The Night of the Nutcracker By Rachel It was Tuesday night and darkness had fallen in Chestnut Hill. Inside one of the houses on a certain road a young girl with long dark hair struggled to force her feet into a pair of fancy dress boots. “Oh crud,” groaned yours truly, Rachel Levin. I was trying to put on the lovely suede and patent leather boots that Mother had gotten for me. However, the boots had no side zip so I had to put them on the old-‐ fashioned way. “Mother” I hollered at the top of my lungs, “I can’t get my boots on, can you help me?” Mother appeared in the doorway of my room, clad in a lovely red sweater and black pants. She looked at my feet and said, ”you need to loosen the laces a bit more.” I did as she said and was able to push my foot into the boot. I rushed out of my room and downstairs to the kitchen, where I bolted down a quick dinner and then climbed into Mother’s car with my sister, Mother, Grandmother, and Dena at the wheel. We pulled away from my house and set out for Boston. At last we were finally at the theater and I was agian hampered by my boots. They were very stiff and new which made them somewhat hard to walk in. The uneven cobbled walkway made it worse. The boots made me walk in a queer, rocking fashion without bending my feet very much. My sister made fun of me. I gritted my teeth and said nothing. I stared in awe at the high, decorated ceiling and the colorful posters for other shows that adorned the walls. I entered into a hall filled with stands selling food and souvenirs. Mother called me, saying it was time to take our seats in the theater. The enormous room was even more magnificent than I remember. With an arching ceiling covered in designs of gold and beautiful paintings done so that they seemed to be alive. We walked down the sloping aisle and found our place. I took out my phone and struck up a text conversation with my friend, eager to tell her where I was and how I had gotten a voucher for one free trial ballet class and if she thought I should do dance as an afterschool class. Then the show was about to start and I had to put away my phone. The curtain came up and the performance began. The new choreography was obvious and it was good but not as good as the old Nutcracker. When the chestnut seller came on stage I remembered the year when the role was played by Father and Mother, after they got the chance by winning an auction. As the party scene began, I got a good look at the new costumes, and my first thought was, “good gracious, those dresses look like nightgowns.” And indeed I was right. The dresses were made of a light billowy fabric in a pale color pallet. The adornments were simple and few, adding to this look.
I thought that I liked the old costumes better. As the show progressed, the story played out, I saw Clara fight with her brother over the Nutcracker and it broke. I saw Herr Drosslmyer come to find Clara and the Nutcracker come to life and battle the Mouse Ming. The Nutcracker transformed into the Prince and he took Clara to the Kingdome of Sweets. The Sugar Plum Fairy waited there. She placed a crown on Clara’s head and she sat upon a seat and watched many different dancers perform for her. Spanish performing the dance of Hot Chocolate, a pair of Arabians who performed a slow, beautiful dance. Then a couple of Russians who sure could jump. There were also Chinese dancers and the ever-‐funny Mother Ginger with her little Polshinelles. I laughed and clapped as the Polshineles leapt and tumbled across the stage. The actor who played Mother Ginger was rigged out in a skirt so huge that all the Polshinelles could go under it. The actor also wore stilts to make himself that tall. When the show was over I decided to take a ballet class because I had been entranced by the wonder of dancing. Then Dena told me that when you danced en pointe for a long time, you could get bunions on your feet. I do not like feet one bit and bunions freak me out. The thought of developing one of those horrors on my feet nauseated me. I made a promise to myself that if I took ballet I would never, ever dance en pointe. That at home night I lay in a dark and troubled, slumber, having dreams about dancing beautifully and then removing my shoes and seeing bunions on my feet.