The whispering backstage has become almost nonexistent. Everyone is hurrying to get in their places, and when the curtains finally open, we can all hear them as clearly as if they are right next to us. My palms and underarms are sweating like I’m standing in a 100 degree heat.
All the other girls run out on stage, their pointe shoes clickity clacking against the smooth floor. I watch as they perform their dance flawlessly, hitting every mark just in time with the orchestra’s music. At my cue, I sashay onto the stage. The audience audibly gasps when they catch sight of me. The completely black, bejeweled swan costume I’m wearing stands in stark contrast to the pristine and fluffy white tutus of the other swans. I skillfully sweep forward and pirouette towards the edge of the stage. The white swans nimbly run backstage, and the moment I am most anxious about arrives… it is time for my solo.
I whirl and twirl across the stage. I leap, glide, and spin until beads of sweat form on my forehead. My technique is impeccable; as if each muscle in my body can immediately follow any command my brain gives it. As I dance, my head becomes clear. It seems as if I no longer need to think about the moves, as if they have become a part of me, ingrained into my very soul.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. As I near the dance’s end, I begin to worry about the final, show stopping move. It’s called a fouetté rond de jambe en tournant, a move so complicated that only the best of the best can successfully pull it off. It consists of a pirouette in which you turn ten times without stopping, while simultaneously alternating from being on pointe to being on flat. I’ve been practicing it for months, but yet somehow, I still am worried about it. What will happen if I can’t do it? Will the audience laugh at me? Boo me off stage?
My worries are put on halt when I realize that I’m only one leap away from the end of the dance. I leap, my legs stretching like rubber bands. When I land, I automatically start pirouetting. I do it once, twice, and… I’m doing it! I’m actually doing it. The feeling I get is wild, and free. Almost like I’ve broken through some sort of barrier. I finish the dance with a curtsy and the audience is on their feet, clapping wildly.
It seems like I’ve been dancing for hours, but in reality, my solo only lasted a few minutes. I elegantly exit the stage, and the audience is still clapping for me. The smile on my face is a mile wide as everyone backstage congratulates me. I thank them, and then hurry to the dressing room to change for the next scene. A ballerina’s work never ends.
~
Ten year old Meera snapped awake to the sound of her alarm clock. She hit the snooze button and lay in her pink and turquoise polka-dotted bed, awash in her pleasant dreams of ballet stardom. One day, she decided, I will do that.
