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I've been thinking about this more and more often lately. I've been dreaming about it. I wake up crying. Why do I still feel this way? Hasn't it been long enough? Why haven't I gotten over it. I need a sense of closure. What I'm talking about of course is dance. I need to see Sleeping Beauty. I need to have that closure. I need it to get out of my mind. Why do I still beat my self to death over it? I have no idea. Thinking about it so much led me to read my college essay again. And, again, for the 10th time, I cried.And I just keep asking, why, why, why?
A Day in the Life: Nutcracker Performance
“Why didn’t I quit, why, oh why, didn’t I quit?”
“This is going to be the best show ever, girls.” All the senior company members of BalletNJ roll their eyes and look at each other with the same thought in their heads. After hearing that exact phrase for 10 or more years and at least 60 performances of the Nutcracker, we all wonder whether that “best show” will ever come. Or is it destined to be a goal never attained? As we all turn to go back to the dressing room, I reminisce over all the experiences I’ve had with these girls, my sisters, that have culminated in this last performance, this one last time to give it my all and perform. I think of the dedication and commitment that I have made to this art and everything that I’ve felt from it: the passion, the disappointment, the good times and the bad, the exhilaration, the stress, the friendships, the confusion, the struggle, and the determination. And I know I will never forget.
“Get ready for dance, Alyssa. You have rehearsal until 7 today.” Commitment. That’s all ballet is. Passion and commitment. Rehearsals from 1:45 in the afternoon to sometimes 8:00 at night. Rehearsals during the week until 9:30 some nights with school the next day and mounds of homework yet to be finished. Going to every single rehearsal, even when you are the understudy for a role and may never, ever dance it. Being assigned a role, a good one at that, and then being told that you really aren’t dancing that role, it was a mistake, and yet you still go to the rehearsals. Suffering through injuries, bruised hips, twisted ankles, bruised and broken toenails, blisters, dead pointe shoes, shin splints, and disappointment, the greatest injury of them all. I sit in the dressing room and think, was it all worth it? And I don’t have an answer. Not yet.
“Why didn’t I quit? Why didn’t I just end this?” I’m sitting at home after a night of dance and rehearsal at 10:00 p.m. with Pre-calculus homework, an AP Chemistry test to study for, an English assignment, and questions for Theology yet to be done. I have just two hours to get all of that accomplished if I want to go to bed at midnight, allowing me at least 5 hours of sleep. I look at the grades that I’ve been getting in the past weeks and I see they are definitely not where they should be. I look at myself in the mirror: I have dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep and I am pale, always pale. My friends are angry with me because they can see I’m killing myself, working myself to the bone, not getting sleep and stressing out beyond belief. I take all this into account and ask myself again, why didn’t I quit, why, oh why, didn’t I quit? But I can’t find the answer; my love for dance blocks out all sense in my mind, and I cannot see what may be the best for me.
“Can someone help me put this headpiece in?! I can’t find my bobby pins!” As I go over to help my stressed friend Alicia put her Snow Queen headpiece on, I smile and remember all of the wonderful times I’ve had with my friends over the 9 years that I have danced with them. I have made friendships that I know will last lifetimes. They are not only my friends, I equate them as my sisters. I look over at Jordan with her Sugarplum Fairy headpiece and a Dunkin’ Donuts caramel iced latte in hand; at Katie and Tara joking and dancing to rap music; at Stephanie fixing her hair for the 35th time; at Jaime, Erin, and Cristina talking about the latest gossip from their school; at Madeline very demurely fixing her eyeshadow and blush; and at my best friends Alicia and Erica giggling and taking pictures. I look at these girls and there’s no doubt about it, I couldn’t live without them. I could not live without our spontaneous trips to Starbucks, walking across the street in full stage makeup and buns in our hair; gossiping about who is going to get what part and laughing afterwards to see who was right, even with the occasional disappointment; running around and dancing in the hallways, scaring the little kids, and practicing the Snowflake dance in a gymnasium; taking ridiculously crazy pictures in the dressing room and hugging each other with relief after a show; and finally, I could not live without that bond of friendship, of sisterhood, that has formed between us over the years. I know it will last forever, even when the steps of the dances are long forgotten.
“We can do it girls, just breathe, we’re awesome.” It’s time. The Russian dance has just ended and the girls of the Waltz of the Flowers are cheering ecstatically backstage for the men. But it’s now our turn to shine-our turn to show the audience what we’ve got. The music starts, slowly at first; delicate melody and quiet plucks of a harp. In succession we walk across the stage, simultaneously form a line, and separate to reveal the Dew Drop. We form a circle, the music stops, the dance is beginning. I make a silly face at Alicia who is across from me, she giggles, everyone else giggles. We’re ready. Opening notes, bend to the side, be like a flower. It’s begun. The sound of pointe shoes hitting the floor resonate in my ears as we dance. We dance our hearts out. This last performance, this last dance, we have to give it our all. The smell of sweat and makeup is starting to hit me, I hear my fellow sisters breathing heavily, it’s the midpoint of the dance. A small pause, and right back into the tiring and flowing movements of the ballet. I pass Erica, the Dew Drop, and she throws a smile at me. I hear Katie say, “yes we’re almost through!” And I smile again and dance harder. I dance with more passion and energy than I ever have before. I lift my legs higher, I point my toes as hard as I can, I try to keep the biggest smile on my face. Another break, near the end of the dance. We are in that straight line again. Back to the beginning. The dance has come full circle, the Dew Drop pushes through us, and I realize: This is why I didn’t quit. The music swells. We move as one. This is why I didn’t quit. The exhilaration of this last push at the end of this 8-minute dance, my friends around me, smiling, laughing, breathing heavily, and that music, that swelling music inspires me and makes me realize that if I had quit, I would have regretted it for the rest of my life. I realize the stress doesn’t matter, the bad grades can be pulled up, the sleep can be made up, the disappointment can be forgotten. I have experienced something great. And I realize it was all worth it. That’s why I didn’t quit.
I miss it.
