The Glow of the Spotlight: My Journey with Rebecca

Sadie and Rebecca keep arguing, and Sophie jumps in with an idea of her own, a real motorcar to carry Cinderella to the palace instead of a pumpkin coach. Rebecca accuses her sisters of taking over the play. I step between them with my arms out and point out that their ideas aren’t as far apart as everyone thinks. A few surprises might make the old story feel fresh without losing what makes it Cinderella. Rebecca hesitates, then agrees to give the blend a try.

Benny reclaims his role as the handsome prince without a fight, and I suggest we build back toward the original story instead of tossing it out. Rebecca offers that the prince could throw a birthday party instead of a ball, and Benny reminds us that it’s his birthday party, because he’s the prince. I add that the Fairy Godmother could turn a pumpkin into a motorcar rather than a coach, a twist that keeps the tale intact while giving it a modern shine.

We spend the afternoon rehearsing, and everyone adds something new. Sophie comes up with a little song that fits the plot, and I teach Rebecca and the twins a simple dance step. Before long we’re all laughing, the earlier argument forgotten, and the play belongs to every one of us.

That evening after dinner, the family gathers in the parlor for the show. Rebecca drapes a faded scarf over her dress to play a ragged Cinderella, and the twins put on their fanciest clothes as two showy stepsisters. Rebecca has turned an old feather duster into a wand, its feathers tipped with paper stars, so I can play the Fairy Godmother. Every time I step onstage, I tap-dance a circle around the others, waving the wand as though sparks are falling from it.

Benny stretches himself as tall as he can manage as the prince, and the twins ham it up shamelessly, tripping over their gowns as they stumble through an imaginary dance at the party. Each of us brings something different to the show. Benny is adorable, Rebecca plays every scene for drama, Sadie makes a wonderfully mean stepsister, and Sophie earns laughs by doing the opposite of Sadie. I keep things moving with tap dancing whenever Rebecca sings.

Our performance is rough around the edges, but the family claps and cheers through every scene, and by the final bow we’re all breathless and grinning. I can’t tell whether they’re applauding the play or the fact that we finally worked together to build it. Probably both.

Afterward, we fold the scarves away and pull the paper stars off the feather duster. I feel a bit like Cinderella myself: having a wonderful time, but knowing I’ll have to leave to go back to my own world soon. I tell Rebecca that I have to go home now, and Rebecca tells me I showed her how to team up with her sisters instead of fighting with them. She might not have learned that without me. Maybe the four of them will dream up more plays together now.

After we’re done tidying, I pick up my purse and dance bag and we go into the parlor. I say goodbye to the Rubins and thank them for taking me in. I give Rebecca one last hug, promising I won’t forget the days we spent together. Outside, once I’m out of sight, I twist the nesting dolls together and feel the pull of home take hold.

I think about my own recital, and for the first time my solo doesn’t feel like the most important part of it. I picture the closing group number, every dancer in a different costume, moving through one shared routine, and I find myself looking forward to it in a way I never have before. Different people, different styles, all with one shared moment.