I grew up watching the other little girls get dropped off for dance practice by their mothers. The other dancers would come into the studio with their hair pulled back in a cute little bun with a bow that matched their leotard for the day. The moms came in with their dance bags, kissing their daughters goodbye before they left in their mini vans for the day.
My dad tried to be a dance mom in a sense, but he had no idea what it was to even be one. In the dance world, I felt like a dance orphan; I was left to dress myself for practice, do my own hair, and make sure I brought everything I needed in my dance bag. What also made it feel even more real was that I was always the last person to be picked up because my dad worked late hours; most of the time he was active on a case and had my Uncle Mason pick me up. He would disguised himself as my dad; it was easy since they were twin brothers.
Since then, dance has always been something that I did by myself with no one else to help me. I was my own “dance everything”, and still reigns true to this day.
I walked into our last mandatory rehearsal before the last run of our shows. It was crazy to think that this day would finally come after a year of shows and rehearsals, working on the same numbers that have been embedded in our memory for the rest of our lives. I looked around the space, looking to see if Sahim was here today. On a normal day, he’s here to greet me with a hug or kiss and wish me good luck on the rehearsal. In a sense, his presence this past year had filled that void that was missing at my dance practices growing up. He would carry my bag, make sure I looked fine before heading to the stage, and supported me throughout them by watching on the sidelines. Today, he did none of that, and I feel the knot in my stomach tighten as reality begins to set in. Thankfully, Sonia walked into the space before my thoughts had time to spiral out of control at this point.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” Sonia greeted the room. She smiled wide, probably also feeling how surreal to experience this last rehearsal. “Last rehearsal of the production; time has truly flown by.” She immediately changes her tone of voice, getting in her director persona. “We will be spending today on the stage doing our final dress rehearsal; we will be doing it in parts like we’ve always done, and new numbers will be reviewed and finalized at the end of the day.” Sonia darted her eyes at me, which made some of the other dancers turn their heads toward me. “Ms. Ashmore, please see me at the end of the final number to review your number.” My face got hot, but I nodded my head to confirm. Sonia proceed to talk to the rest of the dancers as I let out a deep breath, nervous about putting this number on the stage for the first time.
…
The stage was the only thing lit up when I entered it for practice. The audience was pitch black; it almost felt like there was nothing even out there in that void. I spot Sonia coming from the side of the stage and walks over to me. I was nervous; I wasn’t ever in a situation where I had rehearsal with just Sonia alone. Her face got serious when we both faced each other on the stage.
“How are you feeling about your number?” Sonia asked. I sighed, which summed up how I truly felt.
“I’m nervous,” I said, looking around the stage and out toward the seats. “I haven’t… performed a piece I’ve choreographed myself since I was a teenager.”
“You danced that far back?” Sonia asked, seemingly shocked at my statement. I nodded before continuing my story.
“It was for a scholarship at Juilliard,” I said, reminiscing about my 17-year-old self. “I had transferred to Waverly High for the Performing Arts for my senior year, and the dance program was a part of this competition that granted them first place winner a full scholarship into the Juilliard dance academy.”
“Waverly? I heard great things about that school. Who was your dance teacher?” Sonia asked. I looked at her, not knowing how to answer the question without sharing so much of my backstory to her.
“Ironically, it was my mother,” I said as I let out a deep breath. “Being in her class was how I officially met her for the first time… second time, I guess.” Sonia’s eyes widen; I know she wasn’t expecting me to say that.
“Did she see you perform that piece? Or was it just a student thing that they did on their own?” Sonia asked, intrigued by the story.
“She saw me perform the piece,” I said, looking out toward the black void of the venue. “You don’t see anyone in the audience when you perform on stage because of the lights. It’s a blessing, and a curse; a blessing that you don’t see hundreds of eyes looking at you, and even if you mess up a part, they wouldn’t even noticed that you did because they’re just watching you. But when you know someone is watching you that you care about, it’s like you wish you were able to see their face as you perform, wondering what they could be thinking while you’re up on stage.”
I closed my eyes and remember the shimmery golden dance costume I wore for the competition. I remember how it shined every time I moved on stage. I remember seeing my mother out in the audience, watching her daughter dance on a stage for the first time in her life. The first time for the both of us. She looked so proud, tearing up by the end of the piece. I wondered what she was thinking when she saw me up there. It was soothing to know that even though she didn’t know me well, she felt something when I danced, and I fathered that than nothing at all in that moment.
“I can tell you after your performance,” a voiced said, but it wasn’t Sonia’s voice. I immediately turned my head and looked at the direction that the voice was coming from. I seriously thought my eyes were playing games with me.
“Mom?” I said. My mom walked on the stage with a huge smile on her face. “I—what—” I turned my head to see the smile on Sonia’s face as well. She definitely was in on this.
“I swear I did not plan for the story to be the one that you told me,” Sonia commented before walking to my mother and hugging her. “Mollie, it’s been way too long!”
“30 years too long,” my mom said before looking at me. I couldn’t say anything in that moment, and she could obviously see that. “It’s so good to see you, Gracie.”
…
“So what made you even come out here?” I asked as my mom and I sat in a cafe, catching up over some coffee. The waitress comes to our table with two black coffees; I clearly picked this habit up from my mother.
“Well, Sonia had called me,” my mom said, stirring her coffee with a spoon. “She wanted to talk about something business related.”
“So you just packed a bag and decided to fly across the world for just a business meeting?” I questioned, trying to piece together my mother’s logic. She rolled her eyes before answering.
“If it was just that, I would’ve told her to send that shit through a text,” she explained. “But I also wanted to be here for your last show before the production ends.” I raised my eyebrows, a bit shocked that she wouldn’t do something like that. She had already seen the show when it first started almost a year ago online, and nothing much as changed about it besides—
“Did Sonia tell you about my solo performance?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow up. My mother looked at me; she was clearly guilty. I couldn’t help but scoff. “Of course she did.”
