I didn’t know if I’d get the part. But for the first time, I realized: I wasn’t auditioning to fit their stage anymore.
I didn’t do what I used to do. I didn’t try to make myself smaller. I didn’t suck in my stomach or hold my arms tight to hide the softness underneath. I breathed out, let my shoulders drop, and began . curvy girl auditions 7
I stood up. My thighs brushed together—a whisper of fabric and warmth. I didn’t apologize for it. Not anymore. I didn’t know if I’d get the part
Not what’s your number . Not thank you, next . She wanted my name. I didn’t try to make myself smaller
I was auditioning to see if their stage was big enough for me.
I walked to center floor. The pianist played the first four bars of something slow, something aching—a ballad about wanting and not quite belonging.