Everything Must End

Jane, the little girl who had to live with her nasty aunties and was forced to work long hours in the long, stretched yards of the English property, has flown away on her giant peach and will never return. Apparently they landed in New York and are still living there to do this day, telling their stories to all of the eager passerby. But they will never again appear on our stage, the same way, with the same story behind them. That's part of the past now. Never again.

When Seven Brides for Seven Brothers ended a few months ago, I was devastated. That was back before I had a blog, when I was still thirteen, back when I was still a second year pit orchestra member (okay, technically I still am one). But even though we had twice as many shows as this performance, and I had a much bigger role, I still felt relieved, even happy, that this one was over. With Seven for Seven, it was like my world was falling apart, and I didn't know what I was going to do with my life. When I look at it critically, though, I realize that that show made me feel so much better about myself, while this one was close to making me feel worse.

The people in pit orchestra was the reason I loved it so much, I think. It was also the music, obviously, and I grew considerablyin skill after each year in the pit. But it was mostly the nerds, the ones who accepted me, and made jokes and talked about Harry Potter, rather than wallowing in self pity, who made me feel welcome. They were all older than me, in high school and beyond, but were the nicest group of people I knew. There was the bassoonist, with her awesome shirts and sonic screwdriver key chain, who had been drum major as a senior the year before and was now going to community college. There was the trombonist, who I had known forever but never really talked to, or appreciated how funny she was. There was the piano player, a legendary musician in the area, who, at the age of fiteen, was the best young pianist I knew, and through witty jokes, we became friends. There was our conductor, my best friend's older brother, a genius who had no appreciated for Doctor Who but pretended he did, and his dad, the best math teacher in the school, who not only could play the trumpet but could also pull off a sweater vest. Through the pit, I became part of the music community, and that was a great thing.


Don't get me wrong, I love dance. I've done it for several years, and get better every year, but four hours or more a week can get very tiring, especially when we're staying until almost midnight every night two weeks before the show and then the two weeks during. It's true that a lot of my friends are in dance as well, but they were just a reminder of my real life, while pit orchestra was just a dream. All they did was compliment each other, and even though it didn't really bother me that much, I was always left out of that bit. A sixth grader told me that "my pimples were cute" (and her skin really isn't the nicest thing in the world, if I do say so myself). All there was was competition and pity parties, and I really got sick of it after a while. I don't need to be in a dressing room with a fourth grader who throws temper tantrums every night.

Every year, I don't know how I will do without dance for three months, and without the show. But come September, the show is just a lost memory, and by May, I don't remember it or really care that much at all. And maybe by that time I'll be ready to do dance again.