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“I feel like a giant asshole for doing this," she laments. "I know that it sucks on your end, but I want you to keep going.”
“Don’t feel like an asshole," I assure her. "We knew this move was happening.”
She reaches over to grab a scoop of my hash browns instead of responding.
“Maybe it’s time for me, too, Tara. Maybe this has just run its course. Look at what happened last year.” Our last competition was a year ago, and it was a mess.
“Maybe this move will be good for both of us, then. Maybe what you’re feeling isn’t you, it’s me.” She looks down at her empty mug, twirling it back and forth. “I haven’t been giving it my all lately.”
“Neither have I.”
Tara’s got a plan; she’s getting out of this now. She gets to start a new life, but in the process, she’s leaving her old one behind.
“Maybe I need a new life, too,” I argue.
“No, you don’t.” She shakes her head.
“I don’t know,” I shrug. “I’m just feeling disconnected with it, I guess.”
We’ve fostered a wonderful, thriving community here. We’ve made friends, taught a large number of classes. But it just hasn’t been as fulfilling lately. It stopped being fulfilling a couple ofcompetitions ago. And it was clear after the last one that I was done.
Tara watches me as she chews, a concerned look in her eyes.
“I’m alright,” I tell her. I just need a nap and a day to reset. I finish up my coffee. “Give me a couple of days. I’ll get over my shit.”
“I don’t need you to get over your shit.”
I look at the time, now well past two in the morning. “I think I need to sleep now.”
“Same.” She sits up straight and lifts her coffee cup. “Here’s to the next twelve weeks.”
I tap it with mine. “Let’s go out with a bang.”
What am I going to do? What is my plan? I never thought too much about it, but lately it’s all I’ve been privy to. I’ve been doing this for twenty years. When I discovered professional dance, it saved me. But lately, so much of it has felt like drowning. Like taking step after step to nowhere. What else is there after this? And what happens when it doesn’t give me the same feeling it did when I was a kid? Or when I was on top of the world? What happens if it doesn’t fill my cup like it did? What then?
“Hey.” She breaks me out of my thoughts. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”
But this time I’m wondering if I really will. I don’t tell Tara any of this though. I just hug her goodbye and head home to my bed.
When I get home, my older brother Gavin is sprawled on the couch, remote in hand, flipping through Netflix, watching absolutely nothing.
“What are you still doing up?” I ask.
There’s a box of pizza on the coffee table, the pie mostly eaten. A bunch of empty Dr. Pepper cans are littered around it.
“And what the hell happened here while I was away?” I look around, inspecting the mess.
“Got laid off,” he answers.
“What?” I must not have heard that correctly.
“I got laid off,” he says a little louder, a bit firmer.
“Shit, for real?”
“Yep.” More remote clicking.
“Why?”
