Dancing Through It: My Journey in the Ballet Read Online Free Page B

at the Washington School of Ballet. Mom and I wanted to see if we liked the school, and we needed to find out how I stacked up against the ballet students in a big city. Terry Shields had told my mother that she thought I “had it all” and could be a professional dancer if I wanted to, but we just didn’t know for sure. I was only twelve years old, and I had no particular aspirations to be a professional dancer. I loved to dance, but ballet was just an after-school activity for me; I presumed that, like everyone I knew, I would go on to college after high school and then get a regularjob. Was dancing even a real job, or did dancers have to wait tables to make money? Besides, after reading James Herriot’s
All Creatures Great and Small
, I wanted to be a veterinarian.
    Anyway, the audition was set up at the school. My mom had done research and found out that the Washington School of Ballet was the best in the area. She had kept her quest a secret from Ms. Shields, afraid that Terry would give me lesser parts in our upcoming performances if she knew I was leaving. For the audition, I was just to take a regular class with girls my age so the director of the school, Mary Day, could come and watch me. When we arrived at the white-and-gray building that housed the Washington School of Ballet, I was overcome by terror. All my confidence drained away, leaving me feeling like the biggest small-town ballet dancer in the world. What if those big-city teachers were mean and scorned me for even trying to take classes at their school? What if the other girls did bad big-city things to me, and I was humiliated? What if I got lost inside that huge building and never found the studio? I sat in our truck and cried, telling my parents that I had changed my mind and I didn’t want to go there after all.
    Somehow my parents convinced me that I needed to try. We had a long prayer in the truck, and I poured out all of my fears to God. I gathered up my courage, and we all went inside together. The predominant color was gray—gray walls, gray floors, gray sky outside the windows. Everyone inside seemed very serious. Mothers sat on benches, whispering to each other and assessing every passerby, no matter what age. Students dressed in the uniform leotard of steel gray scurried about purposefully, knowing where they were going. Directed to the dressing room by a distracted secretary, I somehow made it to the studio for the class. I wore a black leotard and stuck out like a sore thumb.
    The other girls, hair slicked back into tight buns, stared at me while they stretched their long legs around their heads. One or two asked me why I was there and seemed nice enough, but the others remained aloof. A man came in. Was he the teacher? No—he proceeded up a very small flight of stairs that led to an elevated platform in the corner of the room.Upon that platform, miraculously, crouched a piano. Live piano music. My intimidation increased. I had never danced to anything but a record.
    Another man came in. He was dressed all in black and had gray hair to match the ambience, a straight back, and an unsmiling face. This was the teacher, Michael Steel. Class began, and I had the definite feeling that serious work was about to happen.
    The style of the class and the combinations of steps were totally new to me, and I felt that I was floundering and constantly having to catch up. I had only ever taken ballet class from Ms. Shields, and I was used to her combinations of steps and her style. Here at Washington Ballet, they had a different syllabus and a different training style, even to the way they canted their heads while they did the combinations at barre. The other girls were extremely good, much better than the girls I had been taking class with in South Carolina. For the first time in a long while, I was not the best in the class. Mr. Steel never said a word to me, for which I was thankful; everything seemed difficult enough. When he corrected the other