Lights gleam upon an empty stage, anticipating the smiles that are waiting to erupt from giddy children. Its black tiled floors are scuffed, markings from previous dances and set taping, a secret language every performer respects. Narration begins, echoing loud against gold flower printed walls, its words introducing a story. A dancer steps on stage. She is small against the giant’s legs lining the edges of the stage. Nervously she takes her place center stage. Lights cued, music starts. A simple stretch shape takes place in her arms to her toes. Bubble spotted, white dresses eagerly wait for the double clap that gives them the signal to skip on stage to their find their partners. The simplicity of the movement is entrancing. Their bright, dream filled, eyes, captivate me as I watch with such delight. That used to me, small and naive about the wonders of performing, but now I wait behind the wings with shoulders back and stage fright no where to be seen. On stage the lights dim, the girls take their ending shape and wiggle nervously. As they exit, I enter, along with my Audrey, Carly, and Evelyn. My arms wrap around my waist, my head facing off stage, blinded by the headlights decorated with orange and red gels. As I wait for the samba to begin, I remember Miss Joni telling me to show the audience my magic eye, a simple phrase that has remained with me since my first day of dance at Virginia Tanner. The light beams ignite as the music begins. My heart races as my hips move to the rhythm. Roll to the floor, pirouette, leap, hold for five counts. The audience is a dark cave, for all I know there could be bats out there hanging onto stalactites holding to the ceiling. Peering eyes judging my every move. Music fades; I end with my eyes darting into darkness, large breaths working my heart, pushing blood through my body. Five minutes of movement are over, and I am just ready to begin.
