I didn’t want to make a fuss there and then. There’s enough attention on me as it is. The last thing I want is for everyone to know that my costume will soon be ‘my’ costume. After the buffet we mingle some more and thankfully most people begin to wonder off. I sheepishly saunter up to Miss York and ask her if it’s true that she’s selling off the costumes. “Yes.” she said, explaining that every few years they sell off the costumes and props to make room for the new props and costumes that get made for each school play. With two major productions a year (July and December) and limited space, they need to have a cull to make room, she explains. “Your mother’s already bought that.” she tells me.
“I was just about to ask .” I grimly replied. “I was hoping she was joking.”
“Don’t worry.” she grinned. “I’m sure it’s just a memento.”
“Can’t you sell it to someone else?” I causally suggested.
“Well I could.” she cautiously replied. “But I’ve got your mother’s cheque in my pocket… and very generous it is too.” she said, revealing a cheque for £100. “Hopefully if the DVD works out, we might break even this year.”
“What?!” I thought. “You’re not planning on selling it are you?” I asked
“Hopefully!” she said as my eyes opened to the size of saucers. Miss York explained that we weren’t informed about all the covert cameras because the prospect of performing in front of an audience was daunting enough… knowing that we were being filmed from all angles would have only added to our nerves. “You can say that again!” I thought.
I returned to my mother who’s stood with Miss Corelli. They’re chatting with both my history and geography teachers. Mr Meeker looked down on me and said “It’s hard to believe you’re one of boys.”
I shrugged. Mr Bryant, the history teacher, complimented my routine. “Stunning considering.” he said.
“Thanks.” I coyly replied. Since it’s gone nine o’clock and there’s only fifteen or twenty of us left lingering in the gymnasium, I ask my mum if we can we go soon.
“It’s not very professional to leave before your audience.” Mrs Corelli, my former ballet teacher said.
“Most of the others have gone.” I stated.
“Yes but they’re not trained dancers like you are.” she smiled. “Won’t you consider coming back?” she asked.
“Nah.” I replied. “I used to like dancing but it’s not for me.” I claimed. “This was just a one off.”
“Well if you change your mind.” she said. “Oh what’s this?” she said, peering over my shoulder.
I turned to see Miss York the drama teacher approach. In her hands is the big bouquet I’d been given at my curtain call. “You forgot this.” she said, handing it to me.
“It’s just a prop isn’t it?” I said as I took it.
“No… the one Kelly gave you was a prop… this one you’ve earned.” she told me.
“Oh er… thanks.” I shyly replied. If there’s one thing worse than wearing a pink tutu, it’s wearing a pink tutu and holding a huge bouquet of flowers. “Mum… will you hold these whilst I go and change?” I asked her, handing the bouquet to her before turning to Miss York and asking if could go and get changed.
My mother replied before Miss York did. “I’ve got your things here.” she said. In her hand is my school bag and a plastic carrier bag containing my uniform and footwear. I asked for the carrier bag so I could go and change. “There’s no need… you can change at home.” she said, glancing around the hall. “In fact I think they’re eager to lock up.” she suggested, nodding towards the impatient looking caretaker who’s pacing around and jangling his big bunch of keys.
“Er… OK.” I said. “Can you hold these whilst I…” I handed my mother the bouquet and trotted over to Teresa and Rose. “We’re gonna go now so… I guess I’ll see you both on Monday.” I sheepishly said.
“Yeah see ya Peter.” Rose said. “You were great.”
“Thanks.” I smiled. “So were you.”
Teresa gave me a big hug and pecked me on the cheek. “We’ll be the same height on Monday.” she smiled as she towered above me.
“Not if I wear these.” I grinned, putting myself on pointe one final time. I felt like such a ninny as I exited the school wearing my baby pink leotard and tutu. The sun is soon to set on this warm July evening and the numerous plastic gemstones on my tutu and leotard glisten in it’s final rays. They shine through the delicate layers of my tutu, enhancing it’s pinkness. Mum insists on taking a photograph. “Oh Mu-um not another one.” I whine as she gets her camera out. She must have taken about fifteen at the buffet and god knows how many throughout the performance.
