The New York City air was crisp as my friend and I shuffled through the crowd towards the box office. Our excitement was highly visible with our jubilant smiles as we handed the box office attendant our tickets. She placed our stubs on the counter and smugly pointed towards the COLORED SECTION. Lisa and I had to work extra nights waiting tables at The Cotton Club just to afford the nose bleed section. But we knew that this would be worth it. Janet Collins was going to be the first African American woman to perform at The Metropolitan Opera House having a solo in Aida. Being dancers at The East Harlem School of Dance, we had decided that on opening night we would be apart of a definitive moment.
The theatre lights were dimmed and the spotlight appeared on Janet. She was beautiful as she grazed back and forth across the stage. Her body was as light as a feather as she twirled and leaped. I was in euphoria and felt a tear run down my cheek. There was no longer anyone in the theatre as I watched her every move; her lines were clear and the way she executed the cabriole was unlike anything earthly. As she disappeared from the stage the crowd erupted in a thunderous roar of applause.
As we left the theatre and made our way to the train station all I could think about was Ms. Collins and the barriers that she had just broken. Her graceful strokes and elegant strides had been imprinted into my mind. Ms. Collins was guarded and just as equally vulnerable.
She was a swan.
The Black Swan.
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