Page 85 of All the Promises We Break

The lyrics speaking of love are echoing in my ears as I reach toward the wing of the stage. That’s where my wing usually is. Eli. I want him to help me, but I know he can’t. I know he shouldn’t. However, I’m still reaching out, hoping he will be there to love me, guide me, and ground me, no matter what my next step looks like.

I pretend he’s with me. He’s dancing as my partner. I close my eyes and I can feel his hand holding my leg in an arabesque. Then as I spin a leap through the air, I can feel his hands tight at my waist, guiding me safely back to the floor and my center. As quickly as I feel him, he disappears.

The lyrics now speak of feeling cold and broken. I feel that in my soul. It’s the ultimate dark space that people fear. I inhabit it often in my choreography. Even in freestyle today, it’s no different. My body collapses to the floor on my side. My arm feels like I’m holding off a boulder that’s weighing me down.

I shake my fists over my head. They ride with me, parallel to the floor, as my flexed feet take over trying to move the boulder. I feel like I’m making choices, but nothing is changing the outcome. I start to feel caged, claustrophobic.

Just as quickly as I feel suffocated, I feel my chest rise toward the ceiling. The hallelujahs are followed with what feels like a parting sky in my head. I roll over to all fours and pull up to my feet from my toes. A new freedom builds with seemingly unending pirouettes, until I break at the waist and point my toe to the sky.

With the last chord still ringing through the auditorium, I begin to turn with my arms outstretched through my fingertips, until I stop with my face raised to the light overhead.

The song begins again soft and low. One sound, however, arches above it all, a voice. “Does everyone know how impressive you are?”

My chin lowers and my arms pull toward my body. The soles of dress shoes move—heel toe, heel toe—from the shadows off the stage down to my left. The image of a man in a black suit with a red patterned tie gives way to a voice I’ve known forever. My father.

I quickly run over to turn off the music. “Dad? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

He puts his hand up. “Yes, sweetheart. Everything’s just fine. I’ve been here since dessert. I stayed hidden in the back.”

“Dessert?” I question. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’ll answer all your questions if you answer mine first.” He pats the front of the stage. “Come sit down by me.” I pad over slowly, my skirt floating in the air until I kneel by him. He’s usually so much taller than me but with the stage, on my knees, we’re at eye level. “Does everyone know how impressive you are?”

“Did you see me? All of what I just did?”

“Dylan, I was here for your speech. I was here watching you work the room. I nearly snuck out because I thought you weren’t coming back, and then I was captivated by the charcoal drawings of the ballet dancer. They’re quite stunning.”

“Yes. They are.”

“I heard the music begin then I saw you. Is this what I’ve missed all this time?”

“I mean, yeah. The dance I just did was contemporary. That’s what I chose over ballet.”

“Did you choreograph it yourself?”

“What you saw wasn’t the original steps. I just made that up on the spot. It’s how I do things sometimes.”

“Made that up? My God. Sweetheart, I’m a fool. A damn fool.” He rests his right hand across my knees and cups my chin with his left. “Can you ever forgive me?”

“I did the day you accepted Eli, Daddy.” I hold my hand over his. The warmth from his palm isn’t just from his body temperature. He’s giving me back a part of himself I thought I wouldn’t see again. “You really liked what I did?”

“It made me feel something, Dylan. Like the artwork that lines these walls. I felt an ache in your heart then it was like you set it free.”

I fold my hands with his in my lap. “You’re not far off. My heart is hurting. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know it’s not, Elijah. I watched the two of you. He both worships and respects you.”

“I can’t take this to him. I know what he’ll say. He’ll tell me to do whatever makes me happy. He’ll say, ‘I support you, no matter what.’ I need something different than that.”

His hands lightly squeeze over mine. “I’ll listen if you want to talk to me. You know I’m not afraid to tell you what I think.”

I smile. “Oh, I’m well aware of that.” I take a deep breath as I look at all the lines and wrinkles in his hands. These hands have dwarfed mine my whole life. I’ve always felt like sometimes they were sucking away my power. Now, I feel like I can draw strength or clarity from them. “It’s so screwed-up and complicated.”

“I’m sure I can keep up.”

Maybe this was the leap I was expecting standing at the front of the stage in my dance. “I have my big audition next week. There’s a woman on the board of AnSa who will also be on my judging panel.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” he asks.

---