In first position, my heels touching, I took a moment to find my alignment: feet, knees, pelvis, spine, ribs, shoulders, neck, head. I felt the imaginary string pull taut, lifting me practically off the ground all the while I imagined my feet as tree roots, digging through the hardwood floor, fixed in place, strong and supporting. I moved through my barre exercises and was sweating by the second set of tendus, right on track. When I was sure I was ready, I switched my music to my two-minute audition variation from Swan Lake, just in case they asked. I marked it three times and then did it full out, albeit without pointe shoes and in a limited amount of space.
No panic attack. So far.
Rain splattered at my windows streaking the lights outside that assured me the City was awake and ready for today. I put the coffee on and scrambled an egg. It was the breakfast I had before every audition. Disregarding the fact that I had neighbors, I turned my music on a little too loud.
Next was a shower, hot enough to keep my muscles warm, but not so hot as to make me sleepy. I knew exactly what I was wearing: my lucky dark green leo, the one that brought focus to my eyes and flattered my frame. Tights, of course, the newest ones. Small earrings that wouldn't distract from my dancing but would catch the light and the eyes of whoever was watching, helping me to stand out from the other girls. I wore my lucky lipstick and pulled my long hair back into a bun. Over my audition clothes, I wore wool warm-ups, a sweater, warm socks and tucked it all into my boots.
In my dance bag, I packed two pairs of pointe shoes, canvas ballet slippers, extra hair ties and bobby pins, a tennis ball, an elastic, my map. I didn't know what to bring for my meeting at Stark Tower. What did one wear to that? And training? I felt more nervous about whatever training entailed than my audition.
My phone rang.
"Hi Mom," I breathed as cheerily as I could.
I heard her sniff.
"What's wrong?"
"N-nothing. Just miss you is all."
"I miss you too."
"You do? Oh honey, guess what? It snowed. Can you believe it?" I could. It was Colorado, after all.
"That's early."
"Last year we didn't get enough to open Aspen Mountain until after Thanksgiving."
"Yeah. Hey, I've gotta-"
"Trix and Ester died."
"Who?"
"The buff chickens. Gigi's. She called this morning. The magpies were picking at them in the yard. They froze to death. Left out of the coop all night long."
"That's sad." I didn't have time for this today.
"It's horrible. The magpies wouldn't leave them alone." Her voice shook and I could hear in it the places she was cracking. My vision swam and my face got hot.
"Mom, I have to go."
"Oh yes. Your audition." She cleared her throat. "Did you bring that green leo?"
"I'm wearing it." This was what I called for. This was my mother. The part I wanted. She knew exactly what I needed.
"Remember there are hundreds of places you can audition. You don't have to accept the first offer that comes along."
"Okay."
"And don't push too hard. Not yet."
"Right."
"And make sure you send any contracts our before you signing."
"I will." I squirmed under the lie. Too late.
"Did you eat breakfast?"
"Eggs."
"Don't use the subway. It's full of criminals. Are you taking a cab?"
"I'm walking."
"Promise me you won't take the subway."
"Promise. Okay, love you, Mom. Gotta go."
"Wait!"
"I'm going to be late!"
"Walter says hi."
"Hi, Walter. Okay, bye."
"He wants to talk, real quick."
"I can't!"
The phone was already changing hands.
"Siri?"
"Hi, Walter. Look, I'm running late."
"Call me then. Later."
I sighed.
"After your meeting." His voice dropped to barely audible.
"What?"
"Yeah, just try flipping the breaker." He said loudly.
"What?"
"That should fix it. Okay, Siri. Good hearing from you. Good luck today. Bye."
And he hung up, leaving me drowning in subtext. I stood for a moment, lost. The call from my mother was supposed to give me a little luck. Confidence. Instead, it made everything off-kilter and muddled. My mom sounded distracted, confused, and scared. And then Walter. How did he know about the meeting?
Shake it off, I told myself. Don't think about it. Don't worry about it. There is nothing you can do, thousands of miles away. I turned my music up, something feel-good and upbeat, and began my walk to the studio. It was a cold day, and the clouds hung low from yesterday, but it wasn't raining. I knew I dressed warmly enough when I had to pull my hat off a few blocks away, to keep from spontaneously combusting. I put my mind to the audition, talking myself up, visualizing my variation, and generally enjoying the crisp air. Anything to keep from thinking about panicking. If I didn't think about it, maybe it wouldn't happen.
The studio was a thirty-minute walk. The door was unlocked, but nobody was in sight. I felt a thrill of fear that I had missed the whole thing. My impression of auditioning in New York had been that there would be dancers lined up around the block. The lobby was empty, too. I turned off my music and pulled out my map, thinking I had the wrong address or building. I thought I had been sure that they were holding auditions today.
A side door burst open and a man in cutoff sweats and a t-shirt strode gracefully into the lobby. He was barefoot leading me to the assumption that he was a dancer. He stopped short when he noticed me, his dark eyes matching his cropped hair. Then he smiled a perfect white toothy smile.
