My dad, but mostly, my big sister. I had only found out recently exactly what she had done to get me this “supposed” dream.
This dream was too big for someone like me, and it must have been shortly after my mom’s death that I realized it had never been my dream at all but hers. As silly as it sounded, as naïve and stupid, I had been happy living out this dream for her.
But now that she was gone…
Well, I didn’t know who I was anymore.
The auditorium quickly cleared out. I stood by my spot just adjacent to the doorway and watched as everyone left, talking happily with one another, some even commenting about the brilliance of the performances, while the last of the dancers on stage moved backstage.
I had been in this scene enough times to know how chaotic it was back there. I didn’t want to go there right now, but I couldn’t leave.
My bag and jacket were there, yet the idea of facing anyone held no appeal.
I had made no connections with a single person during my short time here, not with the dancers, not with the people working backstage, not the choreographers—no one.
I moved over to one of the empty seats in the back and sat down, looking up at the empty stage.
It wouldn’t be long before the lights turned off and everyone left for the night, save for the custodian staff.
But I was still here.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there just looking at the stage, but it was long enough for a noticeable silence to take hold, and I knew most of the company had left, either for home or to go out partying for a job well done.
I stood and moved to the stage, standing front and center and looking out at the empty auditorium. The only light on was the stage light, lined in a row of about six or seven above me. I couldn’t see the seats.
Taking a deep breath, I sat where I stood and, opening my phone, played the intro to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake Op. 20.
My hands lay flat on the hard surface below me. I grew up on stage, but I didn’t think I had ever taken the time to just be here, sitting and touching it with my bare hands with no expectation.
I closed my eyes and started to imagine the movements.
Swan Lake was one of the most iconic ballets in history. It revolutionized the way ballet was perceived, with interconnecting pieces that told a story with a beginning, middle, and end, as opposed to earlier works, which comprised nothing more than short numbers performed one after another, unconnected to each other.
Swan Lakewas just as beautiful as the dances and the music that accompanied it.
It told a tale of a beautiful princess named Odette, who was cursed by an evil sorcerer to turn into a beautiful swan by day, and only at night could she regain her human form. The only way to break the spell was to gain the promise of love and faithfulness of a man.
She met a Prince who wanted to shoot the swan he found at the lake before she was transformed into a beautiful woman, and they fell in love. But before he could confess his fidelity to her, the sorcerer interfered, transporting the Prince back to his castle, where a ball was held by his mother to find him a wife. During this time, the Prince was tricked into professing his love for the Swan Princess’s evil twin sister, Odile, making it so that the curse on the Princess could no longer be broken. She would have to remain a swan, along with the other swan maiden who had been cursed with her.
There had been different, slightly skewed versions of the ending to Swan Lake out in the world. The most popular was where both the Prince and the Princess drowned themselves in the lake, thus breaking the spell and the spirits of the Prince and Princess living together in heaven. Perhaps some might even have considered that a happy ending.
I always thought it was sad.
Swan Lakewas my favorite ballet. It was also my mom’s. And it was the first leading role I got cast in, playing both the roles of Odette and Odile.
Mom always said I danced the role of Odette better than I did Odile, and surmised it was because I had more in common with Odette, the innocent, than I did with Odile, the vixen.
I never told her the role of Odile was much more fun to dance.
Much more challenging, too.
But once I mastered it, it was all I wanted to do.
The introduction ended and the next song played, moving to the Act I, Scene I of the ballet.
My mind moved on to the choreographer for this number, humming along.
If I focused, it almost felt like I was transported back to when I was seven, sitting in the corner of my mom’s dance studio while she instructed her advanced class, getting them ready to audition for the Swan Lake production that was being held at a nearby theater.