SELF | RELATIONSHIPS

I’m Never Doing Ballet Again

How Cirque-du-Soleil's warm-up crew brought me and my partner out of the pits.

I stood on a black circular stage at Cirque Du Soleil and not by my own doing. The day prior, my then-partner Becky and I had fought vociferously. There’d been a long-standing dispute that boiled over into us raising our voices at each other. We were both young, emotional, and didn’t know how to manage the complications of love and living together.

A month earlier, I’d bought us two tickets to Cirque Du Soleil as a Christmas present. I’d heard great things about the show, that they didn’t abuse animals like other circuses, and that it was funny, unconventional, and quirky, which is exactly my vibe.

That morning, I walked into our bedroom and asked, “Are we still doing this circus thing?” What I left unsaid was, “Or continue fighting.”

Then, I noticed she was already getting ready and nodding yes. We drove to St. Petersburg, Florida, listening to music and not talking much on the drive. An oddly shaped massive tent in the middle of the city greeted us like some alien ship had just landed and invited us in. We streamed alongside other people towards it, with performers blowing smoke rings and weaving other glowing devices at us.

A mist hung over the air inside the tent, adding to the mystique. Thousands of people filled the stands surrounding the large stage, which was adorned with neon and geometric art. Soft and chill electronic music pulsed. Becky didn’t know it, but I’d bought front-row seats right by the stage. She loved it.

What I didn’t realize is that there was an entire warm-up act, which is where things went off the rails. Charismatic performers came out one after the other in a ramped-up talent show. Climactically, a crew of bumbling clowns came out. They were vulgar and absolutely hilarious, and I say that as someone who is generally irritated by clowns.

It’s difficult to translate their visual humor to text, but one was pretending to be a cat while riding on the back of another, who was pretending to be a horse. The absurdity of it all was breaking me. I turned to Becky and said, “This must be the strangest circus I’ve ever been to.”

Something changed 15 minutes into this warm-up because we began to get tons of attention from circus performers.

First, a clown holding a microphone came and sat in our laps at the same time, and asked if we were together — which was an opportune question, given we’d been on the verge of a breakup only a day prior. We nodded yes, a bit sheepishly, wondering what was coming. Then he joked about being open to a ménage à trois, which elicited a wave of laughs. We smiled and rolled with it. Becky reached over and held my hand, which felt like progress in the midst of all this chaos.

I suspect we’d been marked by someone in the back of the house as being good sports. Because just two minutes later, I suddenly saw a beautiful Russian ballerina standing in front of me. She had wide eyes and brown hair. Her body was toned, with abs peaking through her full ballerina regalia. She leaned forward and held her hand out, curling two fingers twice towards her.

“Come with me,” she said in a thick accent, smiling with a nod to emphasize her point. I glanced at Becky and her eyes were open wide, as if to say, “Don’t ask me what to do.”

So I stood up and was led on stage. Then things escalated. An unseen person came up from behind and, suddenly, I had a pink tutu around my waist. It certainly clashed with my jeans and collared shirt. Then, the lights cut out and two spotlights shone down on us both.

Just so we are clear, I was standing on a stage in front of thousands of people, with two bright spotlights isolating me and my partner to the exclusion of everything else. Rows of expectant eyes and devious grins stared back at me.

Think public speaking is scary? Try doing ballet for the first time on stage. Then, the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy kicked on, and I wondered how I’d wronged the universe to bring this upon myself.

I held one hand with the ballerina, facing the crowd. She leaned towards me and whispered, “Now, copy after me.” She let go of my left hand and touched both hands above her head, forming a pyramid, and did a half squat while standing on her toes. It’s that common pose you’ve seen so many times.

Then I attempted it and wobbled a bit trying to stand on my toes. The crowd gave a slight chuckle. I felt a small tingle of confidence, not the type where I’m thinking, “You know, I think I’m gonna take this up.” But more, “I may not completely humiliate myself today.” We did two more simple moves that I managed to emulate awkwardly, putting my lack of balance and dance skills on full display.

Then, and without warning, my lovely ballerina leaped high into the air, spinning while extending one leg and landing again like a CGI Spiderman. In any other context, I’d have been in awe of her athleticism. But here? I thought, “Really? You are gonna do me like this?” It was a dramatic escalation. We’d gone from the bunny slopes to a triple black diamond while blindfolded. Then, she spun again, faced me, gave me a smile, and pointed to me, gesturing that it was my turn.

Left with no other choice, I figured I’d just try. I jumped, spun, and made it only 90 degrees before completely wiping out and going chest-first on the stage. This generated the biggest wave of laughter there’d been all night, which reminded me of just how many people were watching.

After I hit the ground, I noticed Becky in the crowd with her hands over her mouth, laughing her freaking tail off. Which gave me a small sense of solace. Throwing myself on the sword had stopped another kind of bleeding.

The ballerina helped me up, and then, gestured for the crowd to give me a round of applause. I sat down by Becky, and she was still laughing, to the point of having tears in her eyes.

I leaned over to her, and said, “So, are we still fighting?” She wiped her eyes and said, “No, no we aren’t.” We drove home from the circus that day having forgotten our problems. We talked and laughed about all we’d seen.

Now, I can’t say this was my ideal way of resolving a fight or even one worth repeating. It lives on in my memory in a strange, surrealist way, that almost feels like a dream. But perhaps as a young couple who’d run out of things to say to each other, getting out of the house or, in my case, on stage, gave us a place to send energy we weren’t capable of managing ourselves.

Sometimes, you have to get out of your own way. And if that involves some impromptu ballet, so be it.

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