Shift Your Weight

The once chunky kid who shopped in the husky section at clothing department stores lost a lot of weight between his sophomore and junior years in high school. Yes, that kid was me. I was active in the theatre department at school, sang in the show choir, the whole nine. After the weight loss, I delved deeper into what it means to be a physical actor. The previous year, I was a munchkin in The Wiz. I was no stranger to running around on stage. The habit carried in almost every role I took on thereafter. Not only was I growing in confidence as an actor but as a mover, a dancer.

Then came the fall.

The time was December 2008. The place, the stage. The production, a rendition of Langston Hughes’ Black Nativity. The role, ensemble.

Before we talk about the moment, I must discuss my sincere love for the art of dance and movement. An annual summer ritual between my mom and I included binge watching So You Think You Can Dance. I wouldn’t just watch. I would witness. I consumed every step in every genre. I studied every battement, every barrel turn, every pas du bourree. I don’t often brag about myself but in this case I have to: I taught myself the basics about what dance is for me, how it’s articulated on my body. Sure, I took a dance class in college and gained exposure to some of the best choreographers in the business as a professional actor but the foundation was my tv set and my own will.

I loved dance just as much then as I do now. The dance teacher at my high school knew it before my growth spurt when I was an ensemble member in Dreamgirls and The Wiz. Our connection only grew as the years went by and the fall of my senior year was my first chance to show what I’d taught myself over the years. The combination was lovely. A couple of chaine turns to enter the stage, a few more sequences that escape my brain currently, then a couple of leaps into a grand battement to the left. The rest also escapes me.

The only part you need to be concerned with is the leaps into the battement.

It was the end of Act 1. The last number people would see after a 15 minute food and bathroom break. The song, yes I still remember it, was “Hallelujah, You’re Worthy To Be Praised”. The bridge was upon us. “Hallelujah, you’re worthy. Hallelujah, we praise your name.” I was feeling it. We were at the leaps. I stretched well during intermission. I know I did. It’s quite possible that I didn’t stretch my ankle. It’s possible that I was fueled with more adrenaline than I had during any other show. All I remember is what happened during the battement.

My leg went UP and my body fell down. All of my weight was dependent on one ankle. I might as well have been doing another leap. I fell directly onto my ass. HARD. Thankfully I was in the second row of dancers but guess what? There were only TWO rows and everyone could be seen by the audience because we were in ‘windows’ to create a fuller picture on stage and allow all physical lines to be showcased during the work. And I fell directly onto my right hip and ass cheek. There was no pain. Adrenaline was so high and I quite literally bounced back up onto my feet within 2 seconds. For the entire act, I was almost positive that no one had truly registered what happened.

Then came the post-show. Some of my high school classmates were in attendance and I immediately knew that they knew. First came the smiles then came the cackling. It was ROUGH. They saw it, most of the people in the audience probably saw it. That was the hardest part. Knowing people were congratulating the cast, myself included, on a job well done while visualizing my fall once, twice or thrice.

Be clear, I still love dance and I have danced in many shows after that one with full-fledged solos. Be even clearer in knowing, along with me, that I will always remember that fall. It’s a gnat in my ear but it has been one of the greatest teachers I’ve ever had. Above all else, it has taught me to square my hips because invisible banana peels are always waiting in the wings.