Stepping on the Ledge to Step off a Cliff

The night after the ledge was fitful and dark. I had trouble sleeping and felt as if I was wandering inside. My soul seeking a door that would not present itself. I was looking for a way out of the despair and into a place where possibilities roamed, and dreams became the reality.
The next morning began as all days previously. Breakfast at the Swiss Townhouse and off to class. I felt barely in my body, going through the familiar motions but it was as if the dream had filled a huge part of my being was now a void. I felt empty and that dream seemed a very distant childish hope.
I decided to not cry in my classes that day. Seemed a pointless endeavor and embarrassing myself was never my style.
Evaluations seemed to continue, and the mood was more sobering and slightly tense. Few seemed happy but I did not know if that was just my own melancholy affecting how I was seeing this place that once seemed so happy and fulfilling.
I was in Tumkovsky’s class, and we were just finishing up the barre when one of the administrators came into the class and asked to see me.
Antonia Tumkovsky nodded agreement and I was given permission to leave class. The assistant said for me to bring my things. Meaning my ballet bag with all the accoutrement of a ballerina, legwarmers, sewing kits, shoes and point shoes, and my street clothes and shoes.
We walk out of the class and the assistant told me that I had an audition with the Berlin Ballet that was performing at the State Theater in Lincoln Center but that I needed to hurry. That the audition was starting, and I needed to leave immediately.
For a moment, I am speechless, not sure I heard her correctly. I stammered out, how did this happen? She said that all the Russian teachers pulled together and managed to get ahold of Galina and Valery Panov and they spoke to Gert Reinholm, (the director of the Berlin Ballet) and got you into the audition that is happening now. Evidently Galina and Valery were a part of the Berlin Ballet and performing with them at the State Theater.
Now, she is rushing me down the hallway and saying to tell the men at the stage door that you are here for the audition and that you are late, but you have permission from Gert Reinholm to be there. Tell them you are from SAB and were just told that there was an audition happening now.
She hands me a piece of paper with the SAB logo on it and with official signatures. She said if there are any problems to just hand them the letter, as she shoves me into the elevator. Her parting words were, “Hurry! Run! The audition is already happening!”

The elevator door closes, and my heart is pounding in my chest. The emptiness that had been in my body after the loss of my dream to get into New York City Ballet was replaced with … hope! A small spark had caught fire in my chest and was desperately trying to ignite a new dream. But I was terrified. I had already been rejected in so many auditions and what if I am again too tall? What if I get there and Gert Reinholm takes one look at me and also says that I don’t need to even dance a step and that I should just go home!”
I did not think I could handle another rejection. I feared that would be the end of me all together.
But the administrator seemed hopeful and excited. I did not know how much I should count on anything. However, I was determined to give it a chance if the Russian teachers had pulled a few strings, I had to at least try. They did not need to help me but somehow … they seemed to want to. I could not disappoint them by giving up now.
I don’t remember getting out of the elevator. I do remember running with everything I had to get to the State Theater.
Out of breath, sweating in the sweltering heat and humidity of July in New York City, flushed, and uncertain, I found the stage door, took a few long cooling breaths, and tried to walk into the backstage entrance acting professional and seemingly calm and unconcerned.
I walk up to the doorman and say that I am here for the audition for the Berlin Ballet. Just as I see waves of young girls coming out. Obviously from the audition.
I turn back to the doorman, and he says, “That audition started over an hour and a half ago. I think they just finished it. I reached into my pocket and handed him the official letter from the School of American Ballet, and he reads it.
Confused himself as to what to do next, he asks me to come with him as we push through the young girls and go up the stairs to the studio level for rehearsals. Outside the doorway is standing Galina Panov and Gert Reinholm talking. Clearly, about the audition. Gert Reinholm is standing next to his secretary, and they all look at us as we hurriedly approach. The doorman explains my situation and hands the letter to Gert Reinholm. Instantly Galina starts talking about that I am the young girl that she spoke to him about yesterday for a spot and to audition.
Gert Reinholm is wearing sunglasses! It was difficult to not act shocked or surprised. I wondered if all directors were mimicking Balanchine’s method of being able to look at dancers without them noticing that he was looking at them?
Gert Reinholm was tall and clearly an older ballet dancer himself. He was clearly gay and had makeup on and probably a facelift. He explained in accented but understandable English, that I had just missed the audition.
I told him that they had pulled me out of class to come and that I had rushed as quickly as I heard to get here but that I was sorry I was late. I did not know until about 20 minutes ago about this audition.
Galina and he talk about me coming to the warmup class for the performance that evening, and it is decided. That is what they want me to do.
Gert Reinholm tells me to come to the theater and this studio at 6 pm for the warmup class with the other dancers. And he jokingly says, “Now, don’t be late!”

