Dancing in One Direction

Dancing in One Direction - Part 1

Part 1

'5,6,7,8.....'

I watch again while the diva in the front still doesn't get it right. I can see the choreographer slowly losing patience, whereas the rest of us lost ours a long time ago, after about the tenth time going through the whole routine.

The young, hard faced choreographer tells her to go take a break and after she storms off in a furious rant, we go back to rehearsing the stiff, over-choreographed dance moves, working more like a well oiled machine now that we're not distracted. Our synchronised movements spur me on to work harder, stand out more from everyone else, and I can tell the dancers around me are thinking the same. The tension and determination hangs in the air as we sweat our way through step after step. But the thing is, I know that my real drive hasn't even set in yet. It will though, when I need it to.

We all disperse to the changing rooms when the rehearsal is over, and we were told we all have about ten minutes to prepare ourselves before the audition.

I walk over to my assigned locker, routing in my bag for my flask of energy drink. I gulp it down, watching as everyone does the same before heading off in different directions alone, to either do some last minute rehearsing, or some stretches to warm up. I'd even seen some of them praying , which I find to be way too 'out there' for me. Religion never really was my thing. But however weird our pre-audition ritual was, we all did it alone. It was an unspoken rule.

I set my flask down on the bench and watch myself in the mirror as I pull my long, brown hair into a ponytail, and out of my face. The soft curls fall gently down my back. I fix my grey, low waisted, three quarter length track bottoms, and adjust my loose purple crop top, that hangs off my shoulders slightly, exposing the thick straps of my black sports bra underneath. I re-tie the laces of my black converse all stars, before giving myself one more once over in the long, body length mirror. Most people don't really care about how they look when they dance, but I do. How I look while dancing means a lot to me, because if I know I am wearing something that makes me look good, then I feel more confident and more comfortable dancing. Some people find comfort in a lucky sock, or a piece of jewellery given by someone special, but as long as I'm wearing the right outfit, I feel good.

I check my phone and find that I still have eight minutes left, so I take out my ipod, which never leaves my side, and put the earphones firmly in my ears, blasting out my music. The Script lyrics embed themselves in my head, and their slow, yet rough edge melody calms me down as I close my eyes and let the music penetrate me. My breathing is steady and relaxed and I think about nothing. Nothing but the music blasting into my skull, in my own world where nothing can touch me. Some people may mediate before big auditions, job interviews, shows or performances, but I never was a big believer of the lotus position crap. Music is my happy place, and that is the one and only thing that calms me down.

The light tap on my shoulder breaks me from my happy place, and I turn to find a young, stressed looking woman holding a clipboard say something to me.

I have no idea what she is saying due to the loud music blocking out my hearing, but I simply nod, as she gestures its time to line up with the others.

My music is turned off, and I wrap up my earphones putting my ipod and flask safely back in my bag again, before following the stressed looking woman to the others, who are nervously waiting in line to go on stage.

Most people are silently rehearsing their dance steps in their head, while others choose to discreetly dance theirs out. Others jig nervously from toe to toe, just wanting to get it over with, while some simply compose their nerves and wait patiently for the nod from the clipboard woman, who is watching us anxiously, while talking quietly into her bluetooth.

I think back to the very first audition. Hundreds of people queueing up, half of them facing the disappointment and failure they are convinced they don't deserve, when in reality almost all of them do. The second audition wasn't much better, and watching them rehearsing steps before hand, I wonder how half them got through in the first place. Throughout the rounds, the numbers thinned, until only seven of us are now left, to audition one last time.

I once again I wonder how there can be so many procedures and stages to get through just to dance for an overrated, superficial show that takes people with talent and makes them their own personal monkeys. Most people who get through just want 15 minutes of fame, which is basically the normal length of fame for some after the X Factor.

I sigh as I watch a nearby auditionee break under the pressure and rushes for the restrooms clutching his stomach, and looking fairly green. I look around at my fellow competitors, wondering who'll be the next to crack, betting on a particularly nervous girl near the back, who looks as if she may faint on the spot. I chuckle into myself and thank god that I don't get nervous. I just stay calm. Its in my nature. My dad used to say that I get it from my mum, as she was always a peaceful being, but all I know is that if I think about it too much, then i'll just forget everything. All my steps, all my timings, so I just don't think about. I distract myself before I go on, and as soon as the music starts, I just move. Nothing more to it.

Finally the woman announces that they're ready for us, and we all walk on together, the sick boy re-emerging in time from the restrooms, as the stage almost opens up, and we fill the space as best we can.

We all stand in our positions, ready to dance our group piece, which we do first before doing our individual auditions later. I look out at the empty arena before us, wondering if I'll get the chance to dance when the rows of seats are filled. The only seats occupied are three seats in the front row. One is filled by a small, middle aged man holding a clipboard and bullhorn, that looks bigger his own head, the seat on his right is taken up by a young business type man, with a good looking face and a very expensive haircut. The last seat is filled by none other than Simon Cowell, who I had kind of expected to see, considering he's one of the main producers of the show, but from the gasps around me, I'm guessing everyone else didn’t.

Everyone finally remembers why their here, and joins me in our first position, when I notice someone at the back of the huge arena. He is in his late forties, standing up-right and is wearing an expensive grey suit, and when he notices me looking at him, he turns and walks away through a door. He always was the one for disappointment.

I try not to let him break my concentration, like he always does, and I listen as the music starts and I cringe as they play the cheesiest dance song ever. I gotta feelin' by Black Eyed Peas. I don't think about that though. I try not to think at all. I just dance the same over-rehearsed dance steps that im sure I couldn’t forget if I wanted to. I try to let the music take me, but im still distracted, and I know I'm not performing to my usual standard.

The song finally ends and we all walk back into our queue again, this time waiting more anxiously, as each person goes out for their two minute performance. The music plays lots of different tracks, all of which were each persons own choice, and suddenly it's my turn and as I walk out on the stage the drive I know I've been waiting for, it comes back...