It is done.

Friday.

4:00 PM
Show day, we start the way we began—with class, Christal teaching, running it in the Ashé space. During leg-swings, Christal has us count down, yelling out the number of the swing we’re on—the sound echos off the walls, and the women working peek their head into the space to watch.

5:00 PM
We run the piece, full-out, in dress.

8:00 PM
We run the show.
9:00 PM
Afterwards, sweaty and panting, we meet the audience. They come from all walks, from a couple of women we taught yesterday, to the ballet teacher from Tulane. Wendell Pierce, also known as The Bunk from The Wire and currently the lead of Tremé, also is in attendance—as is Jordan Flaherty, the author of Floodlines, a book we were assigned and mostly read before we came. Dane introduces us to his family.
And slowly, we catch our breath. The audience winds out, slowly, leaving in ones and laughing, talking twos. The boys go out to smoke, the girls pack up their costumes, and the adrenaline and sweat and exhaustion slowly seep away. Five months of work, 45 minutes of dance, four pieces, three performances and outside, the New Orleans air is cool and quiet as we leave, bundling into cars and vans, street-clothes on and costumes packed, going on our way back home.