An Open Letter to Ruby Wagner on the Subject of The Sound of Music

Dear Ruby,

Your mom just told me about your tryouts at school the other day. Said you’d practiced all week with your sister. Said you’d been singing in the house all week. “Doe, a Deer,” mostly, because you were trying out for Gretl, but other songs, too. She said that she’d been working with you on the songs, helping you memorize some of the lines, stuff like that. She said you’d worked really hard, and that you thought the tryouts were going to go well. Then the tryouts happened, and you still thought they’d gone well. And despite that, despite all the hard work and singing, and the memorizing of lines, despite all that, and despite you feeling that the tryouts had gone well, despite that…well, you still didn’t get the part. Didn’t get to be Gretl after all. I’m so, so sorry. Your mom said you’d kind of been expecting to get it, actually, that’s what she said, said that you were pretty sure you’d gotten the part after tryouts were over and were getting excited already, for when the play was coming, you were already getting excited, and I don’t blame you, Ruby, especially since you thought you’d gotten the part.

And when you didn’t get it, the part I mean, when you found out from your mom that you hadn’t gotten the part of Gretl, you were terribly upset, and went into the bathroom and cried a little. And there was no way you wanted to be a part of the show at all after that, even though you could have been with the stage crew and gotten a chance to be kind of there, you just knew you didn’t want that. And I understand, I do. I get it. I know about crying in the bathroom when something you wanted so badly didn’t get to happen after all.

Let me tell you about “The Sound of Music.” Let me tell about being 10 years old, and the open casting call, and the excitement building. I’ll say this, that it was a big deal for me, too, but for me it was because I was terribly shy, had one or two close friends but that was it, wasn’t popular, not at all, stuck close to my books and the teacher and those one or two friends and that was it. I was taking ballet that year because I thought it was the right thing to do, but it turned out it wasn’t. It turned out I wasn’t graceful at all. It turned out I looked terrible in a leotard. It turned out I wasn’t cut out for arabesques and things, and basically, Ruby, basically I was a bad dancer. And I knew this because when we had our recital, the one where our parents got to come, I screwed up all of my combinations and ended up facing the opposite way from the rest of the class. And did I mention I hated the shoes and how terrible they fit me and how my toes hurt? Still, I stayed in that class. It felt important. Like I had to do it. Like it was a test or something.

But I was talking about the tryouts, wasn’t I? Well, Ruby, let me tell you that as soon as I saw the poster for the tryouts, I wanted to be in the play. I knew it, immediately, knew there was a part there for me because I’d been watching “The Sound of Music” on TV every year with my family during the holidays, and because I’d already memorized the songs and some of the lines, and of course, I knew Gretl was the best part of it all. And that’s what I thought of when I saw the poster with the casting call. That Gretl was the best part of it all. And I wanted to be the best part of it all. Thought that even, well, I thought that maybe I deserved it. Because of the ballet thing and all. Because I was not like the other girls in class who could actually remember the steps, who looked normal in their leotards and always, always had the perfect hair for making a ballet bun. And of course I didn’t. I didn’t have any of it. The grace or the leotard or the hair. And it seemed like it was only fair if I got to be Gretl. It would be the only way I’d feel like it was worth something, the clumsiness I felt at 10, the fact that my older sister was so much better than me at everything I tried, the fact that I felt like each day I was disappearing just a little bit more. That I hadn’t done anything remarkable just yet, nothing but maybe a few perfect spelling tests and a poem or two I’d written, but mostly unremarkable, nothing anyone really knew about, and so each day I felt like was becoming less and less, disappearing into practically nothing.