I smile at the obvious hint and say, “I won’t! Thank you very much for this opportunity. I am very grateful!”
They both smile and turn away from me, clearly indicating that the time they wish to spend with me at this moment is at an end.
I turn back the way that I have come wondering, “Did that just happen? Do I really have an audition with the Berlin Ballet this evening?
Everything seemed surreal. But in a good way. The heaviness is off my chest, and I can breathe again. I did not realize that I had been holding my breath in a way that I was almost starving myself of oxygen.
I take a full inhale of pure, beautiful, life-affirming air and realize that perhaps a miracle can still happen.
I walk out of the State Theater in a daze. People are milling about, and the water in the fountain is doing its traditional dance.
I go and sit on the edge of the fountain looking out onto the intersection of Columbus and Broadway, realizing that I too am at a crossroads. While I wanted to walk the boulevard and dance in the lights of Ballet along Broadway, I might be actually more of an explorer. Perhaps my life was to be more like Christopher Columbus, and I was going to cross the seas in the opposite direction and head instead to Europe.
Just like Columbus, he did not know what he would find and perhaps neither did I. But how would we know if we never tried.
I stood up and walked around the circle of the fountain, staring first at the State Theater, remembering sneaking into see Gelsey Kirkland dance, “The Leaves are Fading”, then I look at the glorious entrance to the Metropolitan Opera House. A magnificent structure where only the best companies in the world perform and wonder if I will ever set foot into that place … and dance. Then I turn towards the skyscraper which has been the dream and where the School of American Ballet resides and wonder if I will ever set foot in that building after my training there.
Then I pick up my ballet bag and walk back to the Swiss Townhouse. There are many things I need to do. By now, it is around noon, and I am hungry. I stop at Cleo’s and grab a bagel with lox and a black and white cookie.
I am splurging for a brief moment. I need energy and I need to calm down. I feel as if I have been racing for the past few hours.
I get my lunch bag and head back to the Swiss Townhouse.
Climbing the stairs that have supported the feet and dreams of many dancers, I wonder what fate has ahead for me.
I climb that last few steps up to my room and as all the dancers are still in classes or at SAB, I have time to myself. There is no need for me to go back to SAB right now. I have to prepare for this audition.
I plop down on my bed and eat my sandwich and inhale the cookie. It tastes glorious! Then I get down to business. I pull out my shoes and start testing them to see how soft or hard they are. I am checking to see if I want to sew a new pair and break them in before the audition.
After trying on all the pairs of shoes, I decide to sew another pair for good measure. After they are sewn, I go downstairs and out to the front stone staircase to the building and begin pounding them on the hard surface to soften the toe and the edges. I break the shank and cut it to shape to my foot and start prancing around downstairs in the living areas to test out the shoes. Satisfied, I look at the clock and decide it is time to take a shower and figure out what I am wearing.
I walk back up the stairs with the ribbons tied together with one shoe hanging in the front of my right shoulder and the other shoe hanging in the back.
I get undressed and wrap a towel around me and head out to the shower to let the wet, cool water invigorate me and clear my mind. I have always loved a cold or cool shower. I can stand in cold water, feeling it rushing down my face and head and to me it is like a meditation. In the cold water, my mind stops. I have a moment with no thoughts. It is just what I need right now. To just stop and be.
Then I get out of the shower and again wrapped like a mummy with wet hair, I go back to my room and tell myself that I am going to rest.
But rest is not what my body knows how to do in that moment. Too much is at stake. Too much is on the line. Too much is at risk. And I lay there trying to let my thoughts go and find a place to drift.
I hear the other dancers coming down the sidewalk because the windows are open, and girls of this age are very chatty. I know that they do not have a clue what is happening in my world. Nor do I feel like sharing.
I have spent my life living in a home in Dallas filled with secrets from my father’s business, secrets of my mother’s mental instability, and secrets that I know about my sisters antics but would never share in a million years with anyone.
But this is my secret. And I do not want the opinions of others highjack my chances. I do not want the words or agendas of others influencing my mood and attitude. I am having enough trouble doing that all on my own.
They come in and I go to the bathroom and put up my hair. The perfect French twist is now easy for me to create quickly. Looking in the mirror I smile as I remember that first try for those first classes in New York.
I look at my face in the mirror as I put on makeup.
I seem somehow, older. Perhaps it is just that the childish illusions of my youth have been replaced by the real hardships and difficulties that are now facing me.
In my mind I am standing at a major fork in the road.
Where there was always only one road ahead, now there are four in front of me.
One road leads to Berlin. A path that I had not even glimpsed or dreamed of. A world completely unfamiliar and foreign. Another road leads back home to Dallas, facing my father, and going to college. A path that is filled with tremendous loss and towards a “normal” life. Something that I never dreamed of aiming for.
The third path leads to more auditions and figuring out more pathways towards dance. But this path is filled with so much fog and uncertainty that a part of me does not know where to begin. I feel inside a part that has decided that (if necessary) I will try.
The fourth path leads back to that ledge. But that option now is at the bottom of the list rather than the top.
Perhaps that is a good thing.
I hear the girls’ changing clothes and getting ready for dinner.

