CHAPTER 17
COVEY
The first time I saw The Nutcracker, I was five years old. My parents took me to a production in this same theater here in Burlington. At the time, I was annoyed at being dragged to a show that didn’t have any words.That annoyance ended the second the curtain went up and the party scene began.
As much as my memory is about the dancing and the costumes, one of the things that sparked my attention was the fact that there were kids on the stage, too. For some reason, I thought of ballet as only for adults.After all, they were the ones dressed funny on the posters. Seeing someone my age, skipping around on the stage, getting to be part of the show, is what made me ask to take ballet in the first place.
My first Nutcracker was the following year when I got the opportunity to be one of the children in the party scene, play-arguing over gifts, chasing the girls around, and doingall of those same things I saw the year prior. It barely counts as actual dancing, but I was in love.
As much as this time of year is annoying, it’s also magical. It’s hard not to imagine a kid in the audience seeing the show for the first time, mesmerized by the costumes and movement, and having it change their life the way it changed mine.
And that’s the thought I’m desperately holding onto right now as I try to make final touches to my makeup and costume, all while a group of elementary school children shriek and run past the dressing rooms for the millionth time.
“Nothing like the first performance, right?” Leo grimaces next to me as a shrill squeal fills the air.
I hate to admit it, but I’m a little nervous. “It’s the best,” I say, trying hard to make my face match my words, but it’s hard with the horde of bees currently making a home in my stomach. This feeling isn’t one I get often. There’s always a touch of excitement and anticipation before going on stage, but the true sense of stage fright is one I worked through years ago.
“You okay?”
Leo and I don’t know each other very well, but I like him. He’s more reserved than the others, but always thoughtful when he speaks. He’s been with Green Mountain Ballet for almost a decade.
“Yeah, fine.”
“Fine or pretend fine?” He stops messing with his makeup and swivels his chair toward me.
“I’m good. Really.” It’s the truth.I think.
Today threw me for a loop. I swear, most of the time, my ideas don’t have this level of consequences. Now, I’m not sure whether Aidan and I should continue. He was practically silent as we drove back to my house, responding toquestions with a single word. I know I’m the talkative one, but that isn’t good.
Worse, he practically ran to get in his car and go home. I offered for him to come in for a few minutes so we could talk, but he gave me some bullshit about it being a school night, as if I don’t know that kids are off for the rest of the week.
Stupid idea. Stupid consequences. And now I’m at risk of losing far more than I ever imagined.
Leo turns back to his mirror, checking his eyeliner. Makeup is one of the skills we learn in the first years. I did it poorly for a long time, until one of the older guys pulled me aside and spent an afternoon teaching me how to apply eyeliner and fake eyelashes.
“You got all your stuff?” I browse through the costumes on the rolling wardrobe, identifying the one I’ll wear for the first act. Pretty much everyone has a role during the party scene. It’s not particularly physically demanding, but it requires a lot of time on stage, acting, and being part of the action. In my first few years as an apprentice, I hated it with a passion, longing to land one of the bigger roles finally. Now, as much as I want bigger roles, I’ve learned to embrace the scene for what it is.It’s a lot of fun and an opportunity to dance in a way that rarely appears in more contemporary ballets, telling a story that’s easy to follow and sucks the audience into the narrative.
“Yeah, I’m all set.” Leo’s with me in the party scene briefly, but then he’s off to change for the role of the rat king. It’s a new one for him this year, and I sense some hesitation on his part. If I knew him better, I’d probably ask about it, but I don’t think our relationship is at that level.
A pack of children barrels down the hall, feet pounding against the floor. We both wince a little. The kids change out throughout the season’s performances, since doing this manyshows would be too much for them and interrupt their lives. Instead, we rotate through local dance studios, working with several casts of children. The first ones are always rough; the kids are hyped up to get on stage for the first time.
That energy shifts the minute they get into the wings and realize they’re about to be on stage in front of a theater full of people, especially for those doing this for the first time. Sometimes it takes a bit of a shove to get them out there.
I get it. I might not have the same nerves stepping out anymore, but even thinking about this mess with Aidan reminds me what it’s like to be looking off into the distance, practically frozen in place.
Do I give him time?
Call him later tonight?
Show up at his place and demand to talk?
This is my first fake relationship, but honestly, it feels more serious than most of the real relationships I’ve been in over the years, which is probably a sad commentary on the state of my previous relationships.
Fortunately, the call to get into costume interrupts my thoughts and puts me into gear, pulling on my first act costume and ensuring all the details are right. It’s a lot of little things. The shoes that go on over my ballet slippers, my hat, and a coat that I thankfully get to remove a few minutes in. The costume designers plan everything, but there’s still plenty of room for error on my end.
And while the audience probably wouldn’t know if I forgot my hat, my fellow dancers would. I’m sure they’d still be telling the story years from now. We’ve all made costuming mistakes—usually several—so it’s not the end of the world, but I’d like to get through my first season here without giving the company reason to gossip.
I make my way to the wings, making final adjustments as I walk and going through some final stretches. I alreadywarmed up, but I like to use the space backstage to do some final movements. Over the years, I’ve perfected a routine that ensures my muscles all feel spot-on when it’s time to step on stage. It’s a balancing act, but this early in the season, it’s not too bad. As Christmas approaches, my muscles will become more sore, and I’ll need to put in more effort to keep them in top condition.
