At age 2 and a half, a pbs ballet special lit up on our old sony tv while I danced in white reebok's and a pink tutu thrown over my Gap sweater, immersed. The living room glowed a homely lime green, and the antique carpet shone in putrid yellow, the moment snapped on my dad’s old, chunky Nikon camera.
At 11, we called ourselves ASAP: Abby, Stella, Amira, Penelope (left to right: me, Stella, Penelope, Amira). We tripped over our tiny banged up ballerina feet and shouted in delight as we tried to find somewhere to take a selfie, a picture that we believed would seal our friendship: pulling the letters A, S, A, and P so close people would mistake us for four sisters.
At 12, ASAP defined itself less as a friend group and more as business partners in creating dance apparel. (we even made an instagram wow https://www.instagram.com/asappdancewear/) We packed all of our hot glue bound creations (we preferred to glue rather than sew) in a beach bag and begged for Penelope’s mom to drive us to Wingaersheek. I wore our “hand made” blue shirt and posed in a calypso jump (though I used to call this the Abby jump) as Amira snapped a photo on her chunky iPhone 4.
At 14, Alanna, Gabriella, Alexandra, Stella, and I were invited to perform a Prince tribute at Fenway park. We were forced into metallic gold crop tops paired with red fringed pants, finishing the distinct look with a full face of bright, showy makeup. A red lanyard dangled at my waist, reading “VIP Performer, Fenway Park” and the chunky brown/orange dust scuffed and stained my black leather jazz shoes as we skipped up the first base line to the stage.
At 14, Penelope, Piper, and I (by this time it had become ASAPP: Abby, Stella, Amira, Penelope, Piper) slouched on the black corduroy couch that has followed the Deborah Mason School of Dance tirelessly from location to location. We stuffed our faces with cheap haribo, coca-cola, and rice crispies from the Dollar Tree next door, joking about how contrary to the common belief, dancers actually eat the most junk out of all the people we know.
At 15, Tyce Diorio, a famous choreographer from So You Think You Can Dance, choreographed a piece for me and 9 other dancers from the company (including Stella, Alanna, and Gabriella). We worked late nights with him, and I’d have to leave CSW dance concert rehearsal an hour early those days to get there on time. The first day he was supposed to come in to teach us, I arrived at dance incredibly early. In an attempt to avoid going into the studio having to meet the intimidating dance legend himself before I absolutely needed to, I tried to camp out in Forge (the bakery next door), only to find him sitting at the table to the left of when you walk in, chatting with Deborah.
Four weeks ago, the company show was here (at last) and we all sat in a circle, as we do every year, holding hands. We were adorned in our respective costumes, Stella and I sitting next to each other wearing our navy blue dresses for “The Struggle”. Sweaty palms bound us together, as we prayed to Justin Bieber for an amazing show. It’s a tradition none of us question: one that embodies our community and our spirit.
