She Used to Wanna Be a Ballerina -- an RP Moment
She used to wanna be a ballerina,
She used to wanna be a paper swan,
She used to dance pretend for the Prince of England,
With her deerskin boots and her ballet makeup on.
She used to run among the forest branches,
Costumed in the feathers and the leaves she'd find.
Practicing her pirouettes and prances,
Perfectly Pavlova in her prime,
La dat dat dat, la dat dat dat,
Oh, look in your heart, see where she's at.
Ellen Sue Davenport was in most respects very different from Connie Rubirosa. Ellen was from the Upper West Side, had grown up the product of two WASPs and had, in her adulthood, continued the tradition, marrying a successful investment banker and in a few years, if not sooner, would probably produce more WASPs of her own.
The only connection the two had was that once, years ago when they were in their teens, Ellen Sue and Connie were in the same ballet class at the Joffrey School of Ballet. Connie was there by the good graces of her former instructor at the Flushing YMCA who had recommended her for a scholarship. Ellen Sue's parents had written a check for her tuition without batting an eyelash.
Ellen Sue's father was known among the yuppie circles for his penchant for cheating on Mrs. Davenport. Connie was lankier than the others, her ballet leotards not fashionable but practical. They bonded over a mutual sense of outsider-ness and remained friends during their tenure at Joffrey.
Where Connie fell short on her Julliard audition, breaking her foot and effectively ending her dancing career, Ellen Sue delivered nothing short of perfection. Their dream of dancing careers and opening a dance studio became solely Ellen's. While Connie studied pre-law, Ellen got her undergraduate degree in Dance. They remained in touch, though Connie always made sure they met at places like coffee shops and bars, nowhere near dance studios or Capezio stores.
It was only in the last couple of years that Connie had been able to go to the ballet as a hobby. She'd finally admitted to herself that she missed it. But even after that, she'd never gone to see Ellen, who was now with the American Ballet Company, perform. It still hit too close to home. Ellen had been there the day Connie fell (literally). Something in their friendship had changed. They'd always been outsiders together. Now it was Connie who would watch Ellen and their ballet friends go on while she stood immobile.
Today, as Connie went through her voicemails, she was surprised to hear Ellen Sue Davenport on the last one, her voice perky as always. It had been nearly a year since she'd last seen her, by chance at the Lincoln Center.
"Connie Rubirosa, this is Ellen Sue Davenport. It's been about a million years since I last talked to you...well, I know you always have something to do on the days I invite you to come see me perform...but I was thinking about you the other day and I really hope you'll come next month to Swan Lake...well, the thing is, it's going to be my last run...I'm retiring, Connie. You were there when I was starting out...and I'd really like you to see me before I give it up for good...Give me a call. The number is still the same."
Connie listened and then re-listened with disbelief.
Ellen Sue was retiring. She was thirty and her career as a prima ballerina was over. Everyone knew ballerinas had short careerspans, particularly if they had chronic injuries. But -- this was someone Connie'd went to school with, someone who'd actually made it past the auditions and disappointments.
For the first time, Connie wondered if her foot injury had been a blessing instead of a curse. Not wanting to think about that for longer than it passed through her head, she dialed Ellen Sue's number and left her a message.
"Ellen, it's Connie. I got your message. I--" She took a breath. "I'll be there."
She used to wanna be a paper swan,
She used to dance pretend for the Prince of England,
With her deerskin boots and her ballet makeup on.
She used to run among the forest branches,
Costumed in the feathers and the leaves she'd find.
Practicing her pirouettes and prances,
Perfectly Pavlova in her prime,
La dat dat dat, la dat dat dat,
Oh, look in your heart, see where she's at.
Ellen Sue Davenport was in most respects very different from Connie Rubirosa. Ellen was from the Upper West Side, had grown up the product of two WASPs and had, in her adulthood, continued the tradition, marrying a successful investment banker and in a few years, if not sooner, would probably produce more WASPs of her own.
The only connection the two had was that once, years ago when they were in their teens, Ellen Sue and Connie were in the same ballet class at the Joffrey School of Ballet. Connie was there by the good graces of her former instructor at the Flushing YMCA who had recommended her for a scholarship. Ellen Sue's parents had written a check for her tuition without batting an eyelash.
Ellen Sue's father was known among the yuppie circles for his penchant for cheating on Mrs. Davenport. Connie was lankier than the others, her ballet leotards not fashionable but practical. They bonded over a mutual sense of outsider-ness and remained friends during their tenure at Joffrey.
Where Connie fell short on her Julliard audition, breaking her foot and effectively ending her dancing career, Ellen Sue delivered nothing short of perfection. Their dream of dancing careers and opening a dance studio became solely Ellen's. While Connie studied pre-law, Ellen got her undergraduate degree in Dance. They remained in touch, though Connie always made sure they met at places like coffee shops and bars, nowhere near dance studios or Capezio stores.
It was only in the last couple of years that Connie had been able to go to the ballet as a hobby. She'd finally admitted to herself that she missed it. But even after that, she'd never gone to see Ellen, who was now with the American Ballet Company, perform. It still hit too close to home. Ellen had been there the day Connie fell (literally). Something in their friendship had changed. They'd always been outsiders together. Now it was Connie who would watch Ellen and their ballet friends go on while she stood immobile.
Today, as Connie went through her voicemails, she was surprised to hear Ellen Sue Davenport on the last one, her voice perky as always. It had been nearly a year since she'd last seen her, by chance at the Lincoln Center.
"Connie Rubirosa, this is Ellen Sue Davenport. It's been about a million years since I last talked to you...well, I know you always have something to do on the days I invite you to come see me perform...but I was thinking about you the other day and I really hope you'll come next month to Swan Lake...well, the thing is, it's going to be my last run...I'm retiring, Connie. You were there when I was starting out...and I'd really like you to see me before I give it up for good...Give me a call. The number is still the same."
Connie listened and then re-listened with disbelief.
Ellen Sue was retiring. She was thirty and her career as a prima ballerina was over. Everyone knew ballerinas had short careerspans, particularly if they had chronic injuries. But -- this was someone Connie'd went to school with, someone who'd actually made it past the auditions and disappointments.
For the first time, Connie wondered if her foot injury had been a blessing instead of a curse. Not wanting to think about that for longer than it passed through her head, she dialed Ellen Sue's number and left her a message.
"Ellen, it's Connie. I got your message. I--" She took a breath. "I'll be there."