Allies

We interrupt this programming to bring you… an update in real time:

I’m a few weeks behind in my blogging so in the world of Dance Diary, I am still rehearsing in Vancouver for the Thai premiere of Atonement. In present time, I am sitting in my parents’ kitchen in Toronto. Don’t worry; I won’t give away any spoilers about the dance tour. I simply wish to interject a meaningful moment from my stay in Toronto.

This past week, I took ballet class at Danceteq like I always do when I’m in Toronto. I often run into past teachers and old friends but this time, my blast from the past went a little deeper. On Thursday morning, I arrived to class forty minutes early in order to do my routine core training and warm up. In the middle of my sun salutations I looked up to see the pianist walk to his seat behind the piano. I recognized him immediately.

***

Throughout elementary school and high school, I trained at Interplay School of Dance. One of my most influential formative teachers was Glen Gilmour. He taught at The National Ballet School of Canada during the day and at Interplay in the evenings. My first few weeks with Mr. Gilmour were rough. He wasn’t overly impressed with me and, as an eager-to-please thirteen-year-old girl, this didn’t sit well.

After Christmas vacation, Miss Anne announced the solos for the end-of-year show:

I would perform the cornflower fairy variation from The Sleeping Beauty.

Mr. Gilmour would coach me.

Neither of us was particularly thrilled.

Each Tuesday night, after ballet class, Mr. Gilmour and I would spend an hour working on the variation while Scott, Mr. Gimour’s accompanist, played the piano for us. Mr. Gilmour showed me how to brush my imaginary gloves, trying to feel the velvet material on my skin. He perfected my lines and port de bras. He tried to get me to “dance” the variation; to perform; to project; to engage the audience that would fill the theatre. But in the latter, he was never satisfied with my efforts.

One evening, Miss Anne came to watch rehearsal. She seemed extremely pleased with my progress and said so to Mr. Gilmour at the end of the hour. I was packing up my things on the other side of the room but I still managed to hear their conversation.

“She looks wonderful,” Miss Anne said. “What do you think?”

“She doesn’t dance,” Mr. Gilmour answered. “There’s no spark, no sense of performance.”

“Don’t you worry about that. Put her on stage and she’ll come to life. She’ll blow your socks off.”

Scott played the cornflower fairy variation for me over and over again during the next few months. He smiled to me after each run while Mr. Gilmour continued to shake his head. At least I had one ally in the studio. Two, when Miss Anne came to observe.

Finally, it was show time. Miss Anne had rented a beautiful tutu for me from the National Ballet of Canada. The nametag inside said Chan Hon Goh. Every year, Miss Anne rented Chan Hon Goh’s tutu for me because we were the same size. The previous year I had worn her Bluebird costume.

A couple of the older girls helped with my bun and stage makeup and then laced me into my tutu. I tied my pointe shoe ribbons around my ankles and put a trembling hand on my stomach. My thoughts jumped from images of my parents sitting in the front row to the choreography I was about to perform. Just before I took my opening position on stage, I thought of Mr. Gilmour. Now it’s time to show him what I can do, I thought.

The music cued and my mind emptied all its thoughts like a steamer releasing pressurized vapour into the air.

At the end of the show I was swept up in hugs, kisses and flowers from my family.

“You were beautiful!” they exclaimed. I was so caught up in their congratulations that I left the theatre without seeing Mr. Gilmour.

Summer vacation began immediately after the end-of-year show and throughout those sunny months, I wondered whether or not I had pleased my rehearsal coach. When it was time to return in September, I was excited to settle my curiosity once and for all.

On the Tuesday after Labour Day, I arrived at the studio thirty minutes early. I waited in the entrance, jumping at every person who walked through the door. At last, Mr. Gilmour walked in.

“Hi Mr. Gilmour! Hi Scott!” I exclaimed. “How was your vacation?”

“Not bad,” Mr. Gilmour answered casually.

“Good to see you again, Emily,” Scott said with a smile.

I followed the two men into the studio and stood beside them expectantly. Neither one mentioned last year’s show. The minutes ticked by and the other students trickled in. At 6pm sharp Mr. Gilmour turned to the class and said, “Let’s get started, shall we?”

My whole body sagged in disappointment. Mr. Gilmour hadn’t liked my performance. In fact, he had completely forgotten it.

By the end of the class, I had resolved to being mediocre in Mr. Gilmour’s eyes. It was a hard pill to swallow. On my way out of the studio I thanked the teacher and pianist, as is the custom in dance etiquette, and walked out of the studio.

“Oh, Emily?” Mr. Gilmour called to me.

“Yes?” I asked as I walked back inside.

“I’d be willing to give you private lessons if you’re interested. Talk to your parents.”

My entire demeanor changed. I straighten my spine, pulled back my shoulders and exclaimed, “I will! For sure! Thanks, Mr. Gilmour!”

That was the only indication I ever had that Mr. Gilmour had seen something in me on stage. It was much more than I had hoped for. From then on, every Tuesday night, Mr. Gilmour gave me private lessons. It became my favourite class of the week.

***

Throughout the entire class at Danceteq, I could feel the pianist’s eyes on me. Twelve years had passed since I’d last seen him so he couldn’t remember from where he knew me.

After the reverence, I approached the piano with a big smile.

“Hi Scott! Do you remember me?”

“Yes, but give me a little help… the National Ballet School?”

“Well, yes, I did summers there but you know me from Interplay School of Dance.”

“Oh my…” Scott raised his hand to cover his mouth but I knew there was a smile underneath it. “Emily from Interplay. It’s good to see you dancing.”

“It’s good to see you! How are you?”

“Doing well, splitting my time between Toronto and Vancouver.” Scott dropped his hand and relaxed into the conversation. “And you? Did you become a doctor or a lawyer?”

“Actually, I’m dancing with a contemporary ballet company in Vancouver. I’m surprised I didn’t run into you there!”

That made Scott’s smile grow two inches wider.

“You’re really dancing? Oh wow. I wish Glen could have seen you like this.”

“I was so sorry to hear the news. I sent him an email a few years ago when I left university to dance professionally. It must have been sent to his junk mail or something.”

“He would have loved to see you like this. We talked about you all the time… Emily from Interplay.” Scott shook his head as he remembered the conversations. “We’d say, ‘she’s a dancer, not a lawyer or a doctor. That girl is a dancer.’”

“I wish I had seen him before he passed.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him.”

“Have a direct line to him, do you?”

“We worked together for so many years… I’d say I do.”

Mr. Gilmour may not be here physically, but he’s a part of who I am. All of those hours in the studio, all of those Tuesday evenings instilled in me a strength and determination that would likely not be there otherwise. He became one of my greatest allies.

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