be Odile, the evil girl who tricks the handsome prince into thinking she’s Odette.” “What about you, Leila?” Sydney asked. Leila rolled her eyes. “Oh please. I’m not a fabulous dancer like all of you. I’ll just hope I’m a swan.” Sydney stood up and put on her black coat. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow, OK? Rest up.” On her way out, she bumped into Michelle. “And remember, auditions for Swan Lake are tomorrow!” “Watch it,” Michelle snapped, flicking away a loose ebony wisp of hair. “Sorry,” Sydney mumbled as she walked out the door. * * * As the sun peeked over the glittering Lake Michigan, spreading its rosy glow over the city, Sydney sat in her mom’s car, twiddling her fingers nervously. Sydney’s mom eyed her. “You’ll do fine,” Mom reassured her. “I hope,” Sydney said weakly. The remainder of the twenty-minute car ride was in silence. Michelle’s sure to get the part of Odette, Sydney thought miserably. That thought did not cheer her up whatsoever. She doesn’t deserve it. I deserve it. I’ve worked so hard for this part! “Sydney?” Mom’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “We’re here.” Sydney took a deep breath. “Bye,” she said. * * * “Syd!” Natalia exclaimed as Sydney walked into the dressing room. “Are ya ready for auditions?” Sydney cracked a weak smile. “I’ve felt better.” “Well, hurry up,” Leila said, tying the ends of her pointe-shoe ribbons. “Elise said we’re starting soon.” Sydney nodded, slipping a perfectly worn pointe shoe onto her foot. A few minutes later, Sydney heard Elise’s delicate voice. “Group One audition: Abigail, Kelsey, Jessica, Leila, Molly. Group Two audition: Megan, Britney, Ashlee, Natalia, Selena. Group Three audition: Michelle, Britta, Samantha, Kylie, Sydney. OK, girls, let’s get started!” Elise taught all three groups a combination from a scene in Swan Lake. It wasn’t hard, Sydney recalled later. It wasn’t easy either, seeing as her legs were still shaking with fear. “Group One!” Elise called. Leila flashed Sydney and Natalia a smile as she started to dance to the light piano music. “Group Two!” the ballet instructor shouted a few moments later, and Natalia walked to the center of the dance floor, along with the four other girls. As the delicate music began to play, Leila sat down next to Sydney. “Did I do OK?” she asked. Sydney nodded, eyes closed, and Leila understood. “Don’t be nervous. Just pretend you’re in ballet class.” Distantly, Sydney heard Elise’s voice call, “Group Three!” Sydney took her place next to Michelle. “Break a leg,” Michelle smirked. “Thanks.” “No, really, break a leg.” Sydney rolled her eyes. Faintly, she heard the music start. Glissade, soutenu, développé, Sydney thought to herself, going through the steps in her head. She was soaring through the steps, dancing with her heart and soul, and enjoying every minute of it. Sydney was quietly aware of Michelle beside her, doing as well as, if not better than, herself. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was ballet. The dance ended and Sydney smiled radiantly at Elise, who she saw was scribbling notes on her clipboard. “Very good, everyone,” Elise said, beaming. “You did so good, Sydney,” Natalia raved as they were walking into the dressing room. “Thanks, Nat,” Sydney said, “but you’re not the one who chooses the parts.” As Sydney left the studio, she decided that she’d done the best she could do and she could only hope for the best. * * * “Syd!” Natalia squealed the next day as Sydney entered the dressing room. “Hurry up! Elise’s going to announce the cast as soon as everyone’s here!” She grabbed Sydney’s hand and they raced onto the dance floor where all the dancers were crowded. “Well, it looks like everyone’s here,” Elise said. “OK. So the person who will be Odile is… Natalia Windson!” “Yes!” Natalia shrieked. “I did it!” Elise smiled. “Now we have our party guests, present at the party in Act Four. They will be Samantha Grayson, Kylie Johnson, Leila Mason, Selena Lopez, Megan Elsen and Ashlee Rolf.” Leila looked grimly at Natalia and Sydney. “Next is our group of swans. They will be Kelsey Bishop, Jessica Bergmann, Abigail Michaels, and Sydney Miles.” Sydney stood there, stunned. “No,” she whispered. Her head was spinning and her heart pounding. A swan? Me? She faintly heard Elise saying, “Odette will be played by Michelle Thompson.” Sydney’s eyes welled up with tears and she brushed them away, disgusted with herself. “Next we have understudies. The understudy for Odile will be Jessica. The understudy for Odette will be Sydney.” Elise looked up from her clipboard and smiled at Sydney. “See? You’re an understudy!” Natalia poked Sydney. “You still have a chance to be Odette.” Sydney groaned. Great. I have to go to extra practices for nothing, she thought to herself. “Syd. I’m so sorry,” Michelle said in mock pity. Sydney brushed past her and walked out the door, seething. * * * The days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months and the first show drew closer and closer. Sydney learned her swan part and the part of Odette. She even practiced the grand Pas de deux a few times with Michael, who
