The sound of the curtain pulling open to the audience sounds like the tick-tick-tick of that anticipatory pull up slope at the beginning of a roller coaster. I may have mentioned this before. It strikes me as new every time.
Generally, in a dance performance such as the one I’m participating in now, the curtain is already drawn when the dancers enter the stage. The music goes down, the lights go black, and you enter in the footsteps of the exiting dancers that preceded you. But if you are in the first piece or the piece directly following intermission, you load the stage with the curtain closed. You can hear the audience on the other side. The lights are up. You find your spot, roll your feet, test the stage for whatever movement is haunting you. You check your lines, trade glances with fellow dancers. Enough already. Your choreographer breezes through, checking costumes and buns and disappears back in the wings. The lights dim slowly so that at first you wonder if it’s growing dark at all. The audience quiets. Silence and black. Breathe. Then the curtain pulls back.
Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.
Here we go.
Don’t look down.