As I said, it was a surprise even to me that I decided to go back to Provo. It had taken everything out of me, and apparently I was prepared to give it even more. I found a cute house last minute, and headed down with my mom a week before classes in order to attend the ballet audition. We dropped my boxes off at the house, and went back to our hotel for me to get ready. I pulled on my worn black leotard and noticed that one of the (1 inch wide, honor code appropriate) straps was about to pull off. I straightened the seams in my tights, made sure I had my flat shoes and pointe shoes sewn, slicked my hair back into a bun, and headed out, envisioning my glorious debut as a professional dancer.
My mom dropped me off at the RB, a good hour early because I am insane, and I walked inside with my heart racing a little more than I had anticipated. I found some other girls who I could tell were auditioning (it's not hard to spot a bunhead), and I sat down with them and attempted to make some friends. I usually go into things pretty optimistic that people will want to be my friend, but this time, the optimism faded with the death stares I received after a simple "hello."
I found no kindred spirits in the hallway, nor in the signup room, nor at the barre. I pulled on my pointe shoes and got stuck at a plastic barre in the middle of the room, as far away as possible from my studio sweet spot. As soon as the teacher started giving the instructions for the first combination (pliés- it does not get any easier), I suddenly realized I had zero comprehension. The music started, and I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing. For the very first time in a dance class, I found myself desperately trying to follow the person in front of me while acting as though I knew perfectly what to do. And it didn't get any better. I eventually managed to catch on to the teacher's odd lexicon, but my body then decided to disconnect itself from my brain. The result was a torturous hour in which I couldn't even say I actually danced. I just suffered through the motions that normally brought me so much joy.
While I waited in line for my turn to do the dreaded foutté combination, I had my very first epiphany. I didn't like anyone in that room. I was dancing worse than I had in my whole life. I was not enjoying myself. And beyond that, the star dancers in the room had faulty technique. This was not where I was supposed to be. Being in this program was not what was going to make me happy. And so I did something I would never have predicted. I slowly, and very much against the rules, walked across the studio without permission. I unpinned the audition number from my leotard (strap hanging on by a few blessed threads), and walked out on the audition. All of a sudden, I felt happy, even though I hadn't realized I hadn't been feeling happy for quite some time. And while I knew I still loved to dance, I knew that that BYU studio was not where I was supposed to do it.
So my wonderful mother came and picked me up, surprised I was done so early, and even more surprised when I told her why I was done so early. We went to lunch and then unpacked my new room.
The first time I went in the front door of the yellow cottage, it was after noon, and a girl named HB was asleep on the couch. I was kind of afraid of her, but then I saw that she'd been reading the last Hunger Games book, which had come out at midnight, and I regained a bit of the optimism the hairspray and bobby pins had taken from me earlier. Eventually, I met the rest of the roommates- Amy, Chantelle, and Suzanne. Thoroughly intimidated by all of them, I took to playing the ukulele in my room and studying constantly. And auditioning for and joining the folk dance team.
Slowly but surely, I realized that I definitely had reason to be intimidated by all four of my roommates. They were four of the smartest, most well-read, cleverest, most insightful girls I'd ever known. And then all of a sudden we were on the couch watching the Bachelor and making charts on the whiteboard, and our friendship was forged forever, in spite of my many attempts to make them eat my gluten/dairy/sugar-free black bean brownies, thank goodness.
Dance parties, car rides, dance party car rides, and who knows what else later, Provo had actually become a home. I took a Humanities class and finally realized that everything I loved in life could be my major, and then it was. And then I was French major with a Humanities minor, and I was going to France for Spring term.
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