Life in Motion by Misty Copeland

Author:Misty Copeland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin

When I returned to ABT a couple of days after the article had been printed, one of my friends stopped me on my way to rehearsal.

“Did you see that stupid article in the Times, ‘Where Are All the Black Swans?’ ” she asked. But she didn’t sound like she’d read the same article. She sounded like she was offended. “What are they talking about? What a dumb story.”

I was speechless. I couldn’t believe what she’d just said. We danced and performed together week after week, and she didn’t realize how I’d been feeling. She was my friend, but she didn’t understand what I, or the few other black dancers who’d come before me, went through to dance in a professional company.

I had to walk away. I found an empty studio, closed myself inside, and began to cry. If my friends couldn’t put themselves in my shoes, would anyone else? We all felt the various pressures of being professional dancers. We were expected to look a certain way and dance through the pain we felt from rigorous practice. We were expected to always look and be our best, even if that meant putting ourselves at risk of injury.

But the truth was that I faced extra pressure. I had to pretend like it didn’t hurt when people judged my talent based on my skin color. I had to work extra hard to make sure they knew I deserved to be part of one of the best ballet companies in the world. And the worst part was there weren’t any other black women in the company to talk to. I couldn’t share my frustrations and fears with anyone who truly understood.

There were some black men in the company. Not very many at one time—usually only one or two. And they’d move on after only a short stint with ABT. But I became friends with all of them: Danny, Jerry, Dante, and Jamar.

Eric Underwood was my best friend out of them all, though. We had so much in common. Like me, he’d grown up in a family that was tight-knit but didn’t have a lot of money. He’d also come to ballet late, starting at fourteen. We liked all the same music growing up: mostly hip-hop and R & B. We’d go out for Red Lobster or BBQ, stuffing ourselves with ribs and burgers and shrimp.

I felt like myself around Eric. With him, I had not only a friend, but one who related to the experience of being a black dancer in a top ballet company. If someone said something offensive or racist, I didn’t have to wonder if I was overreacting—or worse, if I’d imagined it. Eric would look over and I’d know he understood what I was feeling. We didn’t even have to say anything.

One day, Kevin McKenzie called Eric into his office. Afterward, Eric pulled me aside to tell me what Kevin had said.

“He wants me to grow my hair long.”

We laughed so hard we were crying.

Kevin’s request might have seemed easy enough and probably wouldn’t have meant anything to anyone else in the company.

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