Stage Fright

I never want to go to dance class. Mommy says she thinks I'll like it, so we drive to Orange every Tuesday afternoon and walk in the back door. The back, small studio is where the Creative A level class goes, and Mommy usually watches from the windows while she's looking after baby Nicole. But today Miss Karen asks all the moms to go into the big studio and wait. Today we are trying on our costumes for the first time. "Goodship Lollipop" is the perfect song to dress up in red and white stripes: a leotard, one of those tutus that just looks like a fuzzy band around my hips instead of the pretty ones that stick out flat that the big girls wear. And to top it off (literally) a white beret with a ginormous red pom-pom sitting, flapping in the middle of my head. All of us are getting ready in the small studio and we even have white gloves to complete the look. I glance at myself in the mirror and I think I look just perfect. I tilt my hat the way I want, my tutu is perfectly fluffed. I even help the other girls with theirs.

Then Miss Karen walks us all in a straight line through the door that leads into the big studio.

"AHAHAHAHA. OH MY GAWD LOOK HOW CUTE," an obnoxiously overpowering woman bellows the second she sees us little Shirley Temples walking in the vastly more intimidating ballet studio. In that moment all I see are the eyes of the other mommies staring at me, their mouths stretching from ear-to-ear like the Cheshire Cat, cackling at how cute I look: they are clearly laughing at me. Their video cameras with red lights blinking to indicate they are recording this humiliation to go back and laugh at at a later date. I suddenly feel nervous and scared and when Miss Karen puts on the music to show the moms how good we look doing the dance in the costumes, I can't. I know the dance, but I can't do it in front of all these people. They're laughing at me. And I look over to the door on the opposite side of the studio to see a crowd of giggling teenagers pointing at me, whispering, "Aw, so cute."

I'm feeling more and more frightened with each evil smile I see and, of course, I start to cry. I refuse to show the dance, so Mommy takes me home.

*************************************************************************************

Now it's May and the real recital is this weekend. We drive to the theater in Milford, it's a longer drive than just to ballet. We don't need our costumes for today, it's just a "blocking" rehearsal. Mommy opens the door for me and I almost collapse when I see the size of the room through those creaky doors. Kim, my older sister, runs down the aisle as fast as she can right up to the stage. I, however, am frozen. In the far distance I see the crazy mother who laughed at me a few months ago. She has her video camera ready. I can't do it. I can't go up there. Everybody will see me and laugh at me and make fun of me. When it's time for my rehearsal I put up the best fight I can. Literally kicking and screaming, crying and wrestling against Mommy she forces me up the stairs onto the stage. You can' t make me go. I won't do it. They laugh at me. The big girls are watching. The moms are watching. Everybody is watching.

Through all the hysteria I suddenly feel Mommy's soft cheek against mine. And she whispers in my ear, "Take a deep breath and try. All you can do is try." I take the deepest breath I can through my whimpering. I close my eyes. And I step on the stage. You know what? I can't even see anybody. There are these crazy bright lights shining in my eyes so I can't see the cackling mother, the red lights on the video cameras, the big girls with a permanent "aw" shape plastered on their mouths. All I hear is music, all I know is I that I know what steps to do and I'm having fun.

*************************************************************************************

Saturday arrives and with it all of the nerves I thought I'd gotten rid of. I realize there weren't even that many people in the audience earlier in the week, but today: jam-packed. Bustling with faces I know and don't know. My stage fright is almost too horrendous to comprehend. I cry while Mommy puts on my make-up (a very unusual concept considering putting on make-up is perhaps my favorite thing in the universe). Before I go onstage Mommy says that Daddy wants to talk to me. I find him outside the theater and he tells me the same thing Mommy told me earlier, "Deep breath, Rach. All you can do now is try. I have a special surprise for you if you get up there and do just that."

With my white gloves still on and my lips still bright red I make my way through the crowd of people exiting the theater and I see my father waiting for me with flowers and perhaps the most exciting thing of all, a piece of watermelon-flavored Bubblicious gum (this is a HUGE deal because we are not allowed to chew gum).

*************************************************************************************

Fast-forward fifteen years and I am still dancing with New England Ballet. Countless performances, costumes, flowers, pieces of Bubblicious gum (yes, that tradition continued) later and I cannot imagine a life without performing. I often wonder what would have happened if I did not make the decision to follow my mother's and father's "You'll never know until you try" advice. Dance in so many ways, has defined my life. Performing is probably the closest I've ever been to "bliss" in my life so far, and to think I was a three-year-old's snap decision away from never experiencing it is mind-blowing. This advice, for me, has both been relevant in my life and hard to follow. If you haven't noticed, I'm very much concerned with what people think of me, a serious character flaw in my opinion, but it's evident in my reaction to the cackling mother, for instance. It's hard to try new things because I'm often afraid of what people might think. However, over time, I've embraced this advice my parents gave me and it has led to some of the best results I could have ever dreamed: a love for ballet, for example. And even then, to think, it was probably that piece of Bubblicious gum that prompted me to perform the next year, and the next, and the next...