I wanted to be in the show. Is there any other way of saying it? I knew that I wanted to be in the show. I was shy, but knew. I was clumsy, but knew. I felt like if I could just get the part, if I could just get it, I’d get better at those other things. It could happen that way. They’d teach you the dances during the rehearsals, they’d fit you with the costumes, they’d take care of everything else. Basically all you had to know what how to sing. And that’s all I needed to know. So I was willing to be clumsy and shy for the tryouts. I was willing because I knew the songs so well. Because I’d already sung them a million times. To myself, mostly. Well, actually, all to myself, I sang the songs all to myself, no one to listen, but it seemed right. It seemed like I was doing a great job with them, really, if you want to know the truth. Especially “Doe, a Deer.” When I sang it, I thought it was perfect. I knew it was perfect. I did. Does that sound weird to say? I know you’ll understand. You’ll understand because when you were singing it to yourself, and especially when you were imagining yourself on stage, in the part of Gretl, with your parents watching on opening night, and with you in costume, when you sang it to yourself like this, imagining all this, you knew you were singing it perfectly, too.

Oh, I’m off-track again. I was telling you about the tryouts. Or no, I hadn’t gotten to them yet. Anyway, so it’s the big day, a Saturday or something, and I’m there, and I have to remind you that I’d been singing “Doe a Deer” all week, like all the time, I mean. But even so, I was incredibly nervous. I was. There were a gazillion kids there and all of them, like me, had probably been practicing. Or at least most of them. You could see just by the look on their faces how much they wanted their parts, too. Maybe not so much the boys, who were there because other boys were there, and the other boys were there because the girls were there, so that’s why all the boys were there. You could tell they didn’t really care whether or not they made the play, because they looked just as messy as they always did and had their shoes untied and all that and you could tell also because their mothers dropped them off and told them they’d be back after tryouts were over. But the mothers of the girls stayed right there, because the saw and knew how badly their girls wanted to be in the play. And you could tell how badly the girls wanted to be in the play because we’d all dressed up. In our own way, and in my own way, we girls dressed up. I was wearing a bobby pin in my hair, and for me, that was dressing up.

And even though I’d practiced, even though I thought I was as ready as I was ever going to be, it was hard to get up on stage when it was my turn to sing. It was hard to go up after Anna Herrera and Jill Dorman and Heather Robsam. And my sister, it was probably hardest to go up after her. And you know what? It’s not that I even knew if they’d done a good job or anything. I was barely listening to the singing. I just looked at them. It was just me looking at them, and I thought, how can I go up after that? I don’t know why, exactly. Maybe because it was starting to sink in that “tryouts” was just another way of saying “competition.” Because it was beginning to dawn on me that I was going to be competing for the part. That other girls wanted it, too. Maybe not Anna or Jill or Heather or my sister – they were too old to play Gretl anyway. They were going after one of the medium older sisters. Already they were practically teenagers – they would never have wanted the part of Gretl anyway. And so it wasn’t so much that I had to worry about them. But there were plenty of other girls I could worry about, that I was worrying about, and I had to wait so long to get on stage for my turn. They were doing it in alphabetical order and by grade, and I had to wait so long for my turn. Fourth grade and a last name that begins with an “S” – can you imagine how long that took? You know. Yours begins with a “W.” That kind of forever.

And after forever was over, my name was called, and I climbed up on stage, the five steps up of it, and suddenly it felt like I was on a football field all by myself with someone playing piano a million miles away and a very loud grownup who was telling me to start singing and a thousand girls wanting to play Gretl watching me with cruel hawkeyes. Let me tell you, Ruby - this was not an easy place for a shy and clumsy girl to be.

I sang well, though. I did. I can say that. Maybe it’s enough to say that. Say that I sang well enough. I know I didn’t blow the song away, wasn’t like one of those child superstars who blows songs away and gets recording contracts, but I worked with it. I kept things simple. I stayed in tune and I hit every note. I probably didn’t sing my heart out but I sang out at least most of it out. It felt that way. I took it seriously. Looked straight ahead while I was singing. Had my hands at my sides. And for once, had decent posture. I knew someone, hopefully my mother, was looking on, proudly, because I had paid attention to these things, I had. And there was clapping afterward, but maybe I imagined it. Or maybe it was the tryout person clapping. Maybe it was my mother. Or my sister, though I doubt that. She was probably running around outside with her friends. Even so, I was happy with the performance, and hopped off the stage after I was thanked by the tryout person, and took my mother’s hand, which was warm and reassuring just like it always was, and we left the building in search of my sister to go home.

