The Barefoot Ballerina

Part 1 – A Dream Unfulfilled

Clara stretched her legs high above her head, feeling the satisfying burn in her hamstrings as she held the oversplit pose. She leaned deeper into the stretch, determined to improve her flexibility another inch. As a ballet dancer, Clara knew having the perfect split was essential for executing many advanced moves.

"Alright ladies, excellent work today," Madame Lisette, the petite but formidable ballet instructor, called out in her thick French accent, signaling the end of class. Clara released her aching legs from the stretch and slowly rolled up to standing, joining the other exhausted students shuffling to pick up their bags.

"I don’t know how you push yourself so hard day after day," Clara’s friend Sofia said as they walked to the locker room. "Don’t your muscles get completely exhausted?"

Clara shrugged. "I can’t improve if I don’t push past my limits. The audition notices for the top companies say they want 'extreme flexibility'. I need to do everything I can to get there." At twenty-three years old, Clara felt time slipping away from her lifelong dream of becoming a professional dancer with a prestigious ballet company. She knew she had to seize every opportunity that came her way if she wanted even a chance at breaking into the hyper-competitive world of ballet.

After changing out of her black leotard and pink tights and into street clothes, Clara walked the three blocks to the subway station, mentally reviewing the choreography from Madame Lisette’s class. She had stumbled coming out of the triple pirouette sequence right before the floorwork section near the end of the routine. It was frustrating. She would drill the turns over and over at home until they were etched perfectly in her muscle memory. A lack of spotting technique was the culprit, she assessed. Easy to correct, but any small imperfection could make the difference at an audition. 

Clara’s tiny basement studio apartment was only a short subway ride away. When she arrived, she immediately dropped her dance bag by the front door and went right into warming up at the barre she had installed herself when she moved in. After thoroughly stretching each muscle group, she ran through Madame Lisette’s choreography from earlier that day again and again, concentrating on keeping the movements as precise and polished as if she were on stage, even as her muscles shook with fatigue.

Twenty repetitions later, a sweaty but satisfied Clara finally collapsed onto her lumpy secondhand couch. She winced as she massaged her throbbing feet. The constant pounding against the unforgiving marble studio floor, cramming her toes into rock-hard pointe shoes, had left her feet battered – toes bruised, nails cracked and purplish-black. It was a price every ballerina paid for their art. But for Clara, it was worth it … as long as it led her somewhere bigger.

She closed her eyes and let her mind drift to a theater she had visited once on a school trip as a young girl – the ornate red and gold auditorium at Lincoln Center. In her imagination now, she pictured herself on stage there, under the blazing spotlights, dancing the lead role in Swan Lake. An audience of thousands watched breathlessly as she spun and leapt across the stage, bringing the soaring music to life with each extension of her limbs. After the final curtain, she received bouquet after bouquet of flowers until her arms overflowed, finally having achieved her lifelong dream of being a prima ballerina after so many years of tireless striving.

The image felt so real Clara could almost feel the heat of the stage lights on her face. But then her phone’s alarm abruptly jolted her awake. She lifted her head groggily from the arm of the couch, the glamour and grandeur of spotlights and crowds fading back to the dingy cracked walls and worn carpet of her studio apartment. It had only been a daydream. Again.

With a disappointed sigh, Clara hauled herself to her feet to get ready for her evening shift at the coffee shop a few blocks away. She needed the job to help pay for her intensifying dance training. As she pulled on the required black slacks and polo shirt, Clara already missed the freedom of movement of dancewear. She glanced in the mirror and tried smiling brightly, but it came out more like a grimace.

"Only a few more hours," she told her reflection through gritted teeth with false cheer. This job was temporary, just a stepping stone on her path to becoming a professional dancer. She just had to keep reminding herself of that during the long hours on her feet.

The next few hours passed by in a blur of lattes, cappuccinos and muffins. Clara smiled politely and made small talk with customers, while imagining herself dancing freely across the shop’s wooden floor, unencumbered by gravity. A grande arabesque here, a graceful glissade there, she thought wistfully during a lull. What a waste to spend her youth boxed in by the confines of practicality.

At the end of her shift, Clara’s manager let her go home thirty minutes early for good performance. Clara gratefully untied her apron and grabbed her purse from the break room, massaging her throbbing feet. She pulled out her phone as she walked to the subway, hoping for some word from the several dance companies she had auditioned for recently.

Instead, she saw an open audition notice for a jazz dance troupe that would be touring local concert venues this summer! Clara felt a spark of excitement. It wasn’t a ballet company, but it was professional paid performance work. She quickly filled out and submitted the online audition form. This could be exactly the kind of opportunity she had been waiting for to take the next step in her dance career.

Over the next several weeks, when she wasn’t at her coffee shop job or in one of her regular ballet classes, Clara religiously devoted every spare minute to preparing for this all-important jazz dance audition. The choreographer had sent a video of two short but demanding modern jazz routines they wanted everyone to learn before the in-person audition day. Clara spent hours each night rehearsing the sequences over and over again until her legs could complete them automatically. She set up her phone to film herself dancing the pieces and then analyzed each run-through for any way she could refine and polish the movements to perfectly match the choreographer’s style. This had to be flawless.

The long extra hours of honing the jazz routines on top of her usual packed schedule left Clara both mentally drained and physically exhausted. Every muscle ached and her feet throbbed even when she wasn’t dancing. But she refused to cut back or even take a day off. This audition could change the entire course of her dance career. All her dreams – everything she had worked for since she was a little girl – it now hinged entirely on nailing these two short minutes of dance.

After weeks of intense preparation, the big day arrived. Clara awoke early and took extra time braiding her long dark hair into a neat ballet bun. She ironed the new black jazz pants and form-fitting tank top she had bought specifically for this audition. After double-checking herself in the mirror, she headed out the door, dance bag in hand. On the subway ride there, she visualized herself executing each step and turn flawlessly. But as she entered the bright, bustling audition studio, catching glimpses of the other dancers warming up with incredible extensions and control, her stomach fluttered with nerves. These dancers all looked so comfortable and natural in the groovy jazz style. Could she measure up next to them?

Clara found a free spot and began her usual thorough warm-up sequence, trying to ignore the intimidating talent surrounding her. One by one, the choreographer called each dancer forward to perform the routines. "Next!" Clara took a deep breath, stepped forward onto the white Marley floor, and took her opening pose. When the driving pop beat began, she stepped and popped sharply in time, just as rehearsed. To her relief, the choreography flowed smoothly, just as she had practised hundreds of times alone at home. She hit each accent beat precisely and pulled off the fast chain of turns without a wobble.

As the music ended, Clara struck the final pose strongly, leaving one arm arched up for artistic flair. She held the pose for a beat, then let her stage smile drop as she relaxed and caught her breath. Her face was flushed and heart pounding from the exertion. The jazz choreographer had been watching the auditionees with a stone-faced expression the whole time, giving minimal feedback, so Clara had no idea how she had actually done.

"Thank you," he said simply, already waving the next candidate forward to take their turn. Clara’s shoulders slumped dejectedly as she hurried out of the audition space, overcome by a gnawing sense of self-doubt. Had she actually nailed it, or just convinced herself she had danced her best to cope with the pressure? Did she truly have what it takes to dance professionally, or was she simply dreaming an unrealistic fantasy?

That night, exhausted both physically and emotionally, Clara skipped her usual evening barre workout. For the first time in years, she was questioning everything about why she was still dutifully chasing this dance dream day after day when it seemed no closer to actually coming true. Maybe she just didn’t have that special something extra after all – that "wow" factor and stage magic that would elevate her solid talents to the elite level needed for professional success.

To be continued…