A ballet to remember
Annette and I were back in the Benedum Center in downtown Pittsburgh Sunday evening, continuing the Christmas tradition we’ve been doing for 20 years. Our seats to see the Nutcracker ballet were down front, in the center section about seven rows back.
It was three weeks post-surgery on my knee, and just for that evening I was using my cane, in case there was more walking than I’m supposed to be doing yet.
We reached the row, and the two women sitting nearest the aisle stood to allow us to go past them. Theater etiquette says not turn your back, but to slide past facing them, and so I went in first.
What followed was a thing that lasted probably three seconds, four tops. But as the thing unraveled, it felt like an hour. My right foot hit something slippery and I tried to steady myself with my cane, but by then things were beyond that. Trying to stop the fall I reached to catch myself on the wooden arm rest between the seats, sending me into a full forward slide. Annette tried to rescue me and failed, and the combination of the slip and my height and the unsteadiness of my knee launched me forward and into the lap of the woman sitting in the second seat.
I’m fairly certain I bumped her head with my head before my chin came to rest on her shoulder. Also I landed with my right hand hoisting my cane aloft like a ranting angry person. The woman was trapped there under me for a moment as I tried to get my cane back onto the floor so I could fumble myself back to standing position and get to my seat. We were in row G, so the rest of the alphabet got to see my elegant unraveling.
Finally in my seat, in darkness with the curtain up, I felt stupid about what I’d just done, but then I moved on to my next worry – that my slight allergy cough might erupt. And if that happened, I’d need to leave, but that would require moving out of the row again, and my victim would have to let me go by. My mind wandered around all that worry during the entire party scene.
In the seat next to me was a production manager with the ballet, there to take notes on the performance. During intermission I asked about the snow that falls during the Waltz of the Snowflakes. He said they use hole-punch paper that’s been specially treated.
“If we use anything else, it can be slippery,” he said. “We can’t have the ballet dancers slipping and falling.”
Or ballet fans. It was a Playbill program I’d slipped on, its glossy paper cover lying in wait on the floor. Those things are treacherous – like ice.
The woman I fell on was so nice about it; she accepted my many apologies right away, and with a smile. And I never did cough or have to leave during the performance.
The Waltz of the Snowflakes has always been my favorite, and it was as lovely as ever. Nobody slipped on the paper flakes on stage. The whole ballet was beautiful. As we stood to cheer during the curtain call, I looked over to see the two women on the aisle had stepped out and up the aisle, maybe to get ahead of the crowd.
And probably to avoid me.
Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.