For the past few weeks in collage riting we've been working on self narrative type stories, the first four were about fear, failure, embarrassment, and humorous happenings. The last one was about anything we wanted. I chose a dance experience I'd had. Since I never post anything on here I thought I would share this...
Jennie is hugging me. Oh dear, this is very strange, something must be wrong. Uh oh, am I dying? Am I dreaming? Did I take too much Nyquil last night, is this a hallucination? Ok I must be dead. Yes, I’m dead, that’s it. Wait, I don’t think my feet would hurt so badly if I was dead. Oh my goodness, this is real life. Jennie, or as my fellow dance mates and I preferred to call her “a God” (not sacrilegious in this instance because it is just too true) was hugging me. Jennie, my false idol, was hugging me. It was strange, she had yelled at me for six months, told me indirectly to lose weight, and torn down every last bit of pride I had left, and now she was hugging me. No wonder I believed I’d died and gone to heaven. I would have sold my soul for Jennie and ballet, she was my hero and I did as she commanded.
When I look back at my Junior year I remember a few things vividly, but nothing as vividly as my experiences with Jennie in San Francisco. It’s funny to think I was always so mortally afraid of her. Take for example, the fact that she had made me cry more than once... a week, that is. I worked for six months under her direction prepping and rehearsing three solo numbers for the competition in San Francisco and I really wanted to make her proud. But how? Sitting in the audience the night before I would go onstage before the judges, and Jennie, my whole world came tumbling down when I saw ten year old asian after ten year old asian come onstage and perform four and five pirouettes with complete ease. I couldn’t live up to that, I was not even close to being that good and I was six years their senior. I panicked because it became very clear to me that panicking was the only option for me if I hoped to maintain my composure.
By the time I got into the taxi with my dance buddies, I was bursting with tears. This time Jennie wasn’t the culprit though, my competitors were. My mother, and my friends tried to calm me down but I just wouldn’t have it. I was overcome with a heavy inadequacy that I just could not shake. I kept thinking, why do I even try? I mean, look at these girls... I sat down wedged between the mini-bar and the closet in my room, 377, at the San Francisco Hilton Garden Inn, and cried my little eyes out. In case this point hasn’t been made clear already, I am indeed a dramatic young lady. I cry a lot, get over it. Jennie caught word of the outburst by a little bit less than chance. My mother called her over and over until she finally picked up.
She said, “Jess, I hear you’re a little worried about tomorrow.”
I managed to get out a meager “Y-y-yes” in between weeps.
And then something amazing happened, Jennie told me everything she loved about me. She told me everything I’d done right for the past six months, she told me I had what it took to make it, and that I could kill it tomorrow. I realize how incredibly cheesy that all sounds, believe me. The thing is, Jennie doesn’t kid around, she is blunt and doesn’t know how to be anything else. That is what makes her such a good coach. So when she told me those things she meant it. Despite the epic pep talk I’d just received though, I wanted to quit... yes, I wanted to leave it all behind and quit. Fortunately for my pride quitting wasn’t really an option. No, not at all.
I calmed down, popped a couple of Nyquil to help me sleep, said a prayer, and slipped into a dreamless Nyquil assisted slumber. The next morning my head popped off the pillow the second my three alarm clocks went off and I went into overdrive getting ready. I did my hair into low twisted bun, put my tights on, tutu’s in bags, plastered three feet of make-up all over my face, and choked down my complimentary continental breakfast and caught a taxi to the theater.
I was a little disappointed at the competition venue. I mean, this was Youth America Grand Prix, an international ballet competition, was it really appropriate to be performing in a theater that resembled a dumpster rather than a venue for the fine arts? The dressing rooms were not even in the same building as the stage, the floors were sticky, and the curtains were this awful puke green color. Oh well, puke green curtains were the least of my worries. I was surrounded by bun-heads everywhere. I had to escape. I sewed my pointe shoes onto my feet, hair sprayed my face, had my friend sew me into my tutu and then I popped my headphones into my ears, turned on my usual backstage song “Lose Yourself”, by Eminem and forgot about everyone around me. I was in the zone, nothing could touch me. I rehearsed my pieces over and over in my head and marked them in the rehearsal studios. I felt abnormally calm. I was invincible, not particularly sociable, but invincible nonetheless.
I watched the other dancers perform their pieces and remained calm. I performed my first two pieces the best I’d ever done them. My “fans” (fellow dancers, and mothers) cheered loudly as they called my name for the last time. The kitri variation from Don Quixote was my last number, and all though I could no longer feel me feet after seven hours in my pointe shoes I was so ready to enjoy every last second of my time on that stage. My toes were literally tingling with excitement, I knew this would be great. I ran out there, with energy and my love for the piece flowing from every limb, and spent a minute and a half in heaven with that stage all to myself, and all eyes on me. When felt the warm stage lights on my skin, heard my friends cheering for me, and heard my song I felt like I was born to be on that stage. I didn’t care what my friends or the judges thought of my performance, and surprisingly I didn’t even care what Jennie thought. That moment was all mine.
Everything went perfectly, even better than I’d planned. When I ran off stage Jennie was there to greet me. She hugged me for a very long time and told me how proud of me she was for facing me fears. I just stood there in shock. Something had taken over my body and made me brave and passionate for that one glorious day. I was in shock first of all over the fact that Jennie was hugging me. I wonder if she knew what that meant to me? I was also in shock over the fact that it was all over; over the fact that I’d done it all flawlessly. I had never been so afraid of anything than I was of that stage. I had faced one of the most paralyzing fears I’d ever experienced and I’d come out on top. What a swell day that was for me, tears, dancing, hugs, and a mint waiting to greet me on my pillow when all was said and done. What more could a girl ask for?
