Saturday arrived and since Mother and Father were busy, my big sister Judy accompanied me to Miss Jarovski’s School of Ballet. We arrived and were met by Barbara in the foyer who wears a pink leotard with white tights and pink ballet shoes. She’s in charge of our dance wear and from a large plastic box, she retrieved a carrier bag with my name written on it before directing me to the changing rooms. It came as a huge relief to discover that my leotard wasn’t pink like Barbara’s. I sheepishly emerged feeling like a rank amateur. I’d donned the white tights and black leotard, but the shoes hung from my trembling fingers because I wasn’t sure how to tie them. Barbara sat me on a bench and tied them for me. “The others didn’t know either.” she told me before looking up at my sister and asking if she was staying for the duration. Judy was, so it was she accompanied me to studio number 3 whilst Barbara waited for the others.
Inside was Janet, Catherine and Alison as well as their mothers; all sat chatting on a bench whilst the girls chatted amongst themselves. I was disappointed that Benjimin and Antony weren’t here yet as that makes me the only boy in studio number 3. I sheepishly sauntered over and said hello, before introducing my sister to them. I felt like such a dork in my black strappy leotard and thick white tights, but so did the girls. It was a small relief to learn that they felt as self conscious as I did. We loitered nervously for a while until the others arrived. I coyly greeted Benjimin and Antony before looking nervously at Miss Jarovski; a tall slim woman who wears a purple leotard, a thin see-through skirt and woolly leg warmers. She clapped her hands and welcomed us, collectively referring to us as ‘girls’. “They’re not all girls!” Alison’s mother said in a dry tone.
Miss Jarovski gave her a look of disdain, before telling the parents and Judy that they were welcome to stay and watch our dance class, and asked them not to interrupt the class. She lined us all up, making sure we were stood upright, still and attentive before giving us a brief lecture about ballet. “I’m not going to teach you point, pirouette or a perfect jetté, but you will learn the basics…” She went on for a while using terminology that meant little to most of us. She also demonstrated the moves and I’ve never been so disinterested. After a short warm up, we learned the basic positions and I know that I wasn’t alone in feeling like a complete dork. Apart from Barbara, we all felt out of place and the moves we were practising seemed to bear no relevance to the prancing we’re here to learn. Having my sister sitting at the edge of the studio, watching my every move and smiling wryly didn’t help either… nor does the huge mirror on one wall, in which I witness every dorky position. I’ll never know what Billy Elliot saw in this. After half an hour of what I assumed was ‘proper’ yet very basic ballet, Miss Jarovski and Barbara demonstrated our next lesson; the art of graceful walking… but before we could have a try, we were each given a tutu! Thankfully it wasn’t big flat tutu but the style that’s called a ‘romantic’ tutu. It falls a good few inches below the knee, is very light and very see through. It swishes and sways with every movement as we try to follow Miss Jarovski’s direction. She counts a slow time signature, instructing and encouraging us all the way. “One two three, one two three, very good Catherine, one two three, one two three, one two three, grace-fu-ly, beautiful, one two three…” and on and on we went. We were only there for an hour but it seems that time moves very slowly in a ballet class. Thankfully it was finally over and Judy took me home. My sister used words like sweet and cute to describe my ballet class whilst I used words such as boring and stupid. Mother preferred Judy’s perspective and said she couldn’t wait until next Saturday when she’d be taking me instead.
