I could feel the cold, hard, backstage floor beneath my delicately covered ballet feet. The aweing gap between the floor of Proctor’s and the ceiling was outstanding even from backstage. I had done this eight times in my past, each with success, so I should not be heart-racing-nervous.

And yet here I was, practically shaking as we got in place to dance in front of thousands.  We had practiced for months, at an insignificant studio, The Dance Studio run by Mrs Barb, on the corner of a street, sharing a building with my dental office and a diminutive pizzeria. When the previous dance concluded and the lights darkened enough for us to be masked behind the blackness, we ran onstage in our little lines to our positions just before the light came on.

After the bright stage lights almost blinded me, I saw the faces of a thousand smiling parents, yet I lost my own in the sea of sparkling eyes and dark faces. When the song I had heard once a week every week for the past few months came on, I was ready. Every other girl on the stage and I moved swiftly and nervously to the music, trying to keep our posture top ten perfect, our arms in the right place, out feet pointed out, always looking at the audience, not leaning over, all while remembering to smile wide and pretty and to not trip and over our own two feet.

Soon enough the music stopped with our choreography. The lights faded, letting the new dancers scurry on the stage unnoticed, and we hurried offstage, eager to get back and watch the performance from our reserved seats. Once my blurry, seem-to-be-dreaming state of dancing was over, the song exited my brain as it does every recital, and I went to go up and look at the other stunning dancers. You see, once you were done with your song(s), some people had more than one- I had two- you could watch the other people until the finale. Then you pack up and are dismissed to probably go out to a fancy dinner still with your leotard on.

All the time I was watching those dancers I couldn't help but think, they look so calm! I wish I was like them!  And the thought came back to me.  They were trying their hardest to keep in line and not mess up, trying to keep their posture straight and to not trip over their own feet. Everytime that thought came to mind I smiled, remembering that I was there. I am not the only one who felt the way I had.

When I walked onstage for the last time that year, arm in arm with another ballet dancer who was my partner, I felt the glitter rain down on the stage as I perambulated on stage. Closing my eyes, hearing the sweet last song, seeing the teenagers dancing in amusing costumes around me, feeling the warm lights on my back, I raised my hand along with my partners and waved as the sound of applause filled my ears. I recognized that ovation was not only for me, but for every other dancer who had danced across the stage seemingly careless that day. I was part of a bigger group; one piece of the giant puzzle that was this recital. And as I strode off stage, I found my smile was as bright as the stage lights that welcomed me so.

-Lillian Sweeney