I stood, a little girl only of four years old, mesmerized by the lipstick smiles of the older girls in front of me. Their hair was in ringlet curls, complemented by a gleaming headband. Their dresses shouted colors of yellow and white and green and blue, the skirts were blinged with gems. Ever so often they would jump up and down, stretch, or shake their legs and arms as if they could flutter the nerves away. The band blasted Irish tunes on the stage behind them, making them restless.
One of the girls noticed my curiosity. She waved her hand, coaxing me to move towards them. Her smile was comforting, her eyes bright. Her dress was a glossy gold, her curls a cool, hazelnut brown. I approached sheepishly, climbing through the ropes of the festival tent until I reached them backstage. She knelt down to my height, the other girls surrounding us, commenting on the bow in my hair or the size of my sneakers. I remember all of them questioning me softly, asking me if I was having fun or if I, too, wanted to someday be an Irish dancer. I nodded my head repeatedly.
"Are you going to watch us dance?" the golden girl asked me. Behind her, a bagpipe sounded, followed by the cheer of the crowd. The other girls started to hop once again, their attention on the lead singer, counting the music by eights.
I shook my head yes. She squeezed my hand in response and stood back up to her feet, her shoes making a few tappity-taps on the pavement.
"We'll see you afterwards, okay?" she said as the group of girls began to walk towards the stage.
The music picked up to a fast reel, making the crowd cheer and squeal in response. The girls began to run on stage, their hands in the air clapping to the beat. My golden girl glanced at me once more before taking her last step, and sent me a gleaming smile. The crowd roared as they moved their feet at a quick pace, shrilling with rhythm from their echoing shoes. The spotlights reflected off their stunning dresses and white-teeth smiles. I was awe-struck, my skin forming goosebumps.
When they ran back off stage, they stopped and tried to catch their breath. They were laughing and soaking up the adrenaline. Golden Girl knelt down one last time in front of me and gave me a high five and a smile before walking off. At that moment, all I wanted to be was one of them.
I then stood, a dancer of only sixteen years old, my lipstick smile expressing the love for what I do. My hair was in ringlet curls, my frame fitted by a dress the colors of green and gold. Butterflies moved within me and I attempted to shake them away. I turned and spotted a little girl, her hair combed up into a bow and her tiny sneakers tapping to the sound of the fiddle. I smiled at her and she responded with a shy grin. I motioned her to join us and once she did I took her hand and knelt down to one knee.
"You'll be dancing on this stage someday," I said and she beamed ear to ear, dimpling her cheeks.
Then I went and danced in front of the roaring crowd and hoped for the small chance that I could be her Golden Girl.