Trees were gradually replaced by buildings, and I knew we would reach the Lincoln Tunnel soon. We had about twenty minutes, and I did my best to not think about that. On one side of the road was a library that looked as if it belonged in a fairy tale, while the other side housed a football field.
Before I knew it, we were in the tunnel. I gave a silent thank-you to the gods of E-ZPass for making me not have to waste my limited money on tolls.
Ashlinn looked enthralled as the yellow tiles whooshed past us, and her head was practically plastered to the side window. I told her to look out the front instead to get the very first available glimpse of the city.
As the light grew brighter in the tunnel, I began to feel half as excited as my girlfriend looked. I leaned forward between the seats again, intending to absorb everything about New York, but instead my attention was grabbed by Ashlinn, and she wouldn’t let go.
Her eyes seemed to grow double their size. Without removing them from the sights bursting into view, she whispered, “It looks so different in reality,” and it felt as if my heart were expanding. The buildings were a gray-scale rainbow with concrete carpets rolled out in front. Hot dog carts and falafel stands studded the streets in their grimy colors, and I could swear the smell of the rumbling subway’s chain-smoker smog was already getting into the car.
Beautiful.
Ellie dragged me out of this reverie by snapping, “Yes, we’re here. Now how the hell do we get to this school?”
I fumbled for my cell phone and plugged in the address as we crept down the road. There was a light before any major turns needed to be made, so I thankfully had enough time to let the GPS load. Ellie had definitely tensed up upon our entering the city, but I suppose the prospect of driving in New York could do that to a person.
“Keep straight for a few blocks. We’re going to get onto Seventh Avenue at some point.”
“Which you’ll tell me. If you think there’s any chance I can both look at signs and not hit pedestrians, you are mistaken.”
The windows on the buildings around us were square jewels glistening with the reflected sun, and the people beneath them were weaving endlessly through each other like they were threads in a growing tapestry. Our speed no longer mattered because every car in the city was moving remarkably slow. I stared at the numbers on the dashboard’s digital clock, attempting to slow them through sheer willpower. Ashlinn was still looking out the window with her hands up against the glass.
“Seventh Ave!” I screamed, realizing we were coming up close. Ellie veered to the left, and we managed to not miss the turn.
“Now we need to go all the way up to Fifty-Seventh.”
That was only about ten blocks away. Ten of the shorter blocks. It was eleven minutes until the audition, and I tried to convince myself that a minute a block was a feasible concept.
Not that I was allowed much time to worry because Ashlinn suddenly shot up in her seat.
“You need to put on your leotard,” she exclaimed, reaching for my bag and tossing it in my face. We really should have prepared for this better in advance. “You won’t have any time to change once you get in.”
I obliged, unbuckling my seat belt and stripping with a prayer that no one was looking in. My hair also had to be dealt with. There was no chance of making it. I did my best to hide in the area in front of the seat as I shimmied out of the pajamas I had on, grateful they were loose clothes, and stretched the tights on over my legs.
Ellie batted my foot away when it got dangerously close to the gearshift at one point, and soon I was pulling straps over my shoulders. Everyone seemed a bit too preoccupied to watch the world’s most awkward reverse striptease.
A car behind us honked regardless of the fact there was a sign threatening fines against anyone who dared to violate the somewhat redundant noise ordinance, and Ashlinn gave out a shocked squeal. Ellie snorted at her reaction, which I responded to with a gentle whack on the arm as I twisted my hair with one hand into something that hopefully resembled a bun.
We crept down the road at a pace that only seemed to get slower as the audition time neared. Block after block passed in a numerical parade until we came to a stop. It was 9:29 a.m., and we weren’t going anywhere. This only lasted the moments it took us to register our standing still.
“Dammit, girl, get out and run!” Ellie yelled, and before I could even think about it, Ashlinn reached into my open bag and shoved the shoes and paperwork into my hands. I opened the door.