"You are here to audition."
"Uh, yes."
"Excellent. We didn't know if anyone would show today."
That didn't sound promising.
I followed him down a hallway and into a dance studio, brightly lit with a light grey floor, mirrors, and wall of photographs in black and white, of production shots. A few empty chairs sat in front of the mirrors. The majority of the people were sprawled on the floor, stretching. Some were simply lying on their backs with their eyes closed; some were moving from the floor to standing and then sliding back down to the floor. A song played over the speakers: a husky voice with guitar and punctuated harmonies spilled out over us.
That's when I began to understand my mistake.
"Lukey!" A girl who looked to be about my age, in a dark blue sweatshirt and tiny black shorts pranced over and did not give me a second glance. She was not beautiful, but there was something in the way she moved that made her pretty.
"Hi, Peanut." The tall man beside me gave her the same smile and then walked to the corner of the room where the sound system was hooked up. I didn't know whether or not to follow him, to leave right then and there, or to just stay and see this through. I stood in uncertainty and "Peanut' ignored me prancing, again, to the group of dancers on the floor.
This was not a ballet audition. I was stupid not to do my research. I had no idea about the company. I had embarrassingly brought myself to a modern dance company and they were all going to point and laugh and tell me I was full of cheap tricks.
I stood for a second, ignoring the looks I was getting. I had two options: run or dance. Despite the weird situation, I didn't feel the panic, so I decided that I had come all the way here, I might as well dance. I took a Modern class once. It just wasn't my strong point.
I found a corner and dumped my dance bag and jacket. I kicked off my shoes. It was like a free class, I told myself. Just have fun.
I pulled a pair of shorts on over my rolled-up tights and leo and went barefoot. I moved in fake confidence to the front of the studio to stand at the left side, close to the mirror. It was a habit of mine to stand in the front of dance classes. It insured me space to move and kept me from getting distracted by other dancers. I bent at the waist, re-stretching my hamstrings. I was still pretty warm from my barre and the walk here, which was nice. I hung upside down, sneaking glances at the other dancers from between my legs.
The music swelled to very loud and 'Lukey' strode purposefully to the center of the floor. He didn't say a word as he sat down on the floor. The class immediately followed suit, stopping their chatter and spreading out to where they wouldn't hit one another. I sat down, too. Lukey rolled through his back until he was flat, lying on the floor, arms and legs spread in a giant X. He silently took us through a warm-up of the neck, and core, where we rolled and stretched like lazy cats on the ground.
What strikes me as the main difference between modern dance and ballet is floor work. In ballet, the dancer is elevated, always pushing the floor away, reaching to heaven. In modern, the dance is often weighty and grounded. While Modern is not always literally on the floor, there is an earthy, low quality that is hard to define, whereas ballet has an ethereal, elevated feeling.
It felt silly sometimes, as a ballerina, to do floor work, and I always ended up with bruises on my boney parts. But sometimes it was really liberating. I felt kind of like a ninja when I got modern or contemporary dance right. It was kind of hard to follow along in class, because Matty was quiet, never calling out or giving corrections. We all just had to pick up on what he was doing and listen to the music.
That was another major difference. Ballet has a language, mostly in french. Every step and direction has a name. In theory, a dancer could be told pas de bourre, develope ecarte and know pretty much what to do. There was never a time in ballet, in class, rehearsal, or performance, where the dance isn't named. We are told exactly what the combination of moves will be and then we do it. In modern, individual artistry is valued. If you aren't taking a specific modern technique like Jose Limon or Martha Graham, then 'modern' can mean almost anything.
Within twenty minutes I was thoroughly enjoying myself. It felt amazing to move like this, practically painless (another difference: ballet is always painful). I understood why people stuck with modern dance. The other dancers ignored me, but there wasn't a lot of talking going on, anyway. Everyone was focused on what we were doing. Lukey watched me often and smiled whenever there was eye contact. I began to get the feeling that I could maybe, just maybe, I could do this instead of ballet. After about an hour and a half, Lukey stopped the music.
"Okay." He turned to the class. "Let's make dance."
He actually used words, this time, to show us choreography, but they were words like "scooty-puff junior" and "swipey hoo ha". There were whistles and clapping to denote moves. I had to stop myself from laughing. When he had shown us the dance, we marked through the whole thing, together, with music, and then he spit us in the groups of three. Each trio performed the choreography while the others watched.
I waited, nervously, next to the two guys I'd been paired with, watching and taking mental notes. The girl Lukey had called 'Peanut' was amazing. Her extensions were beautiful. But one look at her face told me she knew just how good she was. When it was my turn, I fought hard to turn off my nerves. I stood with the guys on either side of me. The music started and all else slipped away.
The feeling of losing myself in dance, I suddenly realized, was similar to holding the scepter. It was comforting and terrifying all at once. I was in control and I was flying through space.
