Inside my head
Ever wondered what goes on backstage? Here’s how it feels…
Excuse me, coming through! Can’t you see I’m drowning under the weight of these costumes? Wow, there’s actually space on the rail. And talking of space, that’s my space. Ugh, never mind, I’ll get ready somewhere else.
See, this is why I do my hair and make-up at home. Whilst you’re all crowded round the Hollywood mirrors, trying to catch a glimpse of yourself amongst the sea of pretty little faces, I’ve already warmed up and arranged my things in preparation for the madness that awaits us all. Whoever thought it was a good idea to make us do a quick change from ballet tights to fishnets without getting a hole in either pair did not think this through. I mean, some of you are already on your third pair of fishnets and this is only the first night. At least those dress rehearsals prepared us for the dent in our bank accounts. But I, on the other hand, can proudly say that I’m still on my first pair. How long that will last, who knows.
How do you all end up with a sleek finish on your eyeliner? And how you lot manage not to poke yourselves in the eye with the mascara wand is beyond me. Those mirrors may have great lighting and make you feel like you’re a movie star, but they have no magnification whatsoever. Can’t see a thing.
Oh wait. Spoke too soon.
Don’t worry, here’s some make-up remover and a cotton bud. You’re welcome.
Yes, of course I’ll fix your hair, but you do realise we’ve still got another ten minutes until the show starts and you’re already down to half a bottle of hairspray? Fine, but you’re not using mine when you need a spruce up during the interval.
Elnett is like gold dust: expensive and disappears before your very eyes. A couple of presses of that nozzle and you can kiss goodbye to the £7 you only just parted with a few hours ago. Besides, who needs their own bottle when a dense fog of hairspray constantly looms in the dressing room? It’s all very well telling the little ones to cover their eyes and hold their breath as their buns get the finishing touches, but resistance is futile. Suffocation: inevitable.
But don’t worry, I’ve been doing this for years and I’m still here. I guess it’s like smoking. Sooner or later, you get used to the smell, your throat resists the urge to cough and you barely notice the mist that engulfs your surroundings. Eventually, you grow to like it.
5 minutes till showtime! Now it’s time to use the hairspray.
“Does anyone need the toilet?” say the chaperones to the children. “Are you sure?” is the reply to those who insist they don’t need to go. What they don’t realise is that these aren’t questions. For anyone under the age of ten, you don’t have a choice. They won’t be satisfied until every little bottom has rested on the throne before they get on that stage. They’re on a mission. So, of course, anyone in a tutu, regardless of the fact that we are clearly of an age where we have control of our own bladders, is included.
“Have you been, girls?”
We smile and say, “yes thank you”, thinking that that’ll be the end of it. But no.
“Any of you need the toilet?”
“Have you been?”
“The loo is free now, girls”
Again, we smile and politely decline the use of the bathroom.
But now they face a new challenge: getting twenty-odd kids to line up in the wings and down the stairs in the correct order without making a sound. You’d think that they would remember this arrangement by now, after many dress rehearsals and having practiced their queuing only moments ago.
But no.
There’s always one who forgets who their partner is, one who pretends that their partner is their best friend because they are not afraid to admit that they don’t like their actual partner (savage), and one who needs the toilet again. But eventually, the little ones are all lined up, holding hands with their correct partner, more or less in silence and they still have two numbers before they go on stage. Finally, the chaperones can breathe a sigh of relief.
But wait…
Their dance is after mine. How the hell am I going to get past them all? For god’s sake, why did they have to line up so early?! But it’s my only option.
“Excuse me, sorry,” I whisper to the little ones, who I now realise are not so little — they may be the youngest in the show, but they tower over me.
“Shhhhhh!” is the reply I get from every child in the wings, making far more noise than my footsteps and the rustle of my tutu against their bodies could ever make. I can feel the glare of distraught chaperones, as I clamber my way through the sea of pretty (not-so) little bunnies, butterflies and…
Chickens? Interesting…
Yes! Finally made it. Just in the nick of time.
Oh crap. I knew I didn’t need to go, but now I’m standing in the wings, moments before my number, I’m starting to regret saying I didn’t need the toilet. Or is it just my brain being manipulated into thinking I need to go because of how many times I’ve been asked the question? Or is it just the nerves? Oh god what if I forget the routine?! Too late to think about that now. It’s time.
And now, it’s safe to say, I miss all of this.
That sinking feeling as the music stops. The audience applauds. The lights go out. You fumble your way through the darkness, trying to avoid bumping into those who have just done their bit, before you take your starting position. As the lights come back on and the music starts, the adrenaline kicks in and you feel alive. It’s a feeling like no other. Your fear melts away. Those two minutes feel like two seconds, and before you know it, you are plunged into darkness and it’s time to prepare yourself for the next dance.
When the pandemic is over, I won’t take the smell of hairspray for granted and I won’t begrudge using my last drop of Elnett on someone else’s head.
We are living in a whole new world but COVID won’t rain on our parade. The music of the night will play again. Soon we’ll be back, defying gravity in the pas de deux, the pandemic will be a distant memory and we’ll be what everyone is talking about.
We won’t be satisfied until we are back where we belong.
One more dawn,
One more day,
One day more.