Would it make any difference if I told you I made the callbacks? That there was a second round of tryouts with dancing involved and I got to go to that, on the basis of my performance of “Doe, a Deer?” There were callbacks after the first tryout, and based on my decently competent performance, I was invited to go to the next round, which was the dancing part, which was the part where we had to learn a combination of dance steps for one of the musical numbers, where we were, in fact, basically judged solely on our dancing ability? Do I even need to bother going through that? The horror of that second tryout? Does it even need mentioning?

You need to know only what I’ve already told you about me and dancing. That’s all you really need to know. And this, maybe. You should know that my wish to lead the cast in the starring role of the youngest Von Trapp family member, that wish only got bigger and bigger during the week before the second tryouts. Because I had no idea what was coming to me. Had no idea I would have to dance for the part and that dancing, ultimately, was going to be the thing, the reason I didn’t get the part, the bit of evil-doing that stole my dream away, the regrettable piece of business between me and a starring role. Dancing was the deal-breaker, the bodyguard that lay front and center, blocking an easy path to Gretl. And I had to do it. There was no choice. There was no learning the dance steps while rehearsals went merrily along. The dance steps were now. The dancing was now. It was the only thing left between me and Gretl and it was so big, you have no idea how big it was.

Or maybe you do. Maybe you do because you thought that part was yours, too. Because inside you knew you were right for it, and you had the song, and the dancing, and the everything for it. You felt it in your bones, I’m sure you did. I’m sure you did because I felt it in my bones, too, on that stage, just before it, too, the whole week even, I felt it in my bones like I’m sure you did. And I’m sorry. I really am. Your mom told me how upset you were and I’m really, truly sorry for that. I know what it’s like. How much you want to have a thing and thinking that just you wanting it is enough, because you’re the one who wants it the most, who could use it the most. Who deserves it. I know how lonely it is to cry in a bathroom after getting the news, and what it’s like to go to school with your heart weighted down with disappointment. I know it. And I’m sorry.

But know this, Ruby. It passed. The moment, the play, the school year, the terrifically horrifying memory of that second tryout. It all passed. Little by little, it began to matter less that I wasn’t playing Gretl in the community theatre production of “The Sound of Music.” It simply began to matter less, and then the play season was over before I knew it and I’d forgotten all about it.

Also I stopped taking ballet. It was one of the best decisions I thought I’d made in my whole life. I started playing basketball again. I went on my first date and had my first boyfriend, although it only lasted for about three days. I won a rhyming contest for the school newspaper. I thought up of 22 words that rhymed with “bat,” which was the most anyone had thought of. Plus I learned how to type. I discovered I had an amazing ability for typing. It wasn’t long before I was typing 60, then 70, then 85 words a minute. Think of it. A 10-and-a-half-year-old typing 85 words a minute. People these days get paid a lot of money to type that fast. Can you imagine?

Anyway, the point is, Ruby, I turned out mostly all right, luggage intact and all that. I don’t think I suffered horribly as a result. And sure, maybe it would have been different if I’d been Gretl. Maybe something would have changed. Maybe…hey, I just realized that if you add an “a” after the “e” in Gretl and a “y” at the end, the word becomes “Greatly.” So okay, maybe things would have gone Greatly if I’d been Gretl. Maybe. But I bet they would have pretty much been the same. I did all right after all. I came out okay. And I’m sure you’ll do just fine, too. I promise. You will.

In any case, best of luck in whatever you choose to do next. I’m behind you 100 percent.

Yours truly,

Maya