A Hot Mess Kerfuffle
The circles of life in the dance studio
“Shannon is a beautiful dancer,” said Miss Adrienne, the studio director.
Then Shannon got a boyfriend, and quit dancing.
“I’m not feeling it anymore,” she told Miss Adrienne, who cried that day.
Miss Adrienne was a ballet purist. The other teachers knew (as did she, very well) that outside New York City, ballet was not enough to keep a studio afloat. Tap, Acro, Modern, Hip-Hop, and Jazz were equally essential. They paid the bills. Shannon’s strengths, primarily in ballet, were that she was thin, not too tall, concise, and easily instructed. Anyone who took the time to actually converse with her might also realize she was an utter doofus.
Each Christmas season they did the Nutcracker, which was a pill, and which was voted ‘Best of’ every year in a wide and varied field of local arts productions. Internally, they knew they killed it most years. Miss Adrienne considered Shannon the best Clara ever.
Debatable, though when Shannon returned to help backstage, everyone was glad to see her.
All the girls were unique (as were the boys.) Unique talent, personality, disposition. Stage acting also counted: in this case having a presence without voice, no simple feat, and difficult to learn. In support the music, lighting, backdrops, and costumes were all essential to a performance, along with the many classes leading up to casting and rehearsals. Tears might flow, and sometimes, though rare, the bubble truly burst in the form of a child melting down, or simply not showing up, the reason invariably trouble at school or home.
When the Spring recital hit, it was a pretty tight ship. Most students found a well-structured community, discipline, beauty, precision, and — above all — fun.
“Ihave no money,” Adrienne complained.
No one believed her. They had a lakehouse, and by now she owned the studio outright. With two small children of her own and a reliable stagehand husband who nonetheless wasn’t a pushover, she had it all. Except contentment.
“I’m just not a people-person…” she’d say to other teachers.
Well, you’re kinda in the people-person business…
As the owner, she was a target for every little thing that hurt, often parents. Certain helicopter moms would only be satisfied if choreographed above the stage.
In truth, students and parents might find Adrienne to be cold. The other teachers made up for it when possible. And despite any faults, she grew the business, awarded an annual unlimited scholarship, and stayed true to the principle of the original director, her very first teacher, Miss Michelle: no dance competitions.
Competition existed for featured parts, only so many of which were available no matter the scale of a show. The little ones — and there were many — could be shepherded in semi-learned squad as adorable angels, meerkats, fish in the sea, whatever the production and everyone was happy, the audience most of all. Dance classes were expensive though, especially for older students, and one who basically grew up in the studio believed she deserved to be Alice in Wonderland her senior year. A junior was much more deserving, and the senior got a supporting role. She just wasn’t good enough.
Lexi loved dance, and partying. A wonderful comedic turn sophomore year as the clock in Beauty and the Beast, as a senior she was fine taking any old part. One night after class she drove Hannah, a fellow senior, home at an alarming speed along a back road.
Split with her boyfriend, she told Hannah: “Right now I’m feeling just as homicidal as suicidal.”
They both made it home alive, and from then on, whenever the dancers got together, they made sure Lexi did not drive.
Once, after mistakenly cutting her finger in the studio, she touched her naturally red hair and asked: “Is it too Metal if I dye my hair with my own blood?”
¨Oh, Lexi,¨ was the general consensus. That whole year she and other departing seniors Chlöe, Hannah, Victoria, and Tamara met up all over the city. They created a calendar as ice skaters, bridge photo bombers, park acrobats, for Miss Adrienne and other teachers. Five of the months each held one individual pose.
Miss Adrienne, and others with studio experience, said they were the best class ever.
Chlöe (Mary Poppins), would return to visit every now and then, talk Miss Adrienne off the proverbial ledge with sage moral support. Chlöe was fortunate, her mother happened to be the studio´s most dynamic choreographer and teacher, and like other teachers’ kids all her classes growing up were free. Her mother and Miss Adrienne held the same timeless artistic vision: childhood wonderment can never be overstated.
A parent could stay on the periphery: run a taxi, go to shows, experience the spectacle from the audience, bring a bouquet of flowers or more for afterward if one’s kid was featured.
Or they could get more involved. Volunteer parents and other adults (students, some of them), were integral to a large performance. The Nutcracker’s adult party guests and harried house staff were splendid each year along with the children in front of the tree which soon grew majestically with the music as the audience entered Clara’s dream.
Backstage, teachers, volunteers, former students helped coordinate. A quick wardrobe change, Bluetooth communications with theatre tech staff, readying the angels or dragonflies. It was a total team effort.
In the summer, following dance camp, they’d do a little piece in the park.
New challenges and changes cropped up almost constantly. Kids left to do cheer, sports. Kids got injured, and more often, sick. Drama abounded.
“Sadie might have pneumonia, and there’s no stand-in.”
They always seemed to get through it.
Sadie tried anyway.
“It was a hot mess.”
“Oh, did you hear about the other thing, that whole kerfuffle?”
Fin