“She might’ve mentioned it to influence me coming here,” my mom teased, sipping her coffee. She scrunched her face after tasting the coffee. “This is way too light compared to American coffee—”
“Mom,” I said, trying to get her back on track. She placed the coffee down on the table and sighed.
“She mentioned that you’ve been… going through some stuff lately,” my mom confessed, looking at me with a serious look. “She said that you seemed distracted, like your mind has been on something else.”
“Mom,” I sighed, not wanting to get into this any further.
“I get that the production is ending and you’re nervous coming back to America,” my mom continued. “I get it, I was there and I felt the same way, but—”
“Mom, please,” I interrupted. I was getting angry, and she could tell that the conversation was about to go in a different direction. “I don’t want to get in this with you.”
“One day, we’re going to have to talk about it,” my mom emphasized.
“Oh, is that the real reason you’re here? Making up for lost time or something?” I said, now feeling super exposed.
“I’m here because I wanted to see my daughter dance on the biggest stage of her entire career,” she spat back. “I’m here because despite what we’ve both been through in our lives, despite how you perceived me as growing up and despite what you carry, that I always loved you.”
“If you really loved me, you would’ve came back to America once you realized that the only person you wanted to see after a year of being away was your daughter,” I confessed. “That’s what I want to do after this production is over. I want to hug my daughter and tell her how much I love and missed her and see all of the things she’s learned and how tall she grew and be her mom.” My mom just stared at me, deciphering the words I spat out at her.
“I simply wasn’t as strong as you at your age,” my mom finally said. “I wasn’t able to distinctively separate the things that mattered versus the things that I thought mattered at the time. And because of that, I will forever be sorry for that, even after allowing me to be a part of your life now.” I looked at my mother intently as she spoke, realizing that this was how our conversations will be when she tried being a mother to me.
I love her, and I look up to her as a professional dancer. I can’t take that away from her as she worked hard to be recognized as one of the best of her generation. I can’t take away the fact that her decisions were most likely influenced from her own upbringing. I can’t judge her for her cognitive dissonance, the way she reacts to things and kill myself wondering how someone that carried their child for 9 months can simply leave for a year and never come back home.
I can’t keep asking the same questions just to get the same answers and feel disappointed by them every single time.
I let out a deep breath before I adjusted in my seat. I looked at my mom before I said anything to her. In this case, I would rather feel nothing at all than to feel something right now.
“So, you said Sonia wanted to talk business with you?” I asked, changing the subject. “She mentioned that she was retiring after this production was finished.” My mom took a deep breath before she spoke. It was rare for my mother to be speechless for a long period of time, but somehow I was capable of doing that to her.
“Uhm, yeah,” she finally said, clearing her throat. “She mentioned that the academy was looking for another director to replace her after this production, and recommended me for the position.” My eyes widen; surprised.
“Oh,” I said, letting the thought ponder. “Did you say yes?” My mom looked at me, not seeming excited about possibly taking this role. I knew my mom more than I gave myself credit for, and not because I’ve grown to known her well, but because she handles things in the same way I do. There was more to this story than she was letting on. “Did you come here to take the offer?”
“I don’t know if I should, to be quite honest,” she said, stirring the coffee with her spoon. “This position requires a lot, and things are just… different now.”
“They are,” I added. “Which is why I think you should take the position.” My mom looked at me, confused at my comment.
“I don’t understand,” she began to say, adjusting in her seat. “Five minutes ago we were just talking about how me leaving the family behind when I was younger; now you’re encouraging me to go?”
“I’m not a little girl anymore,” I said. “And, I’m talking to you as one dancer to another.” My mom’s face slowly relaxed; she was beginning to realize just how different the dynamic of our relationship truly was. She started to understand where I was coming from. “I think you are the type of person that a production like this needs. Sonia has been great, but she’s not ‘Mollie Sue Castro’ great.” My mom smiled before she sighed, still looking at me intently.
“I was once asked to direct one of the productions after dancing in one,” my mom started to say. I pretended that I didn’t know this story; giving her the opportunity to tell her story to me. She probably waited to tell me about it my entire life. “I had thought about it, but I was still so young. I didn’t think I was capable of leading such a big project like that at 30. I felt like I needed to come back home and learn more before I was able to ever do something like this.” I nodded my head, listening to my mother tell the story about a young Mollie, navigating the world while still trying to find her place in it. I understand a lot of what young Mollie had gone through, and because of that, I’ve learned to do the complete opposite. I know where I belong, despite the ups and downs and constantly fighting my inner demons. I’ve come to terms with even my younger self, telling myself that it was okay to make the decisions I made and leave them in the past where they belong. I’ve learned to change my perspective on things in order to live a happy, healthier life. I’ve accepted that I am not perfect, and I am not expected to always be right in the decisions I do make.
I’ve learned all of this because of a young Mollie.
“I say go for it, mom. You were born to do something like this, and with dad now being retired, I know he’ll be on board and follow you wherever you go.” I smiled at my mom before continuing. “That never changed about him; the way he felt about you, by the way.” My mom smiled, seemingly trying to hold back tears in her eyes. For once, we feel like we’re on the same page, and for once, I feel like an adult daughter to my mother. Despite everything we’ve been through, I feel the most at ease with her in this moment.
The waitress came over to hand us our bill after what seemed like decades. I thanked the waitress in Korean as my mom watched. As soon as she left our table, my mother relaxed her shoulders.
“There has to be better coffee in Korea than this bullshit we just paid for,” she commented. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, something I don’t think I ever shared with my mother since meeting her, nearly 13 years ago in the dancing studio at Waverly High.
Letters From Liz. 