Audition Read Free

frantic packing.
     
     
    Dad’s systematic mapping of the route to Jersey
Has become my inevitable course,
So what difference would it make for me to say
That it is complicated?
That I am both excited
And afraid.
     
     
    “Because you can come home anytime.
We can turn around
Right now.”
     
     
    Now I bleat,
“I want this.”
     
     
    I feel queasy
Though Dad’s sudden stop
Is long past.
     
     
    While my fears and wishes
Frantically duel,
    Tugging my stomach and my heart
In a thousand directions,
The car drives
Straight
Toward my destination.

Señor Medrano waves
    From his cement stoop.
     
     
    The celebrated Chilean ballet master
Has agreed to house me for the year,
But I had not imagined
His dark, oiled hair, firm waist,
Wild eyes
Living in this bland, middle-class lane.
     
     
    The split-level house, pinkish-beige,
Sits between a dozen like-painted, split-level houses.
Every fifth sidewalk square
Sports a tired-looking birch tree straggling upward
From a hole in its center.
     
     
    Dad takes my big suitcase and small duffel.
I grab my ballet bag and follow him
Up the chipped stairs, through the front hall.
     
     
    “So, Sah-ra.”
Señor’s accent makes my name all sighs.
“Here you are , sí ?”
He leads us upstairs to my new room
With red shag carpet, smelling faintly of mildew,
    A closet with sliding doors,
Twin bed with a shiny, synthetic spread
Splattered with bright poppies.
     
     
    “My wife”—the teacher struggles
To find English words—
“Think you might like de flowers on de bed.
She be back next week.
When de dancing tour finish in
Vah-len-ciah.” (Like Sah-ra,
All sighs.)
     
     
    I am glad Señora Medrano,
The famous flamenco dancer,
Isn’t here to meet me today,
Because I don’t like the quilt.
But I tweak my lips up into a smile.
“Very nice.”
     
     
    “How ’bout we let Sara unpack a little?”
Dad says.
He and Señor
Head back downstairs.
     
     
    My breath rushes out
So loud it feels like words.
I stare at the big suitcase
Beneath the one, high window.
Sit, alone
On the slippery bedspread with its giant flowers.
I am really here.
This is happening.
     
     
    Tomorrow,
Will there be stairs to descend
Into the ballet school?
Will everyone know
I am the girl chosen
From the Boston audition?
Will I still be
Special enough
To stay?

After a while I go downstairs,
    Steps slow,
Gaze firmly planted
On the abstract paintings along the wall.
     
     
    Pretend I don’t see Dad
Put his checkbook back into his breast pocket,
Señor Medrano fold the check for my room and board.
I want to be so wonderful no one would make me pay
To live in their house.
     
     
    Señor pours a small cup of coffee,
Sets a tiny cookie and a spoon in the saucer.
The hot, brown smell
Comforts.
My smile becomes real.
     
     
    A dark-haired boy
Saunters down the stairs.
     
     
    “Julio. My son.”
     
     
    Flashing me a curious glance,
The boy takes a handful of cookies
From the tray.
    I duck my head,
Breath quick.
Like every boy I have seen
Since June and Billy Allegra,
This one sends a curious thrill of terror
Down my spine.
     
     
    Señor Medrano lets loose in Spanish phrases,
A waterfall to his
Leaky drops
Of English words.
     
     
    “Yeah, Papa, I know,”
Julio returns in perfect English.
     
     
    “Julio play classical guitar,”
Señor puffs.
“He need to be practicing much more
So he keep his scholarship.
Back to practicing now.”
Julio helps himself to the rest of the cookies.
Turns away.
     
     
    “He no work hard enough.
But he a big shot.
Does not like to practice when he can go outside,
Play basketball with friend from school.
     
     
    “Sah-ra. She going to work hard
For de scholarship.
Stay here near ballet school.
Good idea.”
     
     
    Dad hides
Behind giant sips of coffee.
     
     
    I sit, pink
And lonely.
Crumble the cookie in the saucer,
Listen to the conversation dribble
Into a vacuum of uncertainty.
     
     
    In the sunshine of Boston,
It was easy to say yes
To the chance to become