Recital

Written by Hannah Ortega

Illustrated by Stellanie Abella

"I’m not nervous. I’m excited. The curtain rose. The lights flashed. The music began."

Briana nearly choked on hairspray as someone’s mom herded her across the floor and into a plastic folding chair. Hurried commands and whiny complaints rose from every inch of the dressing room, punctuated by the click of lipstick caps and buzz of zippers.

“Look here, honey,” said the mom standing in front of Briana.

The bleach blonde woman towered over her holding a pair of fake eyelashes. She waved them back and forth to help the glue dry faster. Briana recognized her now as Taylor’s mom, Mrs. Adeline. The girl lifted her chin, closed her eyes, and braced herself.

“Don’t squint,” said Mrs. Adeline.

Briana relaxed her eyelids but immediately tensed again when the liquid glue smothered her lashes. Mrs. Adeline’s breath touched Briana’s face as she held the eyelash in place, and she could smell the older woman’s foundation and flowery perfume.

Ew, ew, ew, she thought as she fought the urge to squirm.

After a couple of agonizing seconds, Mrs. Adeline stepped away with a bright smile.

“There! Perfect!” she said while admiring her handiwork.

Briana blinked a few times. She could see the false eyelashes hovering above her line of sight, and when she looked up, the tips touched her eyebrows. It still seemed like a bit too much in her opinion, but her dance teacher Mrs. Brown insisted it would look totally natural on stage.

On either side of Mrs. Adeline’s wide hips, Briana could see her classmates also getting assailed by moms with makeup and bobby pins. She spotted Mrs. Lin smear lipstick on a q-tip before applying it to Samantha’s face. Mrs. Robinson twisted Penelope’s hair into a tight, slicked-back bun, to which Penelope grimaced and gripped the seat of her chair. Olivia stood naked in the corner as Mrs. Evans helped her into her cream tights.

Mrs. Adeline moved to stand behind Briana and began brushing through her hair. “These are quite the curls you’ve got,” she said. “This might take a while.”

Briana smiled. Her foster mom always complained about how unruly her curls were, but Briana loved them because they looked like her biological mom’s brown ringlets.

Her smile widened at the thought of her mother. She would be at the recital tonight. She would see Briana dance for the very first time. Afterward, she would tell Briana what a great job she did and how talented she is and then take her for ice cream and have a sleepover where they would watch movies and laugh until it hurt. Maybe she would ask Briana to stay an extra night, then an extra week, then an extra month, then for forever. She would want her and hold her and never let her go again.

Briana drew herself out of her future fantasies and began thinking about the last time she saw her mom about a month ago. Her foster parents, who couldn’t make tonight’s recital because of work, had driven her to the old Collin County Advocacy Center building. They’d stayed in the lobby while Briana waited in a small, beige room with toy-filled plastic bins against the walls. A play kitchen sat in the corner beside a chest of princess dresses.

A CPS worker waited with her and tried to make small talk, but Briana wasn’t really listening. She clutched her new American Girl Doll to her chest and swung her feet to the beat of the ticking clock hanging above the door. Twenty minutes passed before her mother entered the room, and the CPS worker said she’d be just outside the door.

“Hey, squirt,” her mom said as she sat down at the kid-sized table with Briana.

Briana beamed at the nickname and then began talking about how she got an A on her spelling test, how she’d gone to a Fourth of July party at her friend Laney’s house, how she was learning a new ballet routine. She’d kept the stories locked away behind a dam of anticipation for weeks, and now she could finally open the gates.

Her mom nodded along to every story, her elbow resting on the table and her hand cupping her chin. Deep down, Briana wished she would praise her for her accomplishments. But maybe her mom was just too tired. After all, her eyes did look a bit red. She carried a strange smell on her skin, too.

Eventually, Briana held up her American Girl Doll with pride. “My foster parents got this for me,” she said. “Isn’t she pretty?” Briana’s mom cocked her head to the side. “You’re a bit too old to be playing with dolls, aren’t you? You’re nine, right?”

“Six,” Briana said. “But I’ll be seven in four months! You’ll come to my birthday party, won’t you?”

“Sure, squirt.”

“And my dance recital?”

“Sure, squirt.”

Briana leaned across the table and wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck. “I love you, Mom.”

“You’re a funny little thing,” she said.

Briana snapped out of the memory as a bobby pin jabbed her scalp. “Ow!”

“Oh, sorry, honey,” said Mrs. Adeline. “I’m almost done. Just hang in there.”

