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Private Dancers

Today about 25 young members of the Boston Ballet came to my office building to perform selections from The Nutcracker on a temporary stage in the lobby (yes, it is a massive lobby). The lunchtime performance featured most of the favorite characters – Sugar Plum Fairy, Coffee and Tea, the Russians – but lacked a Clara, which is sort of like The Wizard of Oz without a Dorothy.

I grabbed my provisioned box lunch and sat in a folding chair on the edge of the audience, just in case I wanted to leave early (I mean… no Clara? What is up with that?) I wound up sitting right next to the makeshift “backstage” area for the dancers. I munched potato chips as they stretched and preened, telling myself that they were envious of my curvy chest and hips.

What amazed me wasn’t how flexible and gaunt the dancers were. It was how hard they breathed after leaving the stage. Their little bodies gulped air as if they just surfaced from the botton of the Atlantic Ocean. Even the graceful, effortless Sugar Plum Fairy started panting like a dog the second she left the stage.

For the finale, all of the dancers ascended the temporary stage for synchronous jumping. The scenery behind the dancers shook violently, and the audience murmured as fluff and glitter began falling from the tottering cardboard castle. Luckily, the show ended, everyone applauded, and the dancers took lavish bows before rushing off the stage, impassive and breathless.

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