When the class was over I sat down to stretch, again, feeling fuller and happier than I had in a long time. I had made it though without embarrassing myself.
Lukey joined me on the floor and gave me a brilliant smile. "How'd you do?" he asked.
I was taken aback by the question.
"Good?" I ventured.
He smiled.
"Class was great," I added.
"Thank you. Where are you from?"
"Colorado."
"Just move here?"
"Yes."
"Siri." He said and then took a deep breath. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking over my shoulder into the mirror.
I waited. Would I accept a spot here? Put ballet on the back burner? I had to admit this Modern class was much more fun than I'd been having at ballet.
"You have got to warm up."
Just like that, the happiness was gone.
"Your soul is like an ice block," Lukey said. "There is no life in your eyes." He ran a hand over the front of his face, like a mask.
My rib caged imploded and pinched my heart and all the air out. I kept my face impassive by biting the insides of my cheeks.
"That is exactly what I am talking about." He scooted forward. "That look you have. It's a barrier. A mask. I want to see you when you dance."
"I see," I said, my voice sounding far away to my ears. I did not see.
"And your look...it's a little 80's ballerina on cocaine. My dancers are healthy. This isn't Russia. Put on some weight, thaw out, do some soul searching. Is this what you really want to do?" He patted me on the shoulder. "But thank you for joining us today." He gave me a robotic smile.
"Thank you." I choked out from somewhere in my throat.
I moved stiffly to my bag, pulled on my pants over my shorts, and slipped my arms into my jacket, not bothering to zip it up. I did not look at the other dancers as I vacated the studio and then the building. A wall of chill air knocked the wind back into me and I took a long dragging breath.
I kind of felt like a rope was wrapped around my torso, tightening, squeezing. I forced myself to walk away from the building, quickly blending into the perpetual crowd that was New York. I refused to let myself cry. It seemed like a way of admitting that I was weak. I wanted to be strong, this time.
I took another deep breath. Anger then replaced the wound, filling it in with heat. The rope uncoiled from my chest How dare that moron say I look like a cracked-out 80's ballerina? Images of twig-like legs no wider than pointe shoes filled my mind.
I swore loudly. Somehow it made me feel a little better.
I was walking fast and in an unknown direction. If I didn't slow down and think, I would get lost. I made myself look around and found a coffee shop on the corner. My bag knocked into the back of someone's legs as I maneuvered out of the flow of traffic. An older man held the glass door for me and the sweet smell of pastries and caffeine washed over me. I felt my heartbeat settle as I got in line.
My phone buzzed inside my jacket pocket. My hand fished around the pocket, around a couple of receipts, a pen, and loose change before I pulled out the vibrating screen.
"Come on!" I whined at the picture Natasha. "What."
"Hi, Siri. How did the audition go?" She sounded chipper, and it rubbed me the wrong way.
"Fine," I growled.
"Swell. Still going to make it today?" Her voice didn't falter.
"Yes." Why did they all have to keep asking me that like I was some sort of flake? I said I would go.
"Need a ride?"
"No."
"Okay then. See you soon."
I hung up. I really did want a ride. It was a long walk and my dance bag was feeling heavy. My pride kept me from calling her back. I sulked in line, waiting for my turn for a hot drink. A thought came to me then. My finger hovered for a moment over the screen of my phone. Would he even have his phone turned on? I pressed send.
It rang a few times. I almost hung up until I heard the muffled sound of someone picking up.
"Steve?" I said. No one answered. Just scratching and a mumbled word.
"Hello?" I heard his voice after a moment. I listened to him struggle.
"Hi Steve, it's Siri."
"Hello?" he said, again. A few tones piped in my ear. He was pressing buttons.
"Steve!"
"Yeah," he said.
"Can you hear me?"
"Siri?"
"Yes."
"Damn machine," he muttered and pressed a few more buttons. A giggle escaped my mouth.
"Siri?"
"Hi, Steve. Can you hear me?"
"I can. Can you hear me? I literally just bought a new phone and I don't..." I pulled the speaker away from my ear. He was shouting.
I smiled widely. "I can hear you fine."
"Hello," he said matter-of-factly and very loudly.
"Hi. Steve. Uh, I have a favor to ask. Can you give me a ride?"
"A ride?"
"Yes. Are you sure you can hear me?"
"I can't seem to find the ear gizmo."
I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing.
"Can you pick me up?" I told him the street numbers I was on the corner of.
"No problem. See you in twenty."
"Thank you."
"Goodbye, Siri."
I waited and listened as he failed to hang up. After a while, I hung up and ordered a coffee with a smile. That was one way to brighten up a bad day. Just call Steve.
I finished my coffee just as he pulled up on a motorcycle. I felt a thrill of doubt and excitement. I had never been on a motorcycle. He stood up over the bike and then swung a leg over. I smiled.
"Hey," I said.
"Hi there."