Page 4 of Surviving the Break
My eyes skated toward his ankles, at the gap between the hem of his skinny jeans and his beat-up Converse. “We can get a few things tomorrow. I’ll make time.”
“It’s all right. Mom already ordered some stuff.”
“Okay.” I saved the pushing for the important stuff, like covering his medical costs. And besides, I didn’t want to get in the way of the progress his mother was making toward accepting and supporting him.
I pulled into The Center’s parking lot. “So just acne and a case of the talls?”
“Debbie irritates me more these days. I’m not sure if that’s a side effect of the testosterone or of her being eight.” He shrugged.
“It’s probably the latter.” I chuckled. “Is Debbie here?”
“Yeah, Mom dropped her off on her way to work. She’s helping Mr. Jack with the garden. It’s harvest day.” He unbuckled his seatbelt, and we exited the truck.
I jogged up the front steps, then snapped my fingers. “How could I forget? I have a surprise for you.” I hadn’t mentioned the dance class we were adding to The Center’s list of curriculars. I couldn’t wait to see his eyes light up.
“I figured. You were kind of adamant that I wait for you to pick me up today instead of coming in with Mom and Debbie.” His normally evasive smile blessed me with its presence. “So, what is it?”
I went up the last few planked steps and held the oversized oak door for him. “You’ll have to wait and see.”
Entering into the foyer, a circular reception desk sat to the right, the main office to the left, and the atrium with a wooden winding staircase directly ahead of us. For the most part, the inside resembled a school with its long white corridors lined with classrooms.
Pete ventured off to the gymnasium where a game of basketball was ensuing. “Everyone’s meeting upstairs in an hour,” I shouted before the gym door closed behind him.
Voices from the entryway brought me around. Justin and his friend Sam came through the door. Justin’s long ashen hair sat messily in a bun atop his head, and pushed back from his face as it was, my attention was drawn to his large green eyes.
“Holy shit, this place is amaze-balls!” Sam squealed. Justin shot me an apologetic look, but I waved him off. Sam was a breath of fresh air. Noticing the spiral staircase set off another round of idioms from her. She tucked her motorcycle helmet under her right arm and fluffed out her tightly coiled hair with the other.
“Damon’s picking up his best friend, Ash, from the airport. They’ll be here shortly,” Justin said.
Damon was Justin’s husband, whom I’d met, but this was the first I’d heard of Ash. I agreed to show Sam around in order to buy Damon some time.
“Shit! I almost forgot,” Sam said around her chewing gum. She handed her helmet to Justin so she could dig something out of her backpack. “I managed to sketch that drawing for you last night. For the tattoo you want.”
Sam was an artist. We’d spoken briefly about it last night, and I’d learned she often did work for one of the most popular parlors in Oregon. I took the sheet of carbon copy paper she held out. “Wow, I can’t believe you managed this in one night.” She’d created a replica of my granddad’s farm back in Kentucky. Complete with his rocking chair on the wraparound porch, the sun rising in the background. He’d loved sitting out there for both the rising and the setting of the sun.
“Eh, it was nothing.”
“It’s fantastic. Exactly what I had in mind.” The waitlist for the tattoo shop in Kisla was a mile long, I’d already inquired. I would potentially need to consider some other locations, as much as I didn’t want to.
Reading my mind, she said, “I may or may not have informed the owner to give me first dibs on any cancellations.” She popped a bubble. “And he may or may not have texted me only moments ago saying there was an opening for next weekend.”
Their policy was to give cancelled slots to the next person on the waitlist. So this was a big deal. Sam then agreed to accompany me.
Justin had already informed me of her interest to volunteer, so after giving her a tour of the place, I showed her to the art room and told her it could be hers.
I looked at my watch. The kids would be shown to the dance studio soon, and Damon and his friend were running late. We decided to get things started without them.
Holding the scissors out to Justin, I asked, “Wanna do the honors?”
He accepted with unabashed excitement, nearly fumbling them before cutting the ribbon. “This is perfect,” he said looking in from the doorway before removing his shoes and having us do the same. I’d had the walls repainted white, installed a chandelier to give the room a taste of grandeur, and added a few other requirements to make the space a success. Sam and I stood back wearing twin smiles as Justin eagerly examined the room, even positioning himself in a pose he called first arabesque along the mounted barre.
I stepped out of the way after he took note of the back wall that housed framed articles on his achievements and accolades received during his time at The Oregon Ballet House. He glided over, running a hand along the trim of the wooden frames. “The kids in my carpentry class worked all week on those,” I said, but he didn’t hear me, too shocked by the intimate photos on the bottom row. The ones provided by Damon. I hadn’t missed the number of times he’d peered over to the door since we’d entered the room, and I didn’t miss his look of longing now.
I remembered how that once felt. Walking through the world wrapped in the protection of knowing all it would take was one look in your corner to find that one someone who’d always be there. The person that pushed you to be better and to want more. But even stronger than the memory of flying while grounded was a sharper, more in-focus burning-of-the-lungs sensation. The feeling of losing it, of the ground beneath me quaking and the brick and mortar of my life tumbling down around me. It was a feeling I refused to shake because misplacing it, even for a second, meant it could happen again. Holding on to it was the only thing saving me, as much as the constant reminders killed me.
Noise from the hall brought my eyes around. The kids stood just outside the door, murmuring and vibrating with anticipation, waiting for an invitation in. I went over and instructed them to leave their shoes outside the door before ushering them through. “Justin, these are the kids who want to join your class.”
While they overwhelmed Justin with questions and demands, I searched for Pete, smiling when I spotted him standing in the back of the crowd. My smile faded when I followed his transfixed stare to Sam. She was too caught up giggling at the rambunctious kids to notice she had an admirer.
