Holly
Marie says Josh is tapping through every class. Driving his teacher crazy.
Tell the teacher it builds rhythm.
She says it builds a headache.
Valid.
Goodnight, tap dance enabler.
Goodnight.
I start typing: The coffee shop near my apartment is playing metal Nutcracker and I?—
Delete it.
I'm sorry doesn't begin to?—
Delete it.
Please just tell me how to?—
My thumb hovers, then presses delete.
The metal guitar solo ends. I close the message without sending anything.
* * *
Seven years old. December.
Elsbeth settled onto the library sofa beside me with the remote and a huge bowl of popcorn to share. “Tonight is something special. American Ballet Theatre's classic production from 1977. Gelsey Kirkland and Mikhail Baryshnikov.”
She said their names like they were royalty. Maybe they were.
The tape was already in the VCR. She pressed play, and the overture began—that familiar music that made my chest feel like it might overflow with feeling.
When the party scene started, I leaned forward, watching the girl in the nightgown receive her nutcracker doll.
“What's her name?” I asked.
“Clara. Though some companies call her Marie—that was her name in the original story. Clara was actually the name of Marie's favorite doll. When the story was adapted, the writer used the doll's name instead.”
“Which one is right?”
“Both.”
She let the tape play. I watched Clara move through the party scene with a perfect combination of grace and wonder. When the battle scene started—soldiers and mice—I was on my feet, mimicking the sword fights, the marching.
When Baryshnikov appeared as the Nutcracker Prince, I tried to copy his movements—the way he held his arms, the fast footwork. I stumbled through the steps, but Elsbeth didn't tell me to sit down. She just watched, sometimes humming along with the music, letting me dance alongside the greatest dancer in the world.
By the time the Christmas tree grew and Clara stepped into the snow, I was breathless and beaming.
“Can I show Mom and Dad?” I asked when the tape ended. “When they get back from Aspen? I could do the party scene—I know the soldier march now. And some of the Prince parts.”
Elsbeth's smile wilted.
“Your mother,” she said, “would love to hear about your book report on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. And your father was so proud of your science project—that balsa wood shuttle you built. Why don't we plan to show them those when they return?”
