So I have written about a million of these essays, but this the first one that I have actually liked. Please give me brutal feedback. I can take it! :)
The Musical Mishap
By Marissa Neale
My muscles tensed in anticipation as the choreographer's hand stretched towards the play button. The music started and, while not being my usual preference, it filled my body with an almost intoxicating presence. I started to move, dancing in perfect rhythm, but suddenly it all went wrong.
It was early December, which only meant one thing: musical auditions. Theater has always been exceptionally important at my high school and the spring musical is the most glittering, elaborate, and competitive production of the year. The auditions are fairly intense, consisting of two different types: a dance try-out and a singing, acting try-out. Not mention, it was crucial to attend workshops to learn music from the chosen show and an audition dance.
This past year's show was the Roger and Hammerstein classic, State Fair. I was very excited because I believed that I could possibly be chosen for a large role. I picked an audition song early, researched about the show, and even stretched so that I would be more flexible for auditions. Soon it was time for the dance workshops. The choreographer offered two sessions on consecutive evenings to learn the routine. I arrived early, eager to get started. I spent the rest of the two hours, crammed with sweating bodies, trying to learn the choreography. By the end of the night, I felt fairly confident that I knew the moves well. However, I wanted to be an absolute perfection, so I decided to attend the second clinic.
Like the night before, we began with warm-up and stretches. The choreographer then began to re-teach the combination. I felt fairly smug because I already knew the steps, but I helped my friends who had not already attended. Soon the choreographer split us into smaller groups to perform the routine so that we would have more space in the tiny practice room. I ached in expectation to show off my skills. When the music started, I was "in the zone." Suddenly as the routine approached a series of turns and kicks, the boy next to me stopped, forgetting what came next. I rotate to avoid a collision. Thud! As I fell, I felt a strange and excruciating twist in my right ankle. However, I immediately stood up and stubbornly finished the routine. After the music stopped, I wobbled back to my seat to observe the damage. Something was really wrong. I began to panic as I saw my foot, swelling and puffing over the top of my shoe and I franticly tried to loosen the ties.
Luckily, the dance clinic was soon over and I could go home. I limped down six flights of stairs to get to the exit. When I reached my mother's car, I burst into tears.
"What's wrong, baby?" she worriedly asked.
I simply pointed to my painful and swollen ankle. Her eyes widen at the sight. She spoke:
"Let's go home and put some ice on it. You will be fine; I promise."
"No. Take me to the hospital now!" I cried.
My mother knew that I must be in serious pain if I actually wanted to go to the hospital. So she sped off in record time, coincidentally to the same hospital I was born in. When we arrived, she helped me out of the car, put me in a wheelchair, and pushed me towards the entrance. While she parked, I wheeled myself to the front desk. A very tired nurse sat there.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"My ankle!" I hiccupped. He then began to ask me series of questions. Feeling my tears welling up, I held back the sobs. Luckily, my mom enters and finishes the question and filled out all the forms. I rolled into the waiting room and some nurse gave me an ice pack. Apparently, there had been a serious car accident near the hospital and therefore, my ankle was low priority. Sometime around midnight, I was taken to a room and given the usual tests. Eventually, the ER doctor informed me that I probably just had a bad sprain. She gave me extra strength pain medication, some crutches, and sent me home. Later, I would go to a specialist and learn that I had major ligament damage, and that I was lucky I did not need surgery.
Monday was my audition. I showed up exhausted from my crutches, and angry at the inconvenience of my injury. The director of the show immediately hugged me and told me to do best I could. I did not get the large role that I was hoping for. Because it was uncertain when I would walk again, let alone dance, I was a risky choice. Admittedly, I was disappointed, but of course, I understood.
I missed out on a lot that winter. I missed iced skating, cookie baking, and shopping for presents. Because I was so unstable on my crutches and it was dangerous in the snow, I mostly stayed home on my couch when I was not attending school. After spending a month non-weight bearing, I was given an air-cast walking boot and prescribed physical therapy. After a few months of hard work, I was not only walking again, but also dancing-just in time for the musical.
My ankle injury was one of the most painful, frustrating, and inopportune experiences that I have ever had. Like most unpleasant moments in my life, I learned a lot from the incident. First of all, the injury knocked me down a peg or two. I was so focused on getting that main part and showing off my talents, that I forgot what was truly important. I joined theater not to get the lead roles, but to return to my childhood playfulness and to grow as an individual. Secondly, I learned patience. It was often boring and upsetting to be sitting in my house, while practically everyone I knew was celebrating the holidays. However, I knew that I could not push my body to heal quicker than it already was. So, I made the best of what I had. I knitted my mother a scarf, began writing poetry again, and before I knew it, I could walk again. Lastly, I truly learned how much love surrounds me. I cannot ever forget the care of my friends as they carried all my books, gave me piggyback rides when my arms were tired, and visited me over break. My teachers were equally thoughtful as they gave me extensions for my vicodin-clogged mind and let me rest in their classrooms. Most importantly, my family paid such great attention to include me, and make sure I was happy as possible. Without these people, I am not sure if I would have made it through those difficult months.
It is almost December again, which means one thing. This year's musical is Hairspray and I am excited for all the opportunities to dance in the production. I probably will not start preparing until the week before that auditions and I will only go to one of the dance workshops-just in case.
