Authors: Stasia Ward Kehoe
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Stories in Verse, #Love & Romance, #Performing Arts, #Dance
Audition (18 page)
The buttons on my shirt
Are easy to undo.
“Beautiful,”
He breathes.
But I know he has stolen this sight
Before—
Backstage on tour
In the poorly curtained dressing room.
“Beautiful,”
He breathes.
But I know he has stolen this sight
Before—
Backstage on tour
In the poorly curtained dressing room.
He peels off his sweater,
Leads me to the couch,
Where the tie-dyed blanket
Turns out to have a dusty smell
Of its own.
Leads me to the couch,
Where the tie-dyed blanket
Turns out to have a dusty smell
Of its own.
His body presses me down
Into the unresisting cushion.
His hand slides
To that place on my neck
That makes me shiver.
His other wraps my naked waist.
Into the unresisting cushion.
His hand slides
To that place on my neck
That makes me shiver.
His other wraps my naked waist.
Kisses take on a rhythm of their own,
Heads twisting side to side.
Heads twisting side to side.
My back arches.
His lips are still too wet
But I love the feel of his skin against my skin.
His lips are still too wet
But I love the feel of his skin against my skin.
My vibrating cell phone
A jolt of interruption
I cannot make myself ignore.
A jolt of interruption
I cannot make myself ignore.
Could it be my mother calling with tragic news?
My father with a question about my bank card?
It is Julio,
His voice low.
“Dad is asking where you are.
I can’t stall him forever.”
His voice low.
“Dad is asking where you are.
I can’t stall him forever.”
“That was Julio.
I’ve got to get back.
I’ll be in a ton of trouble.”
I pull on my shirt,
The buttons suddenly a challenge.
Push my hair
Into something like order,
Pick up the motorcycle helmets
I’ve got to get back.
I’ll be in a ton of trouble.”
I pull on my shirt,
The buttons suddenly a challenge.
Push my hair
Into something like order,
Pick up the motorcycle helmets
From the floor.
Rem sighs,
Tumbles himself off the couch.
Rem sighs,
Tumbles himself off the couch.
I blink
At the sullen look that flashes
Across his eyes.
At the sullen look that flashes
Across his eyes.
But it disappears
As he turns his sweater
Right side out,
Takes a helmet from my hand,
Moves toward the door.
“No more dancing for us, tonight.”
As he turns his sweater
Right side out,
Takes a helmet from my hand,
Moves toward the door.
“No more dancing for us, tonight.”
I follow him again, unsure
About the rest of the steps to this dance
We are doing
Or maybe
If there should be
Any more.
About the rest of the steps to this dance
We are doing
Or maybe
If there should be
Any more.
The name of the little girl
Gifted with the Nutcracker doll
Varies from ballet company to ballet company,
Production to production.
Varies from ballet company to ballet company,
Production to production.
Clara or Marie,
Alone onstage as the ballet begins,
Cherished and protected
By the dancers in the wings,
Beautiful in her ballet slippers,
Soft, white dress.
Alone onstage as the ballet begins,
Cherished and protected
By the dancers in the wings,
Beautiful in her ballet slippers,
Soft, white dress.
Lisette played her when she was nine,
Madison at ten,
Bonnie, too.
Madison at ten,
Bonnie, too.
A rite of passage for the best girls
At the Jersey Ballet,
Who count their way
Through the grand costumes of the Christmas ballet
That marks the years
Better than birthdays.
At the Jersey Ballet,
Who count their way
Through the grand costumes of the Christmas ballet
That marks the years
Better than birthdays.
“Oh, remember when we were Bonbons
Under Mother Ginger’s skirt?”
“I had to be a boy in the party scene for three years!”
Under Mother Ginger’s skirt?”
“I had to be a boy in the party scene for three years!”
Bonbons
Party Children
Mice
Candy Canes
Party Children
Mice
Candy Canes
Twenty-odd December nights
Onstage
Eyes bright
Remembering why they dance.
Onstage
Eyes bright
Remembering why they dance.
Then on to Snowflakes
And beyond.
Dew Drops,
Chinese Tea.
And beyond.
Dew Drops,
Chinese Tea.
Until finally, a chosen few grow up to dance
The longest solo, full of pirouettes and daring balances,
Escorted by the noblest partner—
The principal role in the ballet world’s star production—
The Nutcracker
’s Sugar Plum Fairy.
The longest solo, full of pirouettes and daring balances,
Escorted by the noblest partner—
The principal role in the ballet world’s star production—
The Nutcracker
’s Sugar Plum Fairy.
In elegant pink tulle, elaborate tiara,
She mesmerizes the audience
And little Clara in her simple frock,
Who hopes, dreams of a candy-perfect world
Where nightmares turn to
Dreams come true.
She mesmerizes the audience
And little Clara in her simple frock,
Who hopes, dreams of a candy-perfect world
Where nightmares turn to
Dreams come true.
December leaves little time
For stolen kisses.
At Upton, my adviser
Asks if I am getting enough sleep.
As if there were time between school, dance class,
Rehearsals, homework,
Bus rides, car trips.
Envying Julio and Simone,
Paul and Don, Katia and Barry.
Daydreaming about what might happen
Between Remington and me.
