Sitting backstage, I sat on my hands as my Mother curled small ringlets in my hair before pinning it up into a bun. The entire room smelled of burnt hair, sweat, and heavy nerves. In the back corner you could see little Haley crying because her Mom was yelling at her for some stupid mistake like not hip bouncing hard enough. Other girls were stretching, some practicing, and barely any had a happy look on their face. This was the big time. This competition was what was going to determine whether we were going to go to nationals or not, and this time it was in Vegas, it was everyone’s dream to go. It was my first year competing in the solo division, and I counted the steps of my tap routine over and over in my head while doing the moves sitting down, trying not to move my face because by then my Mother had moved on to the blush and lipstick. She kept telling me soothing words like “Just smile and you’ll do great” or “You know the routine like the back of your hand”. I kept to myself in my own little bubble, absorbing the tranquility of her French vanilla perfume and silent humming of my music. I was lucky to have her, she didn’t care whether I went to Nationals or not, not like the other moms that were so hard on their daughters. She just wanted me to be happy.
Pretty soon,
they called my name up from backstage. After strapping on my high-heeled tap
shoes and looking myself up and down in the mirror I hugged my Mom and waited
backstage. I tried not to watch the other soloists compete. I knew that would
only make me more nervous. I stretched my legs and arms and did my best not to
smear my makeup. It seemed like time stood still as I waited for it to be my
turn. Butterflies were boxing each other inside my stomach as cold chills ran
all over my body. I had never gotten that nervous before, but I had never been
truly alone in performing either. I always had my team there to support me in
every step I made. Here, it was all on me.
“And next up is Katy Kilsdonk performing to Great Balls of
Fire by Jerry Lee Lewis!”
I breathed in and out before
pasting on a huge smile and walking, tapping, across the stage, taking my
position. Facing the back, I popped my foot, sat in my hip, and put one hand
behind my head, waiting for my que. The heat of the spotlights bore down into
my nervous little soul as I breathed in and out praying that everything would
be okay.
Hearing
the music start I turned around with my huge smile and then I froze. Every
single practice, every single rehearsal all left my memory. I was blank. All I
could see was the black hole where the audience should be. What seemed like
minutes to me was merely a moment to the audience before I started tapping my
heart out. I, for the life of me, couldn’t remember the choreography so I made
it up. I completed my performance without letting my smile slip off my face. I
completed the competition with first place.
---
This moment in my life changed me in a very deep way. What started as me writing about the first time I performed by myself, turned into me realizing that I had a life shattering moment. This experience taught me that no matter what life throws at you, or changes, if you put a smile on your face and fight your way through it with the utmost confidence, and maybe making it up along the way, you’ll end up on top, or with a first place trophy and a ticket to Vegas.
Katy,
ReplyDeleteWonderful details here--trying not to smear your makeup, the smell of burnt hair (why though?)--build the tension and scene nicely. Keep pushing those showing details--instead of no one barely "had a happy look on their face" you might write about the physical attributes that convey that anxiousness--avoiding one another's eyes, wiping their wet palms on their thighs, etc. In your reflection, I really like that accidental last line: what if the piece were called Ticket to Vegas? How might that theme of luck weave itself through this memory?
Brent