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As I stood on the stage, the bright lights burning my eyes as I tried my hardest not to squint, I squeezed the hand of the guy beside me posing with his hand on my thigh. The music started. We began.
I was only a small-time dancer, taking classes in my spare time and doing the odd show or festival here and there. One day during one of my classes our tutor got us older girls together for an exciting announcement, “We’ve got a chance to dance at the biggest theatre in London!” she exclaimed. We didn’t need to hear the details, we were already completely over-excited and agreed to do it.
The rehearsals started that same week and the show involved several dance schools from the county. We were to be can-can dancers. The very idea made me feel exhausted!
We worked as hard as we could, and got on well with the guys of the cast who were to be part of our set. As our kicks became higher, so did our confidence. The dance was perfected, us girls and the guys gelled completely, and we were ready to go.
Our dresses arrived one day and were stunningly beautiful. Made of satin, with layered satin underneath to give a look of several petticoats, it looked amazing. Unfortunately, once we had them on, they lost their appeal. The whole ensemble was incredibly heavy, and when we tried dancing in them, it was appalling. We were too weighed down to do many moves. “You know what this means then girls,” said the choreographer. We waited for the words ‘new dresses’ or ‘change choreography’. What did we hear? ‘MORE PRACTICE!’
For the remaining weeks we panted, sweated, struggled and at one point cried as we tried to dance as lightly as fairies while weighing as much as an elephant (at least…that’s what it felt like!) But, as time went on, our strength grew. By the time show-week had arrived, we barely noticed the weight and could dance as we could before.
The opening to our dance involved us all in a pose with one of the guys. My pose involved my guy with a hand on my thigh. During dress rehearsals, we had a whispered conversation. He admitted to me how nervous he was (which I could well understand, seeing as he was only 17 years old, was to be dressed in drag, and had lots of family and friends coming). “We’ll change our pose. I’ll hold your hand at the beginning and I’ll squeeze it to let you know it’ll be ok”. It was the only thing I could think of, but he seemed happy with it and smiled with slight relief.
Show night, and we stood at the wings watching the performers before us finish their set, waiting to go on. They finished, the house lights dimmed to near blackness. The only thing we could sense was the sound of the applause slowly quietening as we rushed out onto the stage and quickly took our places as the others rushed off. I put my hand over my friends, and gave it a gentle squeeze. He did the same. The houselights rose, and the music started. We began.
And everything was ok. Well, in actual fact, it was more than ok. It was absolutely fantastic!
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