THE SIDEWALK
passed beneath me like a conveyor belt, and I noticed Ashlinn was running next to me with my bag flung over her shoulder. She reached out for my hand, and I grabbed it, after which she doubled her speed, dragging me along.
We ran straight through two crosswalks, praying that no cars would come barreling. The building, a great glass structure, stood at the end of the block, and I pointed at it with my free hand, trying to suppress the burn in my legs. It would only increase during the dancing, and there was no time to warm up.
Her hand in mine was the only force propelling us forward. Everyone else on the sidewalk melted into a blur as they jumped out of our way. She pulled me to a halt in front of the rotating doors and before I could be pushed into my future, I threw my arms around her and hugged her tightly. When we parted she aimed me in the direction of the building.
“You’re already two minutes late. We’ll have time for this later.”
And before I could make her turn that statement into a promise, I found myself walking into the glass box of a lobby.
There was a long, white table with a sour woman sitting behind it who looked as if she may have been a dancer at some point as well. She beckoned me forward to sign in while chastising my lateness. Looking down at the paper revealed a long list of others who had made it before me, and I signed Victoria Lindy Dinham at the bottom of the section for dance majors. Glancing at the list showed me names that already sounded like they would fit in among proper dancers and actresses.
With a glare the lady pointed me toward the door to the audition room.
“We do not tolerate when students are tardy to class. How do you think showing up late to your audition will make you seem?” she snapped. “Now go on in.”
My stomach felt as if it were turning in on itself. Before entering I slid on my shoes, which were still in hand, noting how torn the bottom of my stockings had become courtesy of the New York streets. I could feel the woman’s continuing judgment at my delay as I tied up the ribbons, and gave her a small wave before heading in.
The room was uncomfortably big and mirrored on one side. I almost stopped dead upon seeing my reflection, complete with flushed cheeks and hair sticking out of the bun, but carried on. Opposite from where I entered sat another woman with a similar bearing to the first. She was behind an identical white table, although this one had a tripod-mounted video camera sitting on it. She was not smiling, but also not frowning. That was a start.
She gestured toward the empty space in front of her as a signal to begin, and I rattled off my slate. I could hear the tremor in my voice as I told her my name, hometown, and life goals. Then I handed her my phone, taking a moment to track down the music, and once it came pouring out of the speakers my body fell into the familiar moves of the dance.
The melody was so much louder in this room, as if the mirror was reflecting sound as well as light. It took a great deal of willpower to not be shaky and out of breath, still not fully recovered from the sprint to get there.
Ninety seconds.
All I needed was a minute and a half of perfection and nothing else; everything had built up to that since I was a five-year-old in a tutu. With an emptying breath, I rolled up onto my toes.
Every step I took was a prayer that this one woman watching would see something worthwhile. Having the music so loud was almost as extreme as when Ashlinn had had me dance without any at all. Unlike that instance of dancing for an audience of one, this time I was able to successfully transition from a chassé to a pirouette and not end up on my face. At least I had that going for me. My feet were crescent moons, arched in pink leather and cramping.
I tried to leave my mind blank of everything but the next move, even if that meant I had to focus on the pain, on the overexertion of my arms and legs. Ballet was pushing your body past what evolution meant for it to be capable of, to break the laws of nature in a quest for beauty. Dammit, I trained at East Coast ballet studios. Angry, retired, ex-Broadway dancers own every one and didn’t give wiggle room. If I could do one thing, I could kill this audition.
After the music stopped, I held my position, trying to read the woman’s expression the whole time. She wasn’t looking up at me but down at some papers lying on the table. It made me worry if she had actually seen any of my performance or if she would just watch all the videos later. Without music the room was frighteningly quiet, and every breath sounded like windstorms. She finally looked up at me with a masklike expression that nothing could be inferred from. Something came over me in that moment, and I stared her in the eye.
“That was for my father.”
As I grabbed my cell phone, she just nodded and gestured toward the door, telling me to meet with an admissions officer. I’d get my results in a month.
