The drama teacher gathers us all together for a pep talk. Those of us performing the dream sequences must remain deadly silent whilst we’re waiting in the wings. “Can we get changed once our skit is over?” I asked, hoping that I’d be able to get out of this ridiculous costume once and for all.
“No.” the drama teacher bluntly replied. “You all need to be in costume and in character for the curtain call.” she told us. “Boys… you need to make a big, dramatic bow, and girls… a nice curtsey.” she said before looking directly at me. “Now Peter, since you’re playing a girl, you have to curtsey at the end too… OK?”
“Really miss?” I groan as some of the others snigger.
“Ballerinas don’t bow.” she smiled. “Now, after the final curtain call… I want you all to meet and greet and mingle with the audience.”
“After we’ve got changed?” I asked.
“No… in costume.” she replied. I sighed. I only signed up to wearing it for a couple of minutes on stage. If I’d realised I’d be wearing it for half the afternoon and most of the evening, I’d have had even more second thoughts. The fact that everyone else will be in costume is no consolation. I’d happily wear Susan’s space suit or Mark’s racing driver outfit. Even Teresa’s blouse, pencil skirt and stiletto heels would be preferable to my costume.
At around 7.00pm, the audience begin filtering in and filling the chairs. All of us involved are getting nervous and not a single one of us wants to mess up our scene. A cacophonous chatter echoes from the hall; hundreds of voices all talking at once. Our nerves increase as we rehearse our lines and routines one last time. I stretch and limber my muscles and tendons, practice my arabesques, plies, pirouettes and jettes. The lights dim. The audience falls silent. The old Grange Hill theme blasts through the PA and play finally begins.
The audience laugh at the classroom skit. We tell Teresa (the first to perform a dream sequence) to ‘break a leg’ as she makes her way to the platform above the stage. The audience coos as the lights dim and her scene begins. We’d all had chance to watch each other’s scenes during rehearsals and the combination of lighting, music and back projections is really quite impressive… for a high school play any way. Mark’s noisy racing driver scene means I’ve only got a few more minutes in which to quell the hoard of butterflies in my tummy and prepare myself. “Does my make-up still look OK?” I quietly ask Teresa and Rose. They assure me it does just as Mark returns with his trophy and laurel wreath. We congratulate him and it’s my turn next.
“Break a leg.” they say as I prepare to take my position.
“I was hoping I’d do that last night.” I said in a shaky voice before making my way through the darkness, up the steps and onto the dark platform. As I begin to dance, the last thing on my mind is my pink tutu and feminine make-up. I have to concentrate on getting my steps perfect, on being completely balanced, on moving with the music, anticipating the segues between the Nutcracker suite and Swan Lake, Cinderella and finally Sleeping Beauty. I flows through my ears and out of my limbs, conducting every moment of my well rehearsed routine. Arabesque to the left, a petit jete to the right, a pirouette on demi-pointe brings back to centre stage. I chasse this way and chasse back. My weightless tutu bounces around me, but not so much that it would ever cover my backside. Another arabesque and a pirouette back to centre stage where I perform the hardest part of my routine; the pointe work. I raise my arms to the fifth position as I rise into the very tips of my toes. Step, step, passe, passe, step, step arabesque, down, sissone, sissone, back to pointe, step, passe, step, passe, pirouette and finally stop in the fourth position. The music stops right on queue and a huge applause erupts from the audience. Thankfully I’m facing them. I hold my position and take a deep breath. I curtsey then step forward and reach down for my bouquet. In the stage bellow, Kelly climbs into a desk and passes it up to me. “Aaahhh.” the audience coos in unison before clapping once more. I return to fourth, curtsey again and my spot light fades. I breath a huge sigh of relief as I descend the steps and return to the wings.
There’s still another forty minutes of the hour long play. We loiter silently waiting for the curtain call. I’ve been dressed like this for almost four hours now and all I want is to be able to hold my arms normally. If my tutu wasn’t part of my leotard I’d take it off. I perch myself on a box, making sure there’s space behind for my tutu. Teresa joins me and pulls off her heels. “These are killing me.” she whispers as she rubs her feet.
“Are they hard to walk in?” I ask.
“Yeah… but not as hard as those.” she replied, glancing at my pointe shoes. “Sorry.” she whispers as a stage hand tell us to shush. Turning back to me, in an almost silent whisper she says, “I crept halfway up the steps when you were dancing… it was amazing!”
I gulped and felt myself blush. “Thanks.” I said as we were hushed again. She pushed her toes back into her shoes, took hold of my hand, squeezed it gently and smiled a reassuring smile. She let go and we sat in silence whilst the play progressed. It’s a long wait for the end and David Bowie’s Space Oddity marks the final dream sequence. “I wish I was in the audience for this bit.” I whispered to Teresa. We’d seen it in rehearsals and the ISS model and ISS set looked great with the star scape back projection. It’ll look ten times better with the lights down.
“Yeah but you’d need three seats.” Teresa grinned, stroking my tutu. “I can’t imagine what it’s like wearing one of these.”
“Neither could I until yesterday.” I quietly replied.
“Didn’t you wear one when you did go to ballet?” she asked.
“Boy’s don’t wear tutus.” I informed her. “Well… not normally.” I said. The music from the stage began to fade so we ceased talking. Susan’s performance ended and after one final classroom scene, the curtain came down to a riotous applause.