Growing up, I hated being tall.  As a ballerina, being tall meant I got placed in the back for every dance performance.  Being tall meant having to play a boy in every production that our dance school put on.  Being tall meant having to dance by myself for Royal Academy of Dancing examinations, because we only had three in my exam group instead of four, and the other two girls were of non-mutant height.  I may be 12 years old and 5 foot 7 but I can dance, damnit! I was bitter.

That was until September of 1997.  The start of Nutcracker season at Londonderry Dance Academy. I lived for Nutcracker season. The long rehearsals.  The costumes.  The missing 8 days of school to tour New Hampshire elementary schools and perform.  The lunches on tour days- at Burger King!  Oh, I lived and breathed it.  I was thrilled to learn that my class would be Snowflakes that year and we would dance snow in both casts.  No boy and girl roles.  A lot of circular choreography.  Despite my height, I could be assured that I would not need to tuck my hair under a pageboy cap and I would not be stuck in the back of the dance for the whole performance.  Lots of stage time.  This was going to be the Best. Nutcracker. Season. Ever.  We were two weeks into rehearsals when my dance teacher, Mrs. Mullen, asked me to stay after class.  I was worried.  Did I do something wrong?  Was she going to bump me from Snow and make me pull on some knickers after all?  My stomach knotted up.   And then it happened.  “Audra,” Mrs. Mullen said in her lilting British accent, “would you be able to come to rehearsals with Kayla’s class?  We’re short one Flower and you’re tall.  You would be great.”  WHAT?!  My sixth grade self felt like she grew a foot taller right there. I was invited to dance with a class two years older than mine? I was going to be in the same dance as my older sister? I would get to play Snow and dance in Waltz of the Flowers in the same show?!  I was beaming.  And I stood up straighter.  I’m tall and I’m a Flower.  Check it. 

Kayla’s class welcomed me to their rehearsals like I was some kind of pet.  I relished it.  I was placed in the front.  Opposite Kayla, in fact, dancing a Flower in Cast A.  I was outfitted not in a vest but in a beautiful new tutu dress.  I studied the more advanced steps with great intensity.  I made Kayla practice with me for hours on end at home. When full run throughs started, I was dead set on being a great flower, knowing my class of snowflakes would be watching me. Wondering.  How did the tall girl get to dance with the older kids?  Run throughs went great.  Mrs. Mullen nodded her approval.  Kayla told me I did well.  My fellow snowflakes who so often were placed in front of me were jealous to see me in the front of Waltz of the Flowers. Call it the Tall Girl’s Revenge. 

Our first week of touring started and it was magical.  On days that Cast A was touring, I loved dancing in Snow and then running back to the bathroom, changing into my flower tutu and returning to dance for a second time.  On days that Cast B was touring, I performed as snow and then snuck backstage to see the second cast of girls dance Waltz of the Flowers, taking mental notes as to how I could improve my performance.  We were halfway through the second week of three-a-day school performances when- on a Cast B day- Mrs. Mullen came running into the dressing room.  “Audra!”  I turned. “Danielle’s sick.  I need you to be a Flower for today.”  I nodded- Mrs. Mullen was not someone you would ever dare question- and went to retrieve a flower costume.  I was pinning the pink flower crown onto my head when I pulled a Cast B flower to find out where on the stage Danielle usually danced.  “Oh, she dances where you do on stage left Cast A, but on stage right. She’s your mirror image.”  I froze.  My mirror image?  Meaning every step I knew… I would need to reverse?!  “Um, where are we in the show?” I asked in a whisper.  The girl stuck her head out in the hallway to try and catch the oh-so-familiar music.  “Russian,” she pronounced, before walking away.  I couldn’t breathe.  Flowers was two dances away.  I had 6 minutes to figure out how to do every intricate step I had painstakingly studied for three months on the other foot.  6 minutes few by.  It was a blur when a girl in a matching tutu grabbed my arm, said “we’re on!” and hurried me to the stage. 

Waltz of the Flowers is the longest dance in the Nutcracker.  The piece is six and a half minutes long.  I made it through 3.5 of them without incident, forcing my brain to instinctively step on the left foot when it wanted to step on the right.  To turn to the right diagonal instead of the left.  I began to calm down a little bit as I got to the point in the dance where all the flowers kneel and the Dew Drop fairy performs her solo.  On the next count of eight I need to stand up, turn right no wait, make that left.  Yes I need to turn left and then we do the criss cross.  I went left, circled around and waited for the familiar count that signaled I needed to meet my mirror image partner in the middle of the stage and cross in front of her. Pique, pique, chasse, pa ba bourrie, BAM!   I slammed into my mirror image flower and we hit the floor.  The auditorium of elementary schoolers made an audible gasp. 

I’m told I got off the floor and kept dancing.  I don’t remember anything after hitting the floor.  You see, in dance, you’re trained from the moment you learn stage directions to know that in a criss-cross situation, the girl coming from stage right always crosses in front.  It’s like Newton’s First Law of Motion for dancers.  I knew this law, but I defied it when I failed to register that on that day I was coming from Stage Left.   I knew the reason they had this law in place- to prevent mid-stage collisions like the one I had just caused- I knew it.  And when it was important, I forgot it. I might have been the tallest Snowflake, but I wanted to shrink to the size of one of our first grade mice for the rest of that afternoon.

It is only appropriate that last night I took my Little Sister to see the Boston Ballet's performance of the Nutcracker.  I had been so down all day yesterday- not just about the Ashley false alarm, but because of the fact that, when it mattered, I forgot the Law Of A Wish for Ashley I set for myself at the beginning of this project: don’t get your hopes up until she’s actually in front of you. I defied the Law I knew I needed to live by to avoid the kinds of disappointments that would make me liable to give up. Yesterday afternoon I wanted to give up.  But when I picked up my Little Sister (a girl I mentor who is celebrating her 11th birthday today- Happy Birthday, Adonia!!!!) and walked her into the theater and watched her eyes grow huge as she took in the costumes, the music and the dramatics of the Nutcracker for the very first time… I remembered the magic.  The feeling of putting on a costume and a crown and feeling so confident and graceful.  The feeling of Mrs. Mullen pulling me after class, and making me feel proud that I was tall.  The feeling of keeping up with the older kids and feeling like I could do anything.  The Nutcracker isn’t about Laws.  A Wish for Ashley can’t be about Laws.  As a great person in my life just emailed and reminded me, it’s about the journey.  Costumes, days off, fast food lunches, collisions and all… if that’s where Will is guiding me and Ashley is taking me, I need to be there.  And stand tall.  Because I am. 
 
With love (and visions of sugar plums dancing in my head),
Audra

 

 

 


Comments

kim
12/09/2009 16:47

From one tall person to another, a beautiful post!
My childhood challenges as a VERY tall young girl played itself out not on the dance floor, but on the basketball court. Expectations were too high and remedies for failure were around every corner.
Glad you got to the Nutcracker to take in the beauty and forgive every dancer from the other side. Next guest: Ashely

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Bri
12/13/2009 09:18

What is happening? It has been awhile since your post... I hope everything is okay.

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