The Musical Mishap
By Marissa Neale
My muscles tensed in anticipation as the choreographer's hand stretched towards the play button. The music started and, while not being my usual preference, it filled my body with an almost intoxicating presence. I started to move, dancing in perfect rhythm, but suddenly it all went wrong.
It was early December, which only meant one thing: musical auditions. Theater has always been exceptionally important at my high school and the spring musical is the most glittering, elaborate, and competitive production of the year. The auditions are fairly intense, consisting of two different types: a dance try-out and a singing, acting try-out. Not mention, it was crucial to attend workshops to learn music from the chosen show and an audition dance.
This past year's show was the Roger and Hammerstein classic, State Fair. I was very excited because I believed that I could possibly be chosen for a large role. I picked an audition song early, researched about the show, and even stretched so that I would be more flexible for auditions. Soon it was time for the dance workshops. The choreographer offered two sessions on consecutive evenings to learn the routine. I arrived early, eager to get started. I spent the rest of the two hours, crammed with sweating bodies, trying to learn the choreography. By the end of the night, I felt fairly confident that I knew the moves well. However, I wanted to be an absolute perfection, so I decided to attend the second clinic.
Like the night before, we began with warm-up and stretches. The choreographer then began to re-teach the combination. I felt fairly smug because I already knew the steps, but I helped my friends who had not already attended. Soon the choreographer split us into smaller groups to perform the routine so that we would have more space in the tiny practice room. I ached in expectation to show off my skills. When the music started, I was "in the zone." Suddenly as the routine approached a series of turns and kicks, the boy next to me stopped, forgetting what came next. I rotate to avoid a collision. Thud! As I fell, I felt a strange and excruciating twist in my right ankle. However, I immediately stood up and stubbornly finished the routine. After the music stopped, I wobbled back to my seat to observe the damage. Something was really wrong. I began to panic as I saw my foot, swelling and puffing over the top of my shoe and I franticly tried to loosen the ties.
Luckily, the dance clinic was soon over and I could go home. I limped down six flights of stairs to get to the exit. When I reached my mother's car, I burst into tears.
"What's wrong, baby?" she worriedly asked.
I simply pointed to my painful and swollen ankle. Her eyes widen at the sight. She spoke:
"Let's go home and put some ice on it. You will be fine; I promise."
"No. Take me to the hospital now!" I cried.
My mother knew that I must be in serious pain if I actually wanted to go to the hospital. So she sped off in record time, coincidentally to the same hospital I was born in. When we arrived, she helped me out of the car, put me in a wheelchair, and pushed me towards the entrance. While she parked, I wheeled myself to the front desk. A very tired nurse sat there.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"My ankle!" I hiccupped. He then began to ask me series of questions. Feeling my tears welling up, I held back the sobs. Luckily, my mom enters and finishes the question and filled out all the forms. I rolled into the waiting room and some nurse gave me an ice pack. Apparently, there had been a serious car accident near the hospital and therefore, my ankle was low priority. Sometime around midnight, I was taken to a room and given the usual tests. Eventually, the ER doctor informed me that I probably just had a bad sprain. She gave me extra strength pain medication, some crutches, and sent me home. Later, I would go to a specialist and learn that I had major ligament damage, and that I was lucky I did not need surgery.
Monday was my audition. I showed up exhausted from my crutches, and angry at the inconvenience of my injury. The director of the show immediately hugged me and told me to do best I could. I did not get the large role that I was hoping for. Because it was uncertain when I would walk again, let alone dance, I was a risky choice. Admittedly, I was disappointed, but of course, I understood.
I missed out on a lot that winter. I missed iced skating, cookie baking, and shopping for presents. Because I was so unstable on my crutches and it was dangerous in the snow, I mostly stayed home on my couch when I was not attending school. After spending a month non-weight bearing, I was given an air-cast walking boot and prescribed physical therapy. After a few months of hard work, I was not only walking again, but also dancing-just in time for the musical.
My ankle injury was one of the most painful, frustrating, and inopportune experiences that I have ever had. Like most unpleasant moments in my life, I learned a lot from the incident. First of all, the injury knocked me down a peg or two. I was so focused on getting that main part and showing off my talents, that I forgot what was truly important. I joined theater not to get the lead roles, but to return to my childhood playfulness and to grow as an individual. Secondly, I learned patience. It was often boring and upsetting to be sitting in my house, while practically everyone I knew was celebrating the holidays. However, I knew that I could not push my body to heal quicker than it already was. So, I made the best of what I had. I knitted my mother a scarf, began writing poetry again, and before I knew it, I could walk again. Lastly, I truly learned how much love surrounds me. I cannot ever forget the care of my friends as they carried all my books, gave me piggyback rides when my arms were tired, and visited me over break. My teachers were equally thoughtful as they gave me extensions for my vicodin-clogged mind and let me rest in their classrooms. Most importantly, my family paid such great attention to include me, and make sure I was happy as possible. Without these people, I am not sure if I would have made it through those difficult months.
It is almost December again, which means one thing. This year's musical is Hairspray and I am excited for all the opportunities to dance in the production. I probably will not start preparing until the week before that auditions and I will only go to one of the dance workshops-just in case.
