Dance is Life the Rest is Details

by 8th grader Sara Wilcox for the Pearl Newsletter, Winter 2022

I tore myself out of bed like Velcro, every inch of my body clinging to the sheets.  My body was so sore and I wasn’t ready to dance another day.  It was unreasonably early in the morning.  No light peeked through the curtains to comfort me and ease the darkness.  My mom was prodding me, telling me to just put one foot in front of the other.  As we walked out of the hotel lobby to hail an Uber to get to my hair and makeup artist, I could already feel the sticky heat of the last throes of Florida’s summer rallied for one final week or two of assault.  

The next thing I knew my hair was being pulled mercilessly slicked back as tight as it would go.  I nearly fell asleep to the sound of the tapping of the hair crimper.  My glam squad slathered tons of makeup all over my face.  As she applied blood red lip stain my lips burned, it woke me up.  I felt like a beautiful princess ready to run to her ball.

It was a half an hour until our time on the floor.  The butterflies doing cartwheels in my stomach were desperate to get out.  I felt sick.  As we warmed up, Lucas and I argued, butting heads like two stubborn rams, both of us thinking we were right.  My eyes flooded with frustration.  They were blinded by the intense light, so tired of being open.   

I waited in the on deck area lined up by numbers representing our partner’s last names.  Racing through all of my technique the words straight legs, shoulder down, preform, smile, stay connected raced through my mind, I was completely overwhelmed.  It was time, our number had been called.  Lucas took my hand.  In spite of our earlier argument I felt calmed by his strength and confidence.  We strode out onto the floor, gulping down all of our fears.  We were in this together.  The judges stared us down as if we were disappointing children.  The music started.  Muscle memory took over and we danced through our routines.  As I danced I could hear my mother out of dozens of voices cheering my name, giving me a slight hope of doing better this round.  My head was spinning as we danced our Viennese Waltz.  Everything was a blur of bright colors, sparkles and light, I felt as if my head was about to roll off my shoulders.  It was our last dance for now.  We were almost done with this round.  I could feel my legs getting tired, weaker, begging to quit.  Seconds before they gave out, the music faded out.  I took a bow hoping to have pleased at least a few judges and spectators other than my mom.

Now was the hardest part, waiting.  All of the competitors sat on the edge of their seats, though consumed with exhaustion, wondering and hoping that they would make it to the next round.  I played my round back in my mind looking for couples that felt possible to beat.  Expectation was thick in the air fueled by competitors, coaches and parents.  As if in a world of his own, the man with the results seemed to walk in slow motion unaware of the anticipation radiating from every person watching, as he sauntered to the wall to post his paper.  The results were up on the wall.  My heart pounded as I pushed past other dancers propelling myself closer and closer for a view of the list.  The type was so small; I tried to see my name.  Was I one of the lucky competitors called back to the next round?  From off of a skyscraper my happiness and hopes plummeted to the ground.  Our number wasn’t on the list.  All the hard work, hours, pain and money spent with no outcome, it was too much.  I wanted to cry.  Tears welled up in my eyes and my chin began to quiver.  My mom whisked me away upstairs to our room in the hotel.  On the foot of the bed she sat with her arm tenderly around my shoulder.  We talked about the good lessons I could bring home with me from nationals.  Instead of trophies to put on my wall, I had personal tokens to store in my heart. Intangible but just as hard won.  Like a couple in marriage counseling, I had learned to better communicate and compromise with my partner.  I had realized how important patience with myself was. Making mistakes is okay, it is part of the growing.  I had gone from a big fish in the pond, placing in all the competitions, to being a small fish, not even making a callback.  But with every opportunity I was learning to swim stronger. 

Finally the day was over.  It was time to undo all of the morning’s hard work.  My legs took a big breath as I lowered my fishnets and pulled off my tights.  Little waffle prints left reminders of the confinement they had endured all day.  Sadly they didn’t know I would be putting them back on the next morning to begin it all again.  The shower called me, offering warm and soothing peace and relaxation.  The hot water was just what my aching body needed.  It seemed even to penetrate to my soul and wash away the day’s disappointment.  Unfortunately it wasn’t as good at washing away the copious amounts of hairspray used that day by the hairdresser.  It felt as if I had spent an eternity in the shower.  I had shampooed my hair five times trying it seemed in vain to get every last bit of hairspray out.  My feet ached as if someone had dropped a cinder block on them.  Dried off and dressed I decided to go watch the dancers who had progressed to the finals.  

The fantastic colors of the dresses popped on the dull dance floor.  My eyes blurred as I tried to watch the dancers flying down the ginormous dance floor.  Their skill and fluidity was mesmerizing and inspiring.  One day I hope that I will be able to dance in their shoes.

Later, my mom and I looked at the dresses the vendors displayed in hopes of luring families with fat pocket books.  Trying on dresses made me feel extravagant.  They were so beautiful.  It was all part of the game of getting noticed by the judges that line the dance floor.  Bright dresses covered in crystals are all part of the strategy.  My mom and I locked eyes though as we both discovered simultaneously that the dress I was currently parading around in cost an astronomical $8,000.  Slowly, but surely we began the extraction process, making excuses to escape the salesman, pulling ourselves away, trying not to catch the attention of any more of the dress shop’s employees.  

Ballroom dance is a beautiful marriage of art and sport.  It is stressful and hard and often times painful, but it will always be worth it to me.  I love how hard the sport works me and I know it makes me stronger.  I dance because it is fun. When I dance I am incredibly happy.  Dancing adds soul and purpose to all the details of my life.