Briana felt a few more bobby pins slide under and over and through her hair, and then Mrs. Adeline handed her a mirror. Her caramel curls had been smoothed and wrapped up into a bun. Briana barely had time to thank Mrs. Adeline before her dance teacher burst into the room.

“Showtime, girls!” she exclaimed. “Let’s get to the stage!”

Briana scurried out of the room, her tutu brushing against the girls around her.

“I’m so nervous,” she heard Samantha say. “My heart is beating so fast.”

Briana pressed her hands against her chest. Her heart thumped loudly, the pulse traveling through her palms. She took a breath and told herself she wasn’t nervous, just excited. She couldn’t wait to show her mom how great of a dancer she was. Her mom would definitely be impressed and ask her how she learned such long routines and tell her how much she loved her. She would brag to the other parents about how amazing her daughter was.

Backstage, Mrs. Brown gathered everyone into a huddle and instructed everyone to hold hands. Briana hoped her hand didn’t feel as clammy as Samantha’s did.

“You have all worked so hard,” Mrs. Brown said. “Now, get out there and show everyone how great you are! And of course, have fun!”

With that, Briana and the other girls broke from the circle and hurried to take their positions on the stage. Briana’s heartbeat traveled from her chest to her throat to her ears.

I’m not nervous. I’m excited.

The curtain rose. The lights flashed. The music began.

Briana raised her chin to look out into the crowd. Her mom wasn’t in the first row.

She switched to first position and bent her knees in a plié. Her mom wasn’t in the second row.

She leaped across the stage in a jeté, her pointed toes pushing against the end of her pink ballet shoes. Her mom wasn’t in the third row.

Or the fourth. Or the fifth. Or the sixth. Or the seventh. Or the eighth.

Her mom wasn’t here.

Briana’s heart fluttered faster in her chest, and she took a deep breath.

She might just be running late, she told herself.

As she continued her dance, Briana pictured her mother racing through traffic, desperate to reach her.

But then the first dance ended. Then the second dance ended. Then the third dance ended.

She still hadn’t arrived.

Briana’s racing heart came to a sickening halt and fell into the pit of her stomach. Tears welled behind her eyes, and she tried her best to blink them away.

She said she’d come.

All she wanted was for her mom to see her, to seek her out, to support her. Everything she did, from making good grades to making friends to making the perfect arabesque, was for her mom. She thought that if she could impress her, then maybe she would want her back.

But she has to want me back just a little, right?

Briana looked down at the stage floor as she prepared for a pirouette. Her whole body felt heavy, and the wings leading to backstage were so close. She could leave, forget this stupid recital, and go cry in the bathroom until someone realized she was gone except no one probably ever would. They wouldn’t care, just like her mother.

But she has to care just a little, right?

Briana had to believe she cared, had to hold out hope, or else she would shatter right there on stage. The fragments of herself would be ground into the floor by the worn pads of her friends’ ballet shoes. She forced herself to continue dancing, even as her heart began to blacken in her core.

Then the auditorium door opened.

Briana whipped her head toward the sound and squinted her eyes against the light.

Mom?

When the faces came into focus, she didn’t see her mother’s curls and reddened eyes. She saw the freckled skin of herfoster mom and the soft brown eyes of her foster father. They smiled and waved at her, then snuck into two empty seats in the back row. Her father held a bouquet of roses.

Briana felt something crack open in her chest as she watched them, and the gratitude that rushed out of the crevice swallowed up her fear and sorrow.

They came. They got off work to come … for me.

Briana’s cheeks pinked and her eyes squeezed shut as she smiled as big and bright as she could. She wanted her foster parents to see from where they sat in the back. For the rest of the performance, she kept her eyes on their proud faces.

When the recital ended and Mrs. Brown released the girls into the auditorium to find their parents, Briana made a beeline for the back row. She spotted her foster parents scanning the room for her, and before they could turn and spot her, she ran in from the side and hugged them tight.

“Whoa!” her foster mom exclaimed in surprise. “There you are! Our little ballerina.”

“You were amazing!” said her foster dad. “I knew you were talented, but wow! You blew me away.”

Briana didn’t say anything for a moment. She only held her foster parents and soaked up their clear eyes and fresh, familiar scent. She took a mental photo of their wide smiles. She’d never felt so wanted in her life.

“I love you,” Briana finally said.

Her foster parents replied without hesitation. “We love you, too.”