Down the Rabbit Hole

Chapter 2

      Most people have two versions of themselves, "Work Self" and "Home Self". Work Self is tight shoes and conference calls, expectations and vigilance. Work Self is -without putting too fine a point on it- always working. Home Self is someone else entirely. Home Self is pajama pants and bad soap operas, comfort and no inhibition. Home Self is the reward for dealing with your Work Self all day.

     Dancers don't have a Home Self, only Work Self. On the walk home we mark combinations. In the shower we hum stravinsky. When we're microwaving our hot pockets we see how long we can hold a balance. When we pull up our online homework we roll out our calf muscles. As we calculate the relative maxima of functions we make to work our feet so they don't sickle in pointe shoes. While we listen to the audiobook of The Great Gatsby, we stretch out each and every muscle in our body. We are constantly evaluating and critiquing. Work Self and Home self become one: Our Self.

     I'm just finishing up the final draft of my Gatsby essay to submit when the door opens and I hear Samantha come in. She kicks off her boots, and pulls out the last of the leftover lasagna from the weekend, while it's microwaving, she pulls the bobby pins out of her hair and drops them on the countertop.

"Hey" plink.

"Hey, how was rehearsal?" 

"It was alright." plink. plink.

     I go back to my essay, but apparently Samantha's not done.

"So I heard about the auditions coming up" plink.

     I'm not surprised, she's probably known about it for awhile, but wasn't supposed to tell me until Madame did. I start to wonder if the company is resentful that some kid is taking one of the roles that could be played by one of them.

"So you gonna do it?" Sam breaks me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah, probably" Yes. I definitely am. Sam pulls the lasagna out of the microwave, scoops up her bobby pins and heads to her bedroom.

"You should". Then her door closes.

     Not what I expected from Sam, but right now I have to finish this essay. I proofread it once more, twice more, then I turn it in. Once my last assignment is turned in I can start to think clearly about auditions. It's not a question of if, but what if. What if I don't get cast? What if I do? I head to my bedroom and open up my laptop, I find the score and I play it while I finish stretching. It's fast. Even the slow songs have a quicker undertone. The score is chaotic, but there's a strength to it, a control. 

    I climb under the covers and I spend the next forty-five minutes looking up videos of the show to pinpoint what moves are used throughout most renditions, reading interviews with the creative team, and finally, at 10:30, I turn off the light and try to sleep, Alice's score still ringing in my ears.