Authors: Stasia Ward Kehoe
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Stories in Verse, #Love & Romance, #Performing Arts, #Dance
Audition (37 page)
After, I write down for Professor O’Malley
A long piece
About chords and harmonies,
Dancers and dances.
About chords and harmonies,
Dancers and dances.
How making a dance is very different
From learning it,
Dancing it,
Performing it with someone
Or before footlights.
From learning it,
Dancing it,
Performing it with someone
Or before footlights.
Like a word
Read aloud
Sounds different in every voice.
Read aloud
Sounds different in every voice.
Professor O’Malley scrawls
“Keep writing”
In his spider handwriting, red pen.
Though he does not ask me
To stop by his office.
And I think, maybe,
He is right.
“Keep writing”
In his spider handwriting, red pen.
Though he does not ask me
To stop by his office.
And I think, maybe,
He is right.
I’ve spent a year pretending,
So why should it be any different
Writing a new myth—
One where Remington and I
Never were?
Writing a new myth—
One where Remington and I
Never were?
That I am still the innocent girl who sat on fence posts,
Followed a dream others dreamed for her,
Danced on summer sand without
Dipping her toes
In the water?
Followed a dream others dreamed for her,
Danced on summer sand without
Dipping her toes
In the water?
I try to console Julio,
Who is fighting with Simone
Over some misunderstood text,
Innocent omission.
Over some misunderstood text,
Innocent omission.
Though I do not tell him
How much it hurts to see Remington
Rehearsing with Lisette in the small studio,
How much it hurts to see Remington
Rehearsing with Lisette in the small studio,
Or how I miss his hands,
The safety of his enveloping presence,
Sheltering his muse—
The safety of his enveloping presence,
Sheltering his muse—
A role that seems to weaken in my memory
In a way the steps of Aurora’s dance
Will never fade.
In a way the steps of Aurora’s dance
Will never fade.
“Rummy 500?” I shove my sorrow
Into a punch at Julio’s shoulder.
Into a punch at Julio’s shoulder.
“I’ve got to weed the front walk
Before Mama gets home.”
Before Mama gets home.”
I leave the cards on the sticky yellow tablecloth
As Julio laces up his boots,
As Julio laces up his boots,
Goes out through the garage.
I should go out and help him
But instead
I walk past the abstract paintings,
Up the steps to my bedroom.
I should go out and help him
But instead
I walk past the abstract paintings,
Up the steps to my bedroom.
Sort through my half-dry leotards,
Separate the new gray ones from the other colors.
Pull one across my chest as I stand before the mirror,
Wonder if I could have told Remington
Whether I am a ballerina or a woman
Myself.
Separate the new gray ones from the other colors.
Pull one across my chest as I stand before the mirror,
Wonder if I could have told Remington
Whether I am a ballerina or a woman
Myself.
May becomes all preparation
For the final performance.
Notices cling to the bulletin board:
The order of dances,
Rehearsal calls,
A local newspaper clipping featuring Lisette,
Smiling, hair brushed out and long,
Announcing her acceptance as a junior apprentice
To a New York ballet company.
Notices cling to the bulletin board:
The order of dances,
Rehearsal calls,
A local newspaper clipping featuring Lisette,
Smiling, hair brushed out and long,
Announcing her acceptance as a junior apprentice
To a New York ballet company.
Bonnie is back,
So I will not dance Aurora
In June,
Though I am glad to see the hint of rosy roundness
In her still over-lean face.
Lisette and Fernando will officially premiere
Remington’s prize-winning dance.
Madison, Simone, and I will bob and sway as Little Swans.
I’ll dance the bears’ duet
With Remington.
So I will not dance Aurora
In June,
Though I am glad to see the hint of rosy roundness
In her still over-lean face.
Lisette and Fernando will officially premiere
Remington’s prize-winning dance.
Madison, Simone, and I will bob and sway as Little Swans.
I’ll dance the bears’ duet
With Remington.
When you dance with a partner
You have to learn
When you should be the one to begin a step,
When your partner times the landing of a lift.
When you should be the one to begin a step,
When your partner times the landing of a lift.
I’ve been studying hard
For final exams at Upton,
With more energy than I had
When my nighttime hours were lost in Rem’s bed.
I sit on the floor in the hall of the ballet school,
Legs in a side split,
Book propped against my dance bag,
Not wasting the time while I wait for a ride
With Señor Medrano.
For final exams at Upton,
With more energy than I had
When my nighttime hours were lost in Rem’s bed.
