Mum’s enlightened grin had become permanent. “What colour?” she asked.
“Pink.” I meekly replied.
“Just your shoes or…”
“The whole costume is pink… baby pink.” I said as Mum gasped. It was almost as if she’d stopped breathing for a few seconds.
“Oh I can’t wait to see it… I bet you looked beautiful. Did you?”
“I dunno… probably not. The girls said I looked ‘cute’ and the boys said I looked like a fag.” I informed her.
“Well what do boys know?” Mum scowled. “I’m sure you looked delightful… I can’t wait for tomorrow. I hope cameras are allowed.”
“I hope they’re not.” I said. “It’s gonna be bad enough wearing a pink tutu in front of the whole school and their parents… the last thing I want is a photograph of it.”
“Oh it’s just stage fright and last minute nerves… I’m sure you’ll be perfect.” she assured.
The next day is the most nerve racking day of my life. With the school year coming to a close and only the end of term to look forward to, I and the other members of the cast and crew spend much of the afternoon preparing for tonight’s one and only performance of this year’s school play; Dreams and Aspirations. We fill the school hall with chairs, over six hundred of them! Cast members rehearse their lines, the school band rehearse the music, the prop builders frantically finish the finer details if the various sets. Its busy, almost frantic. I have little time to worry because there’s so much to be done. The school bell rings at 3.15pm but we’re not going anywhere. After a buffet supper, it’s time for all eighteen cast members to get into costume. The gods must be looking down on me and laughing because I’m one of the first to called. “Already!” I whine as I make my way backstage. It’s only just gone 4.00pm and they play starts at 7.30pm. By 4.30 I’m ready. The drama teacher reminds me not to touch my face and definitely don’t rub my eyes. I have an embarrassing three hours to look forward to… knocking about in my baby pink leotard and tutu. The girls coo and snigger. The boys just snigger… especially when I’m limbering up and practising my pirouettes. “Oi Billy… you’re showing your arse!” Brian taunts. In a pancake tutu, I can’t do anything about that. I can’t even hang my arms casually by my sides thanks to its broad horizontal disc. They’re either folded or I’m stood with my wrists gently brushing the perimeter of my tutu. At some point over the next two hours, seemingly every one of the kids involved with the play ask me why I’m stood like I am.