My memories were ballerinas gliding in and out on point. Just when I wanted to hold on to them, they were whisked out of reach. But one memory hung around like the ugly duckling left out of “Swan Lake,” clucking and cackling in my head. It was that freckle-faced Elizabeth whose mother complained to Miss Goldberg about me, a black girl, leading the dance steps and exercises. But she didn’t say it like that. Had to be sneaky with her evil. I was just too short, you see, and the taller girls like her Elizabeth couldn’t follow, and my rhythm was throwing her off, making her mess up. Never mind that the other girls could get it right. Miss Goldberg ignored the complaint and kept me out front. Somebody had to lead the dance of the six-year-olds or the whole “Pixies in the Park” wouldn’t go right.

Elizabeth’s mother complained again. This time she talked to other mothers who brought their knitting and Ladies’ Home Journals to the waiting room until our hour of class had finished. And just when we had learned the final kick-two-three, lunge-two-three to end the piece in time for the public recital at Cardinal High, the mothers threatened to take their girls out of the revue. Miss Goldberg was fighting mad, her face red as the ribbons on our tap shoes! She looked like she was going to explode and set our high-waist tutus on fire. “I’m the instructor here,” she said. “I know what’s best.” The mothers wouldn’t budge. We girls stood straighter in line than ever before. The mothers’ anger hung like a wall, measuring our lunge, kick, toe-step and bow. Not one of us dared move.

Miss Goldberg tapped her foot real quick. She turned to us, then back to the mothers. “All right,” she said. “You’ll see for yourselves. We’ll have two run-throughs. Elizabeth, you lead first. Ruella, next.” She sucked in her teeth and tut-tutted her head back and forth. “All this just before dress rehearsal, and the programs have yet to be folded. What next?” She turned back to the mothers as we were lining up, knees raised, hands on hips, feet ready to go. “Now watch, all of you,” Miss Goldberg glared. “Then tell me which one’s better.”