once a week I sit at a desk at a dance school in san francisco, in exchange for taking free classes. I take attendance and make change, I answer the phone and address envelopes, I watch the company members strut past and think, where did they veer off to become them and I veered off to become me? (my calves will never, ever look like that. nor my ass, while we're mentioning these things.) and sometimes I look at old company photos and eavesdrop on conversations, hear old stories. yesterday I got to hear a good one, a story of a wedding, a long time ago. she was the choreographer and he was the clown. they had a many-day celebration in the fields up north. when they approached the aisle, the circus gave him away, and the company her. they walked together through a gauntlet of jugglers, pins flying over their heads. to close the ceremony they were to dance a piece they'd choreographed together, but he broke his foot the week before the wedding, so instead they each performed solos. on the stage there in the field, the dancing kept up all weekend. the juggling, the acrobatics, the merriment.
yeah, they got divorced in the end, but I can't tell you how much that story made me want to go to circus school.