Tuesday, January 10, 2006

First Mouse

Standing at the barre is a ten-year-old girl in a black leotard and pink tights and shoes.
She watches intently as the regal Romanian prima ballerina leads the class...
First position, plie', second position, third, fourth, fifth, rond de jambe a terre
The instructor passes by and nods approval

The move to the floor brings the adagio, with developpe's and promenades in arabesque, attitude and passe'. At the end of class, the order at the barre is set for the following week and the girl is pleased to find herself in third position -- a real honor for one so young.

Finally, the day comes when roles for the annual production of the Nutcracker will be announced. The girl stands at the barre chewing her lip - a habit that annoys her instructors, but which she cannot seem to break. First comes the chorus of mice... the names are called and she waits... but does not hear her own. Her heart sinks. Then comes the announcement of the fourth mouse pair, the third, second and finally the first mouse pair. Everyone is staring at her... why is everyone staring at her? In a thick Romanian accent, her name is called again... she is a First Mouse! In her first year with the company, the girl has gotten a role, instead of being relegated to the chorus. She dances a little jig and tries not to be too proud of her accomplishment.

The part of the First Mouse is not extensive -- it consists of a ballet run to center stage to meet the other First Mouse, a furtive mouse-like gesture, a scurry back four steps, a turn and another mouse-like gesture, followed by a ballet run to the wings. Rehearsals are perfect, dress rehearsal is perfect and finally the night of the performance arrives.

The girl waits in the wings for her cue... she runs to center stage, makes her gesture and runs off... from the wings, she sees her partner executing the second mouse-like gesture and tears spring to her eyes. She has failed. Surely, she will never dance again.

1 comment:

Time said...

It's amazing how those moments stick with us forever, running on an endless loop in our memories. If only our successes did the same.