Page 84 of All the Promises We Break

Jill pulls her colorful shawl tighter around her long, lean frame before she opens the door for me. The sunlight through the windows highlights every color in her pixie-style hair. It’s a beautiful combination of golds, chestnuts, ambers, and scarlets. She slides the glasses from her eyes to the top of her head.

“I want to start by saying how impressed I am with your poise and passion. I wish I’d been able to do what you’re doing at your age. I think after I heard you speak today, that’s the part that took hold for me, besides your compliments. Now, let me take a guess at what Elise was saying. Choose or she’ll choose for you? Am I close?”

I start picking at my thumbnail and look down toward the pain in my left shoe. “You’re spot-on. I spent years trying to defend the kind of dancing I wanted to do. Now I’m defending wanting to dance and do more. I want to give back to the community I love so much. That shouldn’t be a bad thing or a dirty combination of words. I didn’t know I wanted more until I wanted more.”

“Of course you didn’t. You’re so young. How could you? You didn’t know all of what was possible, still is possible.”

“The life of a dancer is so short. If I don’t take a position at a company now, it won’t be there for me later. But I’m learning quicker than anything, be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.”

“I understand, more than you know. Dylan, I was given a crossroad like yours many, many years ago; more than I’m willing to admit to. I decided I wanted to rehearse twelve hours a day, fight for every lead, and be the best in the world. I won’t say I regret it, because I don’t. However, I do wonder if I’d be morecontent with a partner, family, or time to create something of my own.”

“I do want to be the best, but whose best? Mine? My family’s?”

“That’s something only your heart can decide. Just know you have options. Dylan, I’m following through with my commitment to run auditions for the new season next week, but once that’s over, I’ve submitted my resignation. That crossroad has reentered my life and I’m going to take it. I’d like to make you an offer to come along with me. I don’t have all the details and I can’t guarantee our viability. What I can guarantee is that you can still do work like this and dance as little or as much as you desire.”

Did my ears hear that right? Is she really giving me another option?

“I… I don’t know what to say. I’m speechless.”

“I’ve watched your video submissions over and over. What you said today solidified my gut feeling. Think about it. Talk it over with your husband. There is no wrong answer. Whatever your heart says is right.” Jill lays her hand on my shoulder. “Ice that foot tonight.”

As she walks away, I read her business card over and over. Where is my wingman when I need him? Either I’m in a flat spin heading out to sea, or I just regained control for the first time.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Dylan

My ability to compartmentalize is my greatest asset today. Even though my stomach and emotions are on a roller-coaster ride, I’m able to greet and thank every last attendee. When it’s down to myself, Eli, and the staff, I take off my shoes and jacket to help tear down and do preliminary counts of the funds raised today.

We did better than I thought we would. I know I’ll have dozens of emails to coordinate and respond to by Monday. With each passing moment of downtime, my anxiety is ramping up. Eli doesn’t know what happened with Elise or what Jill said. I’m not ready to talk about it yet either. The only way I know how to get rid of this feeling is to dance it out.

Holding everything in until rehearsal is both a blessing and a curse. I was in denial mode, which I hate, but the blessing is the emotion I can pound into the floor.

Eli kisses me before returning to the office. I’m left alone in the auditorium where I’ve been on stage so many times I’ve lost count. I’d sneak in here and operate the sound system myself to work out issues in my routines in a bigger format. I go backand forth between obsessing over my audition piece; having to change or even bothering with it at all.

There are no strings with Jill, but no guarantees either. Will I have to bow to Elise the whole time if I go through and get hired, as I’d most likely be? That company has been my dream for nearly a decade. How can I just let it go? I need to stop my brain from this intense spin and bring it back to the basics. My heart. My feet.

Two years ago, I choreographed a piece that I’ve never shown anyone. It’s dark but full of hope. It’s how I feel inside when I dance. It’s how I feel right now.

I put the song on repeat while I’m changing. The acoustic tile in the auditorium gives the strings of the guitar an echo I don’t usually get when I’m in a smaller studio. The lights around me have mostly been turned off so there’s more shadow than clarity. Center stage is calling me midway through the second run of the music.

There have been many versions of “Hallelujah” over the years I found out as I was choosing the right artist to represent my interpretation the best. When I found Jeff Buckley’s live version, I knew it was the one. I could start in the middle, but I feel different today. The choreography I’ve been living with just doesn’t seem fitting.

I pace in a circle around the middle of the hardwoods. Every once in a while, I take notice of something out of the corner of my eye. First, it’s the tables without linens. They’re naked, like my emotions. The chairs stacked on dollies near the doors like towers, or in my case a problem, not easily leaped or solved. One lone rose left on the floor in the middle of this big empty room, like me.

I’ve always seen this routine as one of triumph. Today its meaning is different. It’s about a battle that can leave you broken. I feel a tremor begin inside me. At first, I could only feelit in the tension of my muscles. I reach up around my neck to slide the loop over the last button and I can’t seem to make it work.

Everything feels tight. My muscles. My chest. My hair. I know I promised Eli he could take it down, but I have the oddest sensation of it choking me. With every pin I pull, I exhale a little more until my hair opens around my shoulders. There’s a silence between the end and restart. I can hear the shallowness in my breathing as I slide my fingers into my hair to break it wild and free.

My breath mixing with the breath Jeff Buckley adds to the beginning. The tempo is created from it. Each of the first four notes are plucked one by one. I pull my hands from my hair and stretch my arms out in front of me. They pull away from the olive tones of my slightly cropped dance top and hold shakily outstretched.

I have to incorporate the feeling from this moment, or I won’t move. I slide them down the flowing front of my long, layered, olive and cream knee-length skirt. As they reach the hip, I angrily take hold of the fabric and slap it back toward my skin.

The chords vibrate through me. With each one I take a pacing step toward the front of the stage. The last comes just before my next one would lead me over the edge. The lyrics reel me back from the precipice. I backpedal quickly into the middle of the stage and reach for the sky with my hand, outstretched fingers shaking to the heavens.

I pull my own hand back down to cover my beating heart. It settles for a moment before becoming an angry fist. I push my fists through the air toward the floor with each body-rolled leap to my left, each one representing a choice: decline the audition and stay with AnSa, audition and leave AnSa, audition and tell Elise to fuck off and run for Jill’s offer.

Each break of a new chord requests that I contort to the right, then the left, then back, as if I am a puppet on a string. My right leg rises, pulling my knee toward my chest. I flex my foot and slam it to the floor as a declaration of wanting to break the hold. As I rebound in the air, my body spins in two circles before landing in a plie and freezing.

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