I won’t be there. I have to get back to the State Theater for this audition. I know everything rides on that right now.
I go into my room, pick up my dance bag and casually walk out the door. No one asks about me or what I am doing. Dancers are very self-focused. That does not bother me. It is normal to me at that moment, and it allows me to feel as if I am invisible and in my own bubble.
The walk to the theater is uneventful. I stop to get a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup and a Diet Dr. Pepper. My answer to all problems at that age.
I eat and drink as I am walking. I have contemplated how hard a private audition might be. I did not know what to expect. I had never been in this situation before.
I walk self-assuredly into the stage door, pretending as if I belong.
Unfortunately, security is tighter now at the door and they are checking badges to get into the theater. And there are no dancers about for me to blend in. It is clear that I can’t just get by with following the herd.
I am stopped. I explain my situation and what happened in the morning. This guard is not as friendly as the last one. He is stiff and tells me that I cannot go up until he gets an okay from either Gert Reinholm or Galina Panov and neither are currently there.
I realize I am early. A terrible habit of all dancers and part of our nervous tension that just organically runs through this breed of dancer.
I don’t panic. I have time. Surely, one of them will show soon and I will still have time to warm up.
I try to sit facing the clock. I incessantly watch the ticking of that clock as the minute hand goes around getting closer to the top of the hour.
My bewitching hour today is 6 pm. That is when the class is supposed to start.
Gert Reinholm said, “Don’t be late!”

I am not late. I am early. Where is he? What do I do.

I get up and go to the security guard and again ask if I can just go up because I need to warm up and put on shoes.
He flatly refuses my request, “I cannot let you up until I get an approval from Mr. Reinholm or Galina Panov!”
I turn around and go to sit back down but now I am too nervous. I take off my regular street clothes because underneath I am dressed in leotards and tights. I put on my shoes, skirt, and legwarmers and begin to warm up. I am not going to be unprepared even if that guard makes me wait until the last minute.
I can feel the nervous tension starting to get the better of me. My mind is reeling, and I am feeling panic beginning to rise.
I look at the clock. It is 10 minutes before 6 pm.
That is it! I hear in my mind that this is enough. I have had enough from this guard. I have to get up those stairs to the studio. I cannot allow another person to sabotage my dream.
I walk up to the guard and start crying, saying, “I have to be in that audition. I missed the one this morning. Gert Reinholm told me to not be late. This is my last chance for this audition. If I miss this one, I may not get another one. This is super important to me! I have to get up there now! You have to let me up. I showed him the letter from SAB and I think he was too overwhelmed by my authentic emotional state that he looked at me like a terrified and cornered creature and he just did not want to deal with my feminine emotional meltdown.
He relents with the words of authority, “Okay, but if you get up there and Gert Reinholm is not there, you must come right back down! Okay?”

I nod my head and say, “Okay, I promise!”

Then I grab my bag and run upstairs, thinking, “Like HELL I am going to come back down if he is not there! Is he insane? Seriously, how much of a problem is a stick skinny ballerina really going to be?”
I get up to the studio and the women and men are all warming up. They look in my direction curiously but don’t say anything. There are many conversations happening all at once but there are about 4 languages floating around the room. Instantly I realize the cultural variety in this room. There are Royal Ballet trained dancers, some Aussies, some Columbians, some Germans, some Americans, and some Russians. This company is a hodge-podge of styles and body types. It makes it instantly interesting. Confusing but interesting.
I ask a dancer if there is an open spot, knowing full well that every dancer has a preferred spot and that they can be very territorial about it. I am pointed to my favorite corner at the back on the left.
As I drop my bag down, there is a strange feeling of belonging.
Before the class, Galina comes up and says hello. She is tiny, with feet like a rabbit. She is friendly and very kind.
Class begins and Gert Reinholm is not anywhere to be found. About halfway through the barre, he decides to show up and is sitting at the front of the room, an almost identical replica to a German Balanchine. Stoic, serious, sunglasses on, and arms crossed in front of his body.
I try to ignore the body posture and pretend to be open, fun, and easy going.
We get to the center, but this class is only a warmup for performance not a full class. It is shortened and only 40 minutes. After the class, Gert Reinholm asks the teacher Cora Benador, to continue the center work and I am now the only dancer in the room.
I am asked to put on point shoes and do adagio, turns, grande allegro, and the required … 32 fouetté’s.
Afterwards, Gert Reinholm offers me a position and tells me with his secretary present about the starting contract and when they start which is the second week of September. He has his secretary take my contact information, and they give me the theater in Berlin’s address, and contact information. He says that they will be in touch. I ask if someone could meet me at the airport because I did not know the city and I would be in a foreign country for the first time and I did not speak German. He arranges his secretary to meet me and that we will fine tune the statistics as we get closer to the time.
Gert Reinholm says, “Congratulations. Welcome to the company. I look forward to what we can create together. Thank you for coming this evening! I will see you in Berlin! Oh, and you are welcome to watch the performance from backstage if you wish.”
And then he walks away with the staff to prepare for the performance that evening.
I stand there stunned! I have a job! I have a job in Berlin! I have a job in Europe! I am going to live and dance in Europe!
I am elated! I am in shock! I am going to be free to live as a ballet dancer! I have gotten my dream. I went from nothing and no hope to having a golden ticket to the world I have longed for since I was a child.

