You in Five Acts(72)

“I can’t believe it’s almost over.”

We were lying on a blanket in Fort Tryon Park, looking out at the silhouette of the George Washington Bridge as the sky lit up neon behind it. You sighed and splayed on your back, stretching your arms and legs out like a kid making a snow angel. “I can’t even imagine what it’s gonna feel like, after. Can you?”

I shook my head. I really couldn’t picture it. In my mind, after the curtain call, everything just fell off a cliff into nothing, like a drawing that wasn’t finished. It was like I knew.

I ran my thumb from your chin up to your temple, drawing it across your hairline to the other side.

“You’ll go back to the doctor,” I said, leaning in to kiss you upside-down. “You’ll stay off that ankle. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

You smiled with your eyes closed. “I bet you would. The one-handed commuter clusterf*ck rides again.”

“I’m serious, though.” I lay next to you, propping myself up on an elbow. “You can’t play around.”

“I know that.” You rolled over and looked at me like Mr. T pitying his last fool. “I’m not playing. Which is why I’m still dancing.” Your eyes softened. “I just have to make it three more days. And then . .” You let the sentence trail off, knowing neither of us could finish it.

I know I always talked about luck and fate and not thinking about tomorrow, but of course that was bullshit. Everyone who talks that kind of game is just talking to keep the panic at bay. I mean, look, I knew I was good, but professional ballet was one of the most competitive fields in the world, and my heartwarming barrio-to-Balanchine story would only take me so far. Even if I got invited to apprentice for a company, I would be competing for a contract against guys with more than a decade of training, guys who lived and breathed ballet, who were also the best in their (much better) academies. If I didn’t get a paying dance gig soon—like end-of-summer soon—I’d be cutting keys at my uncle’s hardware store. That wouldn’t even get me my own place, let alone the cash to keep taking classes.

“You know what’s weird?” You shifted to rest your head on my chest. “Wanting something for so long you don’t even know if you could handle getting it.”

“What do you mean?” I murmured into your hair.

“Like, I’ve wanted to dance since before I even had memories,” you said. “I don’t know how to function without that being the driving force behind everything. If I actually made it, I honestly don’t know what I’d do.”

“Tough life,” I teased, and you swatted at me.

“Come on, don’t act like you don’t know. When people tell you you can’t do something, don’t you just live to prove them wrong?”

“Not really,” I said. “I don’t care what anybody thinks, I just want to get out. You know those people who want to go to Mars and never come back? That’s what this is, for me. A one-way ticket.”

“Huh.” You looked up at the sky for a minute. “You better let me visit.”

I kissed you again. “You’ll be there, too.”

“You really think we’ll end up in the same place?”

I leaned back. The sky was fading to purple, and I could even see a few stars through the haze. “Why not?” I said.

“What do you think the chances are of us getting into the same company?” you asked. “One in a thousand?”

“They can’t be that low.”

“You’d be surprised.” You sat up and turned to me, pulling your legs up against your chest. “We’ll have to go wherever there’s work. We don’t get to choose.” I flashed back to you in the lobby of your building, when you’d gotten your acceptance letter. The day we’d gone upstairs and—“It’s not funny,” you said softly, and I realized I was smiling.

“Sorry,” I said, trying to banish the impure thoughts. “I know. But we’ll see. I mean, there’s no point in future-tripping when we don’t even know what’s going to happen.”

“You’re not worried?” You raised an eyebrow. “Not even about me?”

“No,” I lied.

“OK, fine.” You draped your arms around my shoulders and nuzzled your face into my neck. I want to live here forever, I thought. I still do. “I still just want to fast-forward to Sunday morning,” you whispered as your lips brushed my ear. All the blood left my brain.

“Me too.” I smiled, pulling you down to the blanket. The world slowed.

I didn’t know yet there wouldn’t be a Sunday morning.





Chapter Twenty-Eight


    May 11

Two days left


“ARE YOU READY?” You rose up en pointe to brush my hair out of my eyes, and I instinctively grabbed your waist, lifting you to relieve the pressure on your ankle.

“It’s OK, I’m on my left,” you said, taking my hands away and lowering back down. “Besides, only forty-eight hours. Then it can fall off.” You were trying to keep it light but I could see you grimacing in pain; you always looked so mad when you got nervous. You glanced out at the stage, where Mr. Dyshlenko and Ms. Adair were still arguing over one of the set pieces, a cardboard cactus that looked a little too . . . anatomical from some angles.