It's
been eight years and I still can't go in the old high school
auditorium without getting misty-eyed.
All those
years of ballet, all those recitals, The Nutcracker every December.
So many memories. It's a good thing I'm not allowed backstage during
the middle school band concerts, because I know if I found my way
back there, I'd surely cry.
I miss
dancing. I miss feeling like I was in complete control of my body. I
miss having that rhythm in my bones that made it impossible to be
still. I miss the bright lights and the music that flowed through the entire building. I miss the fancy
costumes and the stage makeup. I miss the excitement of waiting in
the wings, hiding behind the curtains while performing all the steps
with the dancers on stage because we'd seen it rehearsed so many
times that we had their parts memorized along with our own. I miss
the thrill of walking—never running!—behind the backdrops on
stage, knowing that the scenery was all that separated us from the
dancers performing and the audience beyond them. I miss the
camaraderie. I miss goofing off in the dressing rooms, doing things
we knew we probably shouldn't but which we got away with because
there was little supervision. I miss the hand-drawn personalized stars cut from
construction paper and taped to the mirrors so everyone would know
who had claimed which spot. I miss the surreal way time seemed to
stop while we were backstage, like the whole world suddenly revolved
only around us. I miss it all.
I saw a
girl at my sister's band concert tonight, a member of the sixth grade
band, who was smaller than all the others. Her blonde hair was slicked
back into a bun. She walked by my family after they left the stage,
and I couldn't help but notice how perfect her hair looked. It was
the kind of bun that comes from much experience. I have to wonder if
she's a dancer too. If she is, I hope it's as magical for her as it
always was for me.
