This week I had been reflecting a lot on why I am who I am, why I was in my major of choice (BFA Musical Theatre) and how to find the joy and elation in my career again. The term “discouragement” is was an understatement for the events the past few weeks had brought, and I was feeling utterly defeated. However, Facebook’s “memories” module swooped in to save the day. On Wednesday, I saw four years ago on that evening my drama club in high school opened “Cinderella” with me in the title role. That was night I fell in love with performing and found my voice. Although I’ve come a long way since that time, I needed the reminder from the little girl on how much I love what I’m studying. That was my fairytale, and since then I have been awakened to the reality of how difficult the career of a performer can be. However, I wouldn’t change a thing, because I absolutely love the work and the challenge. This night four years ago is the reason I do what I do:
“Cinderella! Stop dancing around and get to work this instant,” my step-mother calls from offstage.
It’s my cue to set the teacup and dishrag down, cross to stage left and sit on the antique chair by the fireplace. It isn’t a real fireplace, the woman isn’t my real stepmother, and my name isn’t really Cinderella, but in this instant, my reality is a world where the townspeople sing, the slipper fits, and everyone lives happily ever after. And in this instant, I wait for my musical cue for my first solo. I sit at my stool with my hands brushing my stained apron to remove the beads of sweat from them. I nonchalantly glance at the orchestra pit to see the music director wave his free hand for the downbeat. I inhale and begin to sing the first words, “I’m as mild and as meek as a mouse.”
I immediately know something is wrong. The microphone is not on. I look up to the audience, trying to mask my confusion in an air of a dreamy expression, and faintly see my own cousin under the glare of the lights sitting in the side row. His expression of strained listening confirms my fear. Something in the microphone system has gone awry and there's no time to fix it.
Right then, I do what my director had been asking of me for so long. I do what the situation demands. I sing. I project. I step towards the edge of the stage and let the notes resonate through my entire being. I feel the musicality and convey Cinderella’s message the best I could in the song.
“I can be whatever I want to be.”
It was effortless. It was impossible. It seemed like forever and nothing. It seemed like yesterday and ages ago. In this moment, I could be strong, I could be beautiful, I could be Cinderella. I could be whatever I want to be. My voice reaches over the orchestra and faintly arrives at the back of the auditorium. It’s not perfect; the performance isn't ideal, but it is me. I pirouette to the left and end in an arabesque during the musical interlude. I finish the song on the apron of the stage.
As the show progresses, I share the newfound soul in my voice with the prince, and our harmonies dance and intertwine as we waltz together. My voice flutters like a bird as the stepsisters and I share the stage. Then I blink and the curtain falls on the wedding scene. My cast-mates line up to bow and I wait in the wings. I hear the applause for the chorus, the stepsisters, the fairy godmother, and then the prince. As he steps back, he gestures a hand towards me and I step, one glass slipper in front of the other onto the stage. My wedding dress is sparkling in the light, and my eyes are sparkling too. I take my bow, careful to not lose the tiara and veil on my head. A roar of applause reaches my ears, and I smile. It’s one of those smiles that makes your eyes squint up and your cheeks burn from the pure excitement.
I stand up and gesture for the Prince to bow with me, and we bow together. A shockwave runs through our hands. We did this. We pulled it off. Both sophomores, best friends, and leads. We conquered our fears. I feel his steady grip in my left hand and reach back with the other hand, welcoming the entire cast forward for a final bow. I look up to the booth and see my director smiling down to me, the person who trusted me with this opportunity.
I take a deep breath and soak in the moment. This is magical. Today I found my love of theatre, my confidence, and my voice. This is the magic I can hold onto for years to come.
