Audition (8 page)

Where the McIntosh apples are thick and threatening
To tumble off the trees.
He is always in a hurry this time of year
To get the harvest into cold storage
Or off to farmers’ markets.
Though few besides me
Can hear the subtle urgency
In his still-soft tones.

 

 

At home, Mom will stay up late
Slicing, peeling, stirring in sugar and cinnamon.

 

 

Dad knows that Macs are my favorites
But all he says is,
“Wish you were here.”

 

 

I imagine him rushing,
Supervising loaded crates,
Counting and tabulating.
It is easier to write checks for my school tuition and board
In the bounty of fall
Than it will be in winter.
So I will not be so ungrateful as to admit
That my shins ache,

That trying to keep up with city dancers is exhausting,
And that, often, I wish the same.

 

 

“I’m promoted to D level,”
I say instead.
“Green leotards and partnering classes.”

 

 

I do not mention
The way looking at Rem’s hands
Makes me forget
How to stand in first position,
Which I learned before I got to kindergarten.

I put my feet down tenderly.
Lightning jolts through my shins.
I try to keep my head up, move quickly,
But a pained sigh sneaks out
When my weight shifts to my left side.

 

 

“Are you feeling okay, Sara?”
Jane calls as I pass her office door.

 

 

Last night, while I waited for Señor Medrano,
I watched her kiss Remington,
Watched his endless arm sweep around her waist,
Wondered how old she was to be some kind of doctor
And if Rem likes her giant breasts.

 

 

Now, I blush.
“Um, yeah. I’m fine.”

The province of advanced students,
Where boys and girls are taught to dance
Together.

 

 

It looks so effortless when you see it happen on a stage.

 

 

“Girls must hold their own balance.
Don’t make the boys work too hard, lug dead weight,”
Yevgeny commands.

 

 

Then he says to shift our weight into them.
Collaborate.
“Let them carry you.
Don’t look at their hands.”

 

 

How can this be?
How can you hold
Your balance and
Let them carry you?
Both, at the same time?

 

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he says.
“Boys and girls.”
Never women
And men.

 

 

Yevgeny partners me with Fernando,
On scholarship not just
Because he is a boy.
He is the best—
Arching feet,
Strong back,
A better dancer even than Remington,
Though not nearly so handsome.
Fernando’s eyes never stray to my curves.
His grip is clinical, precise.

 

 

Today he will lift me into the air,
Hold my hand,
Support my back,
And make me more beautiful
Than I could ever be alone.

I am early for class, as usual.
The curse of living with a teacher
Who keeps a morning schedule.

 

 

So I am there to see Remington stalk in.
Jane is five steps behind him
With a paper cup of coffee
And an irritated expression.

 

 

“Thanks for holding the door,”
She calls to his back
Before she notices me
Curled into the corner bench.

 

 

I peek at her over the top of my history book.
Our eyes barely meet
Before the blush burns my cheeks.

 

 

“Morning, Sara.”
Jane flips her frown to a professional smile.
“Still limping?”

 

 

“I’m okay.”
As if he had choreographed it,
We both turn our heads
To the sound of Remington dropping his dance bag
On the floor.

 

 

He gives a little bow,
Though his eyes take in only Jane as he says,
“We’ll talk after class.”

 

 

She sighs, glancing at me
As she puts the key in her office door.
“Sometimes Rem can be like—
A sprain.
If you’re still hurting tomorrow, Sara,
I should take a look.”

 

 

“Okay.” I nod, astounded
At the way Jane can talk about people and pain
Out loud, in one breath.
The things I leave unspoken,
Hidden behind pallid words:

 

 

Mister . . . Ma’am . . . Please . . . Thank you . . .
Okay.

She gets a ride from one of her brothers
On his way to work
And has to put up with his hours.

 

 

Probably because Lisette has not arrived,
Or maybe just because she’s a friendly sort,
We chat awhile.

 

 

Bonnie has ten brothers and sisters,
All older than she,
Some by decades.
And she can barely remember
All their names.

 

 

I think of Mom on the phone last night,
Asking what I had for dinner,
How things were going at school.

 

 

“Your mother feeds eleven children?” I ask,
As a picture of an enormous table fills my mind.

 

 

“We’re not all still at home,” Bonnie laughs,
Explaining there are only five others in the house.
She shares a room with two sisters

And the cat.
“Next year, when I start high school,
I might get my own room.”

 

 

I am so grateful for her friendly conversation
I do not mention what I see.
The way she counts out raisins—only six—
To eat between afternoon technique class
And a grueling evening of variations.
The myriad trips she takes
To the dressing-room scale and
The mirror, where she turns sideways,
Wraps her stick fingers in near despair
Around her wraithlike waist.
Turns away with a fake and frozen smile
Fixed between her hollow cheeks
Above a jutting chin.

 

 

Could it be that Yevgeny’s brittle gaze,
Simone’s friendly teasing,
Señor Medrano’s flamboyant smile,
Lisette’s ceaseless perfection
Are a more intimate family?

To dance like Bonnie,
Will I have to stop craving organic apples,
The smell of a woodstove,
My mother’s overprotective questions,
My father’s soft, adoring gaze?

 

 

Instead embrace
Saturday mornings in the studio hallway
And eternal pliés
clutching the backs of the polished wood benches
That line the walls.

Proficient, methodical, sleek.

 

 

She is grades behind me in school,
Though far wiser
In the ballet studio.

 

 

All around are
Dancers so precocious and strong,
And me pretending to be like them,
Though it can be hard to talk too long
To girls who know so much
And yet so little.

 

 

Is that why Remington,
The shadow of a beard over his chin,
Wise eyes,
Keeps drawing my stare?

Is always a scary word
Even though at the last one
I was chosen to come here.

 

 

This morning,
Bonnie and I watch Shannon
Slap a firm staple into the hallway corkboard.
Secure a single page:
Black-and-white letters,
Date and time.

 

 

Students from level B and up
Will try for parts in
The Nutcracker
.
Little girls dream of the party scene,
Older ones a chance to dance with the corps
Behind the Dew Drop Fairy,
Or perhaps be featured as an exotic candy
In the Land of Sweets.