The admissions officer was a man named Neil, although boy was a better term; he barely looked older than me. His hair was modern, shaved on one side, and he had a smile that could only have come from years of living in an orthodontist’s chair. My lingering nervousness dissipated slightly at his friendly demeanor, but I still felt uneasy. There was no way to know if my dancing had been good enough, and I had nothing left but to analyze my slipups for the next four weeks. Neil and I sat at the third white table I would become acquainted with that morning, and I was relieved to see a few other stragglers finishing up their interviews.
“So, how do you think you did?” he asked, leaning over the table. He sounded like someone trying desperately to seem more relatable and cool than he truly was.
“It probably wasn’t the best audition in the world. I did show up late and sweaty. But I really put my everything into it.”
I flashed him a smile straight out of any romantic comedy.
“That’s what we like to hear.”
He returned the smile, but I couldn’t tell if it was condescending or not. He shuffled around some papers, and I twiddled my thumbs uncomfortably but tried to keep my eyes trained on him. Perhaps I was asserting dominance, or maybe just pretending I wasn’t completely terrified.
“Why don’t you tell me about some challenges you’ve faced so far in life.”
Wow. They really hit you with the big questions early on. I had expected this to just be a conversation about financial aid and extracurriculars. Closing my eyes as if I were about to perform yet again, I took a deep breath and prepared to bare my soul. Anything to get out of suburbia.
“I can start with the fact that my father died a year ago in a car accident. He used to plant red flowers and bring me to all my dance lessons.”
Neil began blandly apologizing for my loss, but I held up my hand and interrupted his pitying words. He didn’t know me; how could any sentiments of his be more than a farce? If he spoke, the tears would begin. They needed proof I knew the show must go on.
“He would cut those red flowers and wrap them in newspapers to give me after performances. Other girls would get nice grocery-store bouquets but mine had been cared for from the start by my father. Like me. That same day, the one I lost him, my brother Reeves became comatose.”
Neil was nodding. He must get to hear a fair share of sob stories on a daily basis when that’s one of the interview questions. I ignored his movements and continued.
“And I’ve just kept dancing. I don’t know if I’ve overcome these things, but the music never stopped, so neither did I. It’s not like I have much else.”
That was all I had to say, but it didn’t feel like the right note to end on. Life was becoming less cynical. He was a bobble head and opened his mouth to begin asking the next question, when I interrupted yet again.
“Actually, that last bit’s a lie. I have this dishy girlfriend now, and she is the best thing that has come out of all this shit.”
My eyes widened in fear of having allowed the swear to slip out, but his cool-guy demeanor just seemed to brush it off.
“I’m very happy you have someone. That’s important, especially when dealing with such tough circumstances.”
He conducted the rest of the interview a bit more formally, not bringing up the first question again, and what remained was more or less what I had expected going in. Without seeming too desperate, I told of my need to get into this school and how I had zero desire to study abroad. I defended my lack of extracurriculars other than dance, and he let at least the last year slide. More than anything, it was like a conversation with an upperclassman I wanted badly to impress.
The interview ended around the time I had actually begun to compose myself. He walked me to the door where I displayed my impeccable manners by shaking his hand and thanking him. Then I went into the glass lobby where I stood in the corner and removed my pointe shoes. That drove home how much pain they had truly caused, and I cringed with my mouth wide open, probably to the amusement of the sour-faced woman sitting behind her table. On top of it all, I forgot to bring socks. This wasn’t going to be a painless day. Still, I got them off and crossed through the lobby with torn tights and an upturned chin and found my way into the city. Now all that was left was to wait. It was almost a relief to have the matter in the hands of someone else.
The bustle of the streets nearly swept me along the second I hit the sidewalk, but I managed to flatten myself to the building and avoided being run over. I didn’t have time to wonder where Ashlinn had gone before getting an armful of my girlfriend out of nowhere. I nearly had a heart attack when she flung herself around me, chanting “How did it go?” several times, blocking my attempts to actually tell her.