"Kimber, you have to get it ordered today. It's the last day."
"Come with me," she begs in a whiney voice.
Taking a sip of my drink I say, "Too late, I just did it."
"Jase?" she says in a singsong voice, but her face drops when he tells her, "Sorry, I went with Candace."
"You guys are hookers! Why didn't you call me?"
"Because you were in class," Jase tells her while I laugh. She's going to be one pissed off chick when she has to stand in that line alone.
"Well, stand with me anyway."
"I can't. I have rehearsals in an hour. I have to run home 'cause I forgot my dance bag."
"You guys are really sucky friends, you know?"
"What are you doing tonight?" Jase asks Kimber.
"Aside from standing in that long ass line, nothing. Why?"
"Come out with Mark and I."
"Drinking?"
"When do they ever not drink?" I butt in.
"Then I'm in! I'll call you when I can find my way out of this fuckin' crazy ass vortex," she complains as she stands up.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"To go get my cap and gown. Alone."
Jase and I laugh at her when she walks off.
"Well, I better run too. I gotta get to the studio."
"Okay, well I know tomorrow will be busy for you, but if we don't talk before then, I want to wish you luck now, sweetie. I am so proud of you, and we will be there to watch you."
"Thanks, Jase. Love you."
"You too."
"How have you been dealing with the blame?" Dr. Christman asks after I sit down on the couch.
"I don't know. I guess I still feel responsible in a way. I can't get past how my actions led to his actions. I know his actions were wrong, but I still feel responsible for leading him there."
"You can't hold your past responsible for your future."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"You can't hold the past Candace responsible for the future Candace. You're holding your future self responsible for something your past self didn't know anything about. You can't judge your past behavior because of the way things turned out. You had no way of knowing what would happen next. It's only because you do know that you judge your past self."
"I struggle with that. I get what you're saying, but I can't seem to see past all the poor choices I made."
"Well, we will continue to work on that. For now, let's transition and talk a little about tonight. How are you feeling?"
"I feel good. I feel like everything you and I have done has really helped me finally connect to this piece the way I always should have. I used to use Ryan's pain to draw on, but I feel strong enough now to pull from my own."
"That's wonderful."
"I just have to remind myself that it's all right to feel it. It's just a feeling and it will go away, and I will still be okay."
"And the more you can deal with these emotions in a rational manner, the more your sleeping should start to improve. The goal is still to wean you off of the pills." She flips the page of her notepad and continues taking notes.
"I know. I'm just scared."
"But you just said that your emotions will come back down and you will be okay."
"The day stuff seems so much easier than the nightmares. They are so real to me." I don't have the vivid nightmares when I take my pills, but even on the pills my sleep is still restless and filled with night terrors. I'm terrified that if I stop taking them, the bad dreams will start up again.
Crossing her legs, she asks, "So, tell me, what do you think is causing your restless sleep?"
"At this point, it's a lot of things. I still feel like I'm mourning the loss of Ryan. I miss him. A lot. I miss what we had. I wonder what he's doing now. If he's seeing anyone. If he ever thinks about me. I know I shouldn't, but I do."
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "There is no right or wrong way. These thoughts are completely normal. Do you feel like you need more closure?"
"I don't know." I feel a lump form in my throat, and my eyes prick and sting with tears. "It's weird because he lives a few minutes down the street from me, but it feels like he's a world away."
"I want you to think about what you might need to bring you more peace over this situation."
"Okay."
I look at myself in the mirror. I have finished dancing my ensembles and am applying the last of my makeup before I take the stage for my solo. Adding a few extra bobby pins to my bun, I stand up and make my way backstage. I focus on keeping my muscles warm as I wait for my call.
I feel nervous, as I always do, but I know the nerves will fade as soon as I hit the stage. When the curtain drops, the dancers clear the stage, and I walk to center stage and place myself in fifth position. My heart is pounding, and I'm anxious for the curtain to rise. I know I've worked my ass off for this moment, now I just need to nail it.
The heavy velvet curtain begins to rise as I hear my music start. The heat of the lights sinks into my skin, as I feel the weight of everything I have been working so hard for in the tension of my muscles. Sliding into my chainès across the stage, the music is loud and it fills the auditorium. When I feel the vibrations of the low cello in my chest, I let myself fall into the tortured piece. The music pulses throughout my body while I take myself to my dark places as I begin my footwork across the stage. I know every seat is filled, but right now, it's just me in this room as I glide effortlessly, always leading with my heel to show off my perfect turnout.
Everything about this year floods through me. I no longer need to take from anyone else; I only take my pain, my brokenness, my suffering. It pours out of me. Everything Jack did to me, and all the torment of losing Ryan. I let my heart bleed as I move through my piece. I throw it all out there and finally allow myself to truly experience this piece—I finally feel it.
When the staccato violins enter the piece, I hit my fouettès one by one with a double pirouette on every second and sixth count. The applause rises as I finish and slide out. The spots are sharp on my piquès and I know I've nailed the routine when the music hits its second high then drifts away.
The crowd is almost as deafening as the music was. I stand and pas marchè to center stage. With a strong port a bras, I take the final curtsey of my college career. Ms. Emerson catches my eye as she walks onto the stage, looking as stoic as ever, and hands me a bouquet of long-stemmed pink roses. I thank her, and I can barely hear her over the applause when she says, "I knew you could do it," and then steps aside, giving me a reverence, and I curtsey one last time before the curtain drops.
I stand there for a moment while dancers for the next ensemble run and rush all over the stage and around me. I soak in the moment and then walk off stage, back to the dressing room. I'm overcome by the congratulations from my fellow dancers and friends.
When the show ends, I wash my face and change into my old yoga pants and UW sweatshirt. I tie my running shoes and throw my bag over my shoulder as I make my way out of the building. Everyone is coming over to the house tonight for drinks to celebrate. Nothing big, just hanging out as we usually do. When I turn the corner, I have to do a double take when I see Donna standing there against the wall.