Asks if I am getting enough sleep.
As if there were time between school, dance class,
Rehearsals, homework,
Bus rides, car trips.
Envying Julio and Simone,
Paul and Don, Katia and Barry.
Daydreaming about what might happen
Between Remington and me.
I just sigh, eyes down, say,
“
The Nutcracker
is a busy time.
But fun!”
Force a smile bright enough
To make him ignore
The nap I try to take
While our advisory group
Discusses Secret Santas
For the party I will miss
Because of the matinee that day.
“
The Nutcracker
is a busy time.
But fun!”
Force a smile bright enough
To make him ignore
The nap I try to take
While our advisory group
Discusses Secret Santas
For the party I will miss
Because of the matinee that day.
The Nutcracker
has stolen Christmas.
has stolen Christmas.
It is the villain Drosselmeyer
To my undanced Clara.
To my undanced Clara.
My parents are coming to see me dance on Christmas Eve.
I will sleep in their hotel room,
Trade presents under the Marriott tree,
Eat at a breakfast buffet
Dressed with fake mistletoe.
I will sleep in their hotel room,
Trade presents under the Marriott tree,
Eat at a breakfast buffet
Dressed with fake mistletoe.
Then back to the theatre, the Snowflake unitard,
The tight silver cap.
The tight silver cap.
Lisette has been given the chance
To dance the Dew Drop Fairy.
Madison and Bonnie
Take turns in the Chinese variation.
To dance the Dew Drop Fairy.
Madison and Bonnie
Take turns in the Chinese variation.
I am a baby,
Stuck with Simone and younger girls.
No beribboned tulle skirt
No lacquer red jacket and black eyeliner
No chance to be anything but first in an anonymous row
Of clinging, colorless
White.
Stuck with Simone and younger girls.
No beribboned tulle skirt
No lacquer red jacket and black eyeliner
No chance to be anything but first in an anonymous row
Of clinging, colorless
White.
I know rows and rows of people
Sit beyond the glaring lights of the
Nutcracker
stage,
Ooh and ahh at costumes, virtuosic steps,
The precision of straight lines.
Nutcracker
stage,
Ooh and ahh at costumes, virtuosic steps,
The precision of straight lines.
But from the cavernous raft of the stage,
I see only an ocean of murky shadows before me.
I see only an ocean of murky shadows before me.
The music moves the dancers together.
Hours of rehearsal breed a warm familiarity.
We each do our part.
Hours of rehearsal breed a warm familiarity.
We each do our part.
In the wings, the soloists and principals
Stretch their calves, adjust their shoes.
The corps dancers scramble to dressing rooms
To change from one costume to another.
Stretch their calves, adjust their shoes.
The corps dancers scramble to dressing rooms
To change from one costume to another.
The younger dancers stand in awe—
Hope some magic
Will drip from the sweat of the real dancers’ brows,
Some whispered secret
Will tumble from their lips.
Hope some magic
Will drip from the sweat of the real dancers’ brows,
Some whispered secret
Will tumble from their lips.
It is all exhausting,
Occasionally exciting,
Sometimes strangely mundane.
Occasionally exciting,
Sometimes strangely mundane.
Turning my mind
To memories of solos performed
Before a too-close row of folding chairs
In Ms. Alice’s basement,
Where I could see every approving face
In a human-sized space.
To memories of solos performed
Before a too-close row of folding chairs
In Ms. Alice’s basement,
Where I could see every approving face
In a human-sized space.
I have never kept a New Year’s resolution.
Never been good at studying for tests
Or brushing my teeth every morning before school.
Before I came to Jersey
My mother did my wash and folded it
In a neat pile at the end of my bed.
Or brushing my teeth every morning before school.
Before I came to Jersey
My mother did my wash and folded it
In a neat pile at the end of my bed.
Julio watches me lug a damp armload
Of tights I could not wait to finish drying,
Dump them on my bed
While he stands in the doorway.
Of tights I could not wait to finish drying,
Dump them on my bed
While he stands in the doorway.
“Prospero Año Nuevo!”
He snorts at my confusion.
“Happy New Year.”
He snorts at my confusion.
“Happy New Year.”
“You too.”
But it is no different
From any other day,
Except that this is the end of
The Nutcracker
.
There will be a party after the performance tonight
And Remington will be there.
But it is no different
From any other day,
Except that this is the end of
The Nutcracker
.
There will be a party after the performance tonight
And Remington will be there.
I lead my line of Snowflakes
In a series of ports de bras, tendus, soutenu turns.
We run in delicate, toe-pointed circles,
Arms open in second,
Faces bright.
We run in delicate, toe-pointed circles,
Arms open in second,
Faces bright.
Finally pose
In low first arabesque,
Heads inclined
Toward the gracious Snow Queen and her consort.
In low first arabesque,
Heads inclined
Toward the gracious Snow Queen and her consort.
One last time, we hold still
In two neat rows of eight,
As paper snow wafts down
Onto our silver-capped heads
Gently as burnt ash
From the tips of a thousand cigarettes.
In two neat rows of eight,
As paper snow wafts down
Onto our silver-capped heads
Gently as burnt ash
From the tips of a thousand cigarettes.
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