The studio was empty, but I was finally feeling full.
I am realizing that I have a lot to do ahead of me. I have barely left home and now I know that I am going to be a very long way away from home in the near future.
I was scared but exhilarated at the same time. The dancers seemed nice enough. I knew that dancers are always … dancers. I could find a way to fit in.
How much different would Berlin be? New York was a huge shift from Richardson, TX. I was sure Berlin would be an even bigger one.
I get dressed and the intercom system begins the calls for the performance. I hear the orchestra start up and the applause rising from the audience.
I now am trying to find my way to the stage. Fortunately, you just have to follow the dancers in costume.
I make my way to the stage and stand back far from the wings. I did not want to get in anyone’s way. I did not want those dancer’s first impressions of me to be of someone who was a bother.
Besides being backstage, it is darker, and I feel it is easier to be invisible.
I watch the patchwork of cultures and styles come together and see a powerful group of dancers begin their performance. They seem at ease and as if this is very normal for them. I wondered if it would ever feel normal for me as well?
I hoped so. I wanted to be so comfortable in my role as a ballerina that any and all theaters would become my home too!
I sent out a silent prayer that this life could become mine.
I watch the performance like a mouse in a corner trying to not be discovered or stepped on.
I love the smell of a theater. I love the heat that comes of the bright lights. I loved the swirling of the costumes and the reflection of the stage lights on the faces of the dancers before they go on. I loved the heavy makeup and the false eyelashes on the women.
In the Berlin Ballet, opulence was clearly a big component to their performances. The costumes were intricate. Some programs in this mixed show were clean lines with a Tango feel. Others were more complex and Avant Garde. This performance was a mixed program, meaning that it was not a long classical ballet such as Sleeping Beauty, but a series of individual ballets that were brought together for a reason.
Standing in the dark for long made me realize how emotionally and mentally exhausted I was.
Eventually I decide to go home. Satisfied that I had been given a taste of what was yet to come in my life.
I leave through the stage door, and I go up to the guard at the stage door and tell him the good news, that I got the job!
He was relieved and happy for me.
I wanted him to know so that perhaps he would let another young, hopeful dancer into a class and help her become her dream. I thanked him for trusting me and letting me in even though I did not have a pass to get in. He smiled and I gave him a hug.
Then I left, walking out into the cooler humid night air of New York City. The traffic had calmed down, now that the shows had begun. The hustle and bustle had waned and there were those about walking but not rushing.
I breathe in the night air and decide to go to a phone booth to call my parents. This time … I wanted to gloat … just a bit!
I get my mother and she is thrilled beyond belief. She knows how exciting this is for me. She at least understands some of what this moment means to me.
My father seemed taken back. He tried to pretend to be happy but I could feel how his mind was working. While he wanted me to succeed … he also wanted this dream to get into the past. Now the dream was being given a new breath of fresh air and he was not sure how he felt about that.
His first response was, “Berlin? Your great grandfather left Austria/Germany to find freedom in America and now his great granddaughter is going back. Are you sure it is going to be safe? You are going to be in the middle of the East block surrounded by a wall. There is a Cold War happening between Russia and the United States, you know! Do you really want to go there? Of all places?”

I told him with certainty that this was what I wanted and where the opportunity was. This was where I was going to go!
He responded, “We will talk about this when you get back home!”

I hung up but to me there was nothing to talk about. This was going to be my path. I was going to stand my ground. I was going! One way or the other.
Of course, I was young and naïve and what I did not know was that my father had nuclear missiles pointed at Berlin for NATO. What I did not know was that my father had designed those missiles. What I did not know was that my father was not allowed in Berlin because of his security clearance.
I knew my father loved me and that he was challenged by me. I knew deep down he wanted me to be happy, but I did not know that in going I was putting myself and him in a certain amount of danger.
But those stories are yet to come.
In stopping myself from leaping off that ledge I did not realize that I was going to leap off a cliff of my old reality instead.
In doing that … all the protective bubbles that I had lived with would burst and I would learn exactly who my father was … and who I was meant to become.

~Suzanne Wagner~

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