Page 89 of All the Promises We Break

The auditions today are at a theater I’ve been to a thousand times before. These walls host the opera, touring artists, many an off-Broadway play, and maybe after today my wife. The grand foyer opens five floors to the sky overhead. The sun is trying itsbest to shine rays of hope over everyone who is auditioning and for those waiting for them.

Dylan checks in as I pace beside a giant column near a wall of doors. Behind this wall of doors is the next step in Dylan’s life. Now I’m not sure who’s the nervous one, me or her.

“All right, I’m all checked in. They’re running on time.”

“Okay, what do we do? How can I help?”

“You can’t. This is something I have to do alone. Don’t worry. I’m ready.”

My index finger and thumb gently guide her chin up to bring those glossed lips to mine. The soft warmth of her is enough to soothe any man. I’m always proud to be that man, but this kiss has a resolve to it. The nerves I saw before are gone. Dylan looks nearly as focused and determined as I’ve seen her. “You are ready.”

“They have a warm-up room around the corner. This is where I leave you. When I’m done, I’ll come out those doors and want nothing more than to have your arms waiting for me.”

My fingers smooth back a stray hair into her bun. “They will be. You know what you want and what you have to do. I’m proud of you. I love you, Viper.”

She dives into my arms, burying her face in my neck. I can feel her toes graze across my shoe tops. My hands wrap her in and hold her tight before she slides down my body back to the floor. “I love you too, Eli. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Dylan walks away into a beam of light until she rounds the corner out of my sight. I look down at my watch, the one she gave me. It’s five minutes after two. The next forty minutes are going to try every bit of patience I have.

Dylan

My body is warm. My mind is clear, crystal clear.

I stand in the middle of a side hallway, bouncing from left to right. My eyes are closed with my hands folded under my chin. I’m tuning out every noise around me, other than my breathing.You can do this. You can do this. This is what you want.

When they call my name, I’m ready.

The back of the house manager ushers me in through the side door. I can see the lights of the stage before me through layers and layers of heavy black velvet drapes. I run the pad of my finger across the top of my wedding rings over and over again. When I hit center stage it’s the first time I looked up from the security of the floor to greet my judging panel.

The panel of four is just inside the ring of light so I can see their faces. Jill is on the far left. She greets me with a warm smile. The two gentlemen in the middle are well known to me. One is a former instructor at NYU and the other is a world-renowned choreographer. I’ve watched his routines and studied them up and down. He's a genius. This is a scary honor for me.

Last, but not least, is Elise. She gives me her most insincere smile with her best wicked witch impression. “We meet again, Dylan. How nice. Are you ready?”

She has no idea how ready I am.

“Yes. They have my music.”

The next ninety seconds means everything.

Elijah

Dylan wouldn’t let me see her piece after her mentor told her it needed work. I guess it became more personal and she wasn’t ready to share. I get that. I feel the same way when I end up back at the drawing board.

I’m pacing the marble like an expectant father. I want to be in the room with her, but I can’t. I want to hold her hand, have her see my face. My watch says two thirty-one. I wonder if I can get inside the auditorium.

Rerouting my new nervous habit, I guide it toward the wall of doors. Each handle could be my key to witnessing this moment with her. The first handle I press won’t budge. The second is the same as the third. Nothing. I promise myself if the next one doesn’t contain the magic password, it will end here, and I’ll do what I’m good at everywhere else but with her, be patient.

I rest my thumb on the handle and press down. The double click means success. One last glance to see if I’ll be caught red-handed. Nope. I slide in the door, closing it as quietly as I used to when I would sneak in at home past curfew as a teen.

The music is the first thing that hits me before I turn around. It’s not the music Dylan had been practicing with for nearly four months. When I do turn, I’m assured it’s her in all her beautiful glory. She’s in the green she came home in last Friday. She’s pulled her hair out and it’s wild and free.

I’m reminded of the first time I saw her on stage, with all the other dancers around her, and how she seemed to call to them and lift her up both physically and mentally. That same emotion is right there but when I see Dylan dancing to “Hallelujah,” she’slifting herself up and offering her entire soul. I’ve always felt the angelic ethereal nature of her being. This is more.

Her body whips, glides, contorts, bends, twirls, leaps, and reaches for the heavens at the end. I only know of one other time her mere presence has brought me to tears, which was the first look on our wedding day. I stay in the darkness. If she sees me this fire she has might wither. I’ll be damned if I take that from her.

Dylan slowly lowers her arms, bringing herself back from the magical place she goes when she dances. Her chin falls to meet the judges’ eyes. “Thank you,” she says.

I hear a smattering of thank-yous from the panel. One voice in particular is familiar to me. Once I see the pencil go up starting to twist and tap at their cheek, I know instantly Elise is here, and this is no ordinary panel. This was a setup by her design.

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