Stage

For Sarah
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I stared at my made up face in the mirror with a sigh. My vacant eyes blinked back at me as I gently poked my face, making sure that the dark circles under my eyes weren’t visible beneath my makeup. Long, tiring, continuous hours of rehearsal over the past few weeks were beginning to take a toll on me. My earlier disagreement with my mother, though, had been what triggered my current misery. I picked up my bright red lipstick to paint on my smile as my mind wandered back to that conversation.

“Mum, it’s opening night tonight, you could at least pretend to be happy for me,” I said, tugging at the phone chord in annoyance.

“Grace, you know I’m happy for you but are you sure being a dancer is what you really want to do?” Mum answered. I rolled my eyes at the phone. Mum always gave me this spiel whenever she called. With an over exaggerated sigh, I let her continue. “It’s fine as a hobby and all, but as a career? I mean I’m not saying you’re not talented enough, Grace, you got all those scholarships after all but the money you make professionally isn’t that much and it’s such an uncertain career path. I just want you to be happy, Grace.”

Yes, it was true that I didn’t make that much money as a professional dancer and as I looked around my dismal and practically empty apartment, I was glad that my mother wasn’t around to see it. Plastered walls, a worn couch, threadbare curtains and a fickle-minded heater were testament to what my salary could afford. My gaze swept around the bleak living space I called home and lingered on an old photograph of my mother on stage. I glared fiercely at the picture, as if glaring at it hard enough would enable her to feel my harsh stare over the phone. I had framed it and brought it with me in a lame attempt at some familial inspiration but in the context of this current conversation with her, I couldn’t understand why. A pair of old well-used pointe shoes sitting on my couch soon caught my attention and I immediately relaxed, my feet flexing and pointing instinctively.

“I am. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” I may have said that a little sharply but I’d told her so many times before; I really didn’t want to be doing anything else.

“Well, I’d just hate to see you left with nothing to do if it doesn’t work out,” Mum said in a clipped tone.

I glanced at the pile of bills sitting on the table in front of me and thought about how I was just getting by but I’d never admit that to her. After her own failed attempts in the entertainment industry when she was younger, Mum had never truly been comfortable with my career choice. In the three years that I’d been in the city dancing professionally, never once had she come to watch me. Not even tonight, the opening night of my first role as a principal dancer.

My thoughts were interrupted when the backstage runner called the cue of some other dancers. I frowned and the white lighting surrounding the mirror made my expression look harsher than it was while the makeup exaggerated my appearance. I moved to find some floor space and practised some of the choreography, letting my character take over.

“Grace, it’s your cue soon,” the runner called.

I stopped and turned towards the mirror. Taking one last look at myself, I was shocked to realise how much I resembled my mother. The shadows cast over my features and the expression I currently wore under the bright green room lights was definitely a characteristic of hers; one I never realised I possessed. I instantly hated those lights. A sudden and unexpected overwhelming feeling of sadness washed over me and I wished she was here watching me tonight. Pushing the thought firmly away, I plastered on my best stage smile and headed out.

As I stood in the wings waiting, I took in the surroundings of my true home. The thick, slightly coarse fabric of the heavy side curtains felt familiar under my fingers and I could feel the ambient heat from the stage lights filtering into the wings, warming me. The music was louder here than it was backstage and it instantly changed my mood. I could hear the audience applauding enthusiastically as the scene ended and I thought with a sad smile how much more support I received here than I did at home. I prepared myself for my cue as the dancers who were onstage exited and whispered wishes of good luck before hurrying out of my way.

I wasn’t going to worry about my problems anymore tonight; I was going to worry about someone else’s instead. Tonight, I wasn’t Grace. Tonight, I was Odette.