“Oh just a couple.” Mum cooed. “Your tutu looks lovely in the sunlight.”
I grumbled and posed for a couple of photos before asking where the car is. I can’t spot it in the mostly empty school car park.
“We came in Mrs Corelli’s car.” Mum said. This came as a relief as I momentarily envisaged having to walk home. Mrs Corelli put me on the back seat; in the middle with my tutu up my back. My pancake skirt is too wide for a seatbelt, so I break the law for five minutes until we pull up outside my house. Mum invites Mrs Corelli in for a coffee and she accepts. The west west facing front door is illuminated by a dramatic shaft of sunlight and there’s a garden path between me and it. I must be a sight to see for any of my neighbours as I scuttle from the car to the door in my sunlit baby pink tights, leotard and tutu. I immediately ask if I can get changed. “Oh not yet love.” my mother cooed. “you’ve only just got home and you do look ever so sweet.”
“I know but it’s embarrassing.” I whine. Mum pesters me to keep it on until bedtime and since it’s Saturday, bedtime could be as late as 11.00pm or midnight if there’s a film on. Normally it’s about 10.00pm so enduring my tutu for another half an hour isn’t the end of the world. “Can I least take these eyelashes off?” I ask. Mum nods and one by one, I carefully peel then off and finally, after a good five hours, my eyelids feel weightless once more.
Mum and Miss Corelli settle in the sitting room. Thanks to my attire, the most convenient thing for me to do is kneel on the floor where the disc of my tutu is uninhibited. All they can talk about is the play and the various dream sequences. Thankfully it wasn’t all about me. Teresa’s teacher dream was the most amusing. She poked fun at teachers, pupils and politicians. Mark’s racing driver was the most exciting with the back projection of a race track depicting fast corners, skids and near misses. Mine was ‘beautiful’, especially when Kelly handed her ‘dream-self’ the bouquet. Mary’s surgeon was also full of humour as well as political comments and Brian’s blundering civil engineer had the audience laughing too. Robert’s builder was a slap-stick routine with plenty of mishaps, but Sarah’s astronaut scene rightly stole the show. It was always the most visually spectacular which is why it was saved until the end. The space-suit costume, the massive ISS model and ISS stage set, the back projection and soundtrack and the ‘I can do anything’ message… it really did blow my whimsical dance routine out of the water!
After a small glass of wine my old ballet teacher left, telling me once again that I was perfect and should seriously consider returning to her ballet class. “No I don’t think so.” I coyly replied. “But thanks.” I say.
She leaves and Mum tops up her glass of wine, before flicking through the photos she’d taken on her digital camera. “You didn’t take loads did you?” I asked as she began showing me them.
“No just a few.” she said. There were three of me on stage, a further five afterwards with various cast members and one of me and Mum, then two outside in the sunlight. “You look like you belong in a music box in this one.” she said. I’m holding the third position and she’s absolutely right. “I can’t wait to see the DVD.”
“I didn’t even know they were making one until afterwards.” I stated. “I’m gonna be called Billy for the rest of my life now.” I whined.
“Oh it’ll soon wear off.” Mum said in an empathetic tone. “Don’t you think it would have been boring playing a Billy Elliot character instead of a ballerina?” she asked.
“No it wouldn’t.”
“Of course it would.” she said, casting her eyes over my costume. “You’d have been wearing shorts and a T shirt instead of your beautiful tutu. Would you have even worn stage make-up? ….and dancing a boy’s routine wouldn’t have been half as challenging.” she said. “You were clearly elated when you’d finished.” she said. “You were positively glowing with pride when you took your bouquet.”
“I was crapping myself.” I claimed.
“Quite possibly… but you can’t deny that you looked beautiful and danced wonderfully.”
“I guess I’ll have to wait for the DVD.” I sighed.
“Oh yes.” Mum exclaimed. “Miss York said the entire school’s going to have a go at editing it, and she hopes to have a commercial release by Christmas.”
“Great.” I thought. “That’ll be one of my stocking fillers.”
