"So, Bunny, how is this school year going for you?"
"It's been really busy, but I am managing to maintain my four point GPA, which should make you proud."
I hear my mother softly chuckle as my dad says, "You know how important grades are to me, and it shows that you care. Of course I'm proud."
"Thanks, Dad."
My mother clears her throat, and I eye her when she says to my father, "She's a dance major, honey. How hard can it be to have a four point?"
Clearly she had one too many cocktails in the library back home, because she is being more bold than usual. I tell myself to let it go so that this doesn't wind up in an argument.
My father doesn't say anything when she continues, "Sorry if that came out rude, but have you given any thought as to what you will do after graduation this spring? Have you applied to any graduate schools yet?"
"Graduate schools?" I ask as I shift my look to my dad and shake my head feeling like this choice of conversation was premeditated.
"Yes, well, your mother and I were concerned about your next step."
"You know I have always planned on dancing. That has never changed."
In a much softer voice, my mother says, "We were assuming that you would be taking a more serious outlook on your future. I mean, we have allowed you these past four years, hoping you would grow out of this little ballerina dream of yours." She says this as if I'm a child with foolish dreams, like when a little girl says she wants to be a fairy princess when she grows up.
I take my time to respond when my father speaks up. "Your mother's right, dear. It's time we start making some serious decisions. Although I have been fine with letting you direct these past four years, it's time to get on track and get focused."
I look at these two people sitting in front of me. My parents. The two people that should know me the best, love me, support me, and encourage me. But they don't know me at all. My stomach twists at the realization that they have never known me. Deep down, I've known this all along, but I guess I've been fooling myself to believe that I was wrong about them. How can they be so oblivious to who I am?
"I thought you guys knew what I wanted. This was never something I have wavered on." I begin to feel my eyes sting, but I refuse to cry. Although I'm aware that they disapprove of my choice of major, I never really thought they would try to step in and change my dreams.
"You can't seriously think that you can make a respectable career out of dancing, do you?"
"Yes, Mom. I do." I snap back.
"Your mother and I just want to help you avoid having regrets."
"About the only thing I regret was believing that you two supported me," I whisper harshly. "How can you do this?"
"Honey, look at yourself. Your choice of friends is a little concerning, you don't participate in any extracurricular activities, you don't have a steady boyfriend, you never call us or visit when we live only a few miles away. I look around and see the girls you graduated high school with and they are either getting married, furthering their education, starting their careers, and I just have to wonder what went wrong?"
"Nothing went wrong!" I say a little louder than I should have. Lowering my voice, I continue, "Is it so hard for you to believe in me? To trust that I am making the best decisions for myself? And as far as my friends go, at least they understand me and love me anyway."
"Bunny, we do love you."
"No. You may think you do, but you just want me to be someone I'm not. I've never been that person. How can you not see that?"
"Candace, calm down."
"No, Mother. What did you expect? That you and Dad could just trap me here and I would willingly let you step in and take control of my future? That's not going to happen. Thank you for paying my way through college, but we're done."
"Your mother and I are not going to stop supporting you, Candace. That's not what we are saying. But this idea of yours...it's just not realistic—"
My father is cut short when my mother interrupts. "I can't deal with you anymore. I simply cannot figure you out and why you can't be more responsible. Do you know how embarrassing it is for me when people ask me what my daughter is studying in college? The looks I get when I tell them you're a dance major, knowing you have no intentions on going to grad school and finally getting a respectable degree. And your attitude is just very unbecoming lately—"
She stops talking when I stand up and throw my napkin down on the table. "What's unbecoming is you, Mother. You are nothing but a self-centered woman who never even put her education to use. You married rich and frolic with all the other housewives, and you justify your lifestyle with your charities, but I see right through you." I look over at my father and quickly apologize for my abrupt departure before turning my back to them and walking out of the dining room.
The tears begin to fall as I feel another part of myself breaking, a part that I have held onto so tightly with hope, hope that my parents, behind all their shit, really loved me. But I just realized that to them, I am nothing more than a tarnished accessory.
I feel lost, like I'm floating around and there is nothing to grab onto to ground me. Today did not go as I thought it would. Sure, I often argue with my mother, but today was more than another fight. Today was my realization, a culmination of everything, finally clear and right in front of my face, staring into my eyes.
After I walked out on my parents, I drove back to the house and grabbed all of my belongings. There's nothing left for me to say, and there's nothing they could say to dull the pain that's shooting through my chest. I finally see that I'm a failure in my mother's eyes and a disappointment in my father's. So, I just left.
Pulling up to my empty house, I sit in my car for a little while and listen to the rain beating against my car. I close my eyes and lean my head back on the headrest. Everyone is probably having a great time, eating dinner, and visiting with family and friends, laughing. And here I am, alone, sitting in my car in the pouring rain. Pathetic.
I step out into the rain, pull my suitcase out of the trunk, and walk slowly to the front door not caring that I am getting soaked. It's dark and quiet when I walk inside. I drag myself to my room and head to the bathroom to shower.
When I am cleaned up and in my pajamas, I unpack my bag and hang up all of my new clothes. While I am sorting through my closet I hear my phone chime. I rush over to my bed to grab my cell when I see a text from a number I don't recognize. Swiping the screen to open the message, it reads:
Got your number from Mark. Wanted to see how your Thanksgiving went. –Ryan
I hold the phone in my hand, staring at the text for a minute before typing my response.
I think we managed to fall into the universal tradition of holiday drama. : )
That bad?
Kinda. Now I'm home with no food.
It takes a while for Ryan to text me back as I continue to hold my phone and stare at the screen. I have never considered Ryan one of my friends, more of just Mark or Jase's friend that I hang out with on occasion. But being able to sit here tonight, when I feel like crap, and text him, feels nice.