I sit on the floor in the hall of the ballet school,
Legs in a side split,
Book propped against my dance bag,
Not wasting the time while I wait for a ride
With Señor Medrano.
Still, sometimes I look up from the page,
Distracted by the music snaking
Around the corridor
From the small studio.
Some nights the CD player sashays through the Bach cantata
That makes me think of the orange chairs
In his living room, the dusty smell
Of a brown afghan, the gorgeous feel
Of skin on skin.
I wonder what steps he is molding
Onto ballerinas,
Distracted by the music snaking
Around the corridor
From the small studio.
Some nights the CD player sashays through the Bach cantata
That makes me think of the orange chairs
In his living room, the dusty smell
Of a brown afghan, the gorgeous feel
Of skin on skin.
I wonder what steps he is molding
Onto ballerinas,
If he’ll ever make a dance that could explain
Who led, who followed
When it was Remington
And me.
Who led, who followed
When it was Remington
And me.
Ruby and Adnan
Are arguing about summer plans again.
She zooms down Harris Avenue
At a speed that matches her frustration.
She zooms down Harris Avenue
At a speed that matches her frustration.
“Stop!” I shout
As the traffic signal turns red
And the taillights of the car before us
Flash.
As the traffic signal turns red
And the taillights of the car before us
Flash.
Ruby jams the brake,
Stopping the red convertible a second
Before what seemed like an inevitable
Crash.
Stopping the red convertible a second
Before what seemed like an inevitable
Crash.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry, Sara.
I didn’t mean . . .”
I didn’t mean . . .”
I think of Rem’s magnetic smile that night at Denardio’s,
Of Bess and Billy on that Easter afternoon,
The momentum of a turn,
The rush of reality as you slam on the brake,
The force of gravity
That stops pirouettes and pulls arabesques down.
Of Bess and Billy on that Easter afternoon,
The momentum of a turn,
The rush of reality as you slam on the brake,
The force of gravity
That stops pirouettes and pulls arabesques down.
The light turns green again.
Ruby tenderly taps the gas,
Signals to move right, into the slow lane.
Ruby tenderly taps the gas,
Signals to move right, into the slow lane.
“It’s okay.”
Different test schedules mean
This is the last day Ruby can drive me to the studio.
This is the last day Ruby can drive me to the studio.
Tomorrow, I’ll ride the awful city bus,
Still terrified,
Still terrified,
Though it occurs to me that
I have never asked
To get a driver’s license,
Which would mean
Another test to take,
Another world to understand.
But then, sometimes
I could drive myself
Somewhere.
I have never asked
To get a driver’s license,
Which would mean
Another test to take,
Another world to understand.
But then, sometimes
I could drive myself
Somewhere.
I imagine my bedroom
In Darby Station.
Think of painting it shadow gray
With a great rainbow across one wall,
Asking Dad to build bookcases,
Hang one bright brass hook
Up high on the ceiling
For a single pair of pointe shoes.
With a great rainbow across one wall,
Asking Dad to build bookcases,
Hang one bright brass hook
Up high on the ceiling
For a single pair of pointe shoes.
“Thinking of coming home,”
I text Bess.
She calls instantly, squealing.
“Senior year’s going to be great!”
She says lots more,
Starts planning a welcome-home party,
Checking dates for the fair
“So you can finally get that tattoo.”
“Senior year’s going to be great!”
She says lots more,
Starts planning a welcome-home party,
Checking dates for the fair
“So you can finally get that tattoo.”
I interject “mm-hmms”
At regular intervals,
An enthusiastic metronome.
At regular intervals,
An enthusiastic metronome.
And she, as consistent,
Prattles only of happy, easy things.
Prattles only of happy, easy things.
Bess, my childhood friend,
With whom I shared so many dreams,
Imagined so many tomorrows,
Who cannot envision anything
For my return except
The resumption of every old, familiar plan,
Forgiveness for everything
That happened while we were apart.
With whom I shared so many dreams,
Imagined so many tomorrows,
Who cannot envision anything
For my return except
The resumption of every old, familiar plan,
Forgiveness for everything
That happened while we were apart.
Do I need more forgiveness—
For feeling so different, so drawn, so distant—
Than she?
For feeling so different, so drawn, so distant—
Than she?
But I just say,
“This all sounds great! Thanks!”
Even though every book at Upton
From
Heartbreak House
to
Paradise Lost
Tells a story of how you can’t really go back
To anyplace.
“This all sounds great! Thanks!”
Even though every book at Upton
From
Heartbreak House
to
Paradise Lost
Tells a story of how you can’t really go back
To anyplace.
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