Fading (6 page)

"You know I don't do well with this stuff. I never make it to date number two and now this guy says he misses me." I feel my heartbeat start to quicken and, yes, that is definitely panic I am feeling. I don't deal with intimate relationships well at all. In fact, I'm pretty closed off emotionally with guys. I've never had any closeness with my parents, then the one guy I thought at least liked me in high school turned out to be just another asshole. I feel like I'm emotionally moronic.

I look up to see that Roxy is laughing at me. "It's not funny!"

"It actually is a little bit," she says. "Relax, don't respond. He probably won't even notice. Guys are stupid anyway."

I hope she's right. I hope he isn't sitting there waiting for me to text him back to say that I miss him too. I don't like opening myself up like that.

The next day, Kimber and I get ready for the cookout. I'm in the kitchen preparing the burgers for the grill, and Kimber is chopping up veggies for a salad. Jase has never bothered to introduce us to any guys in the past, so I know he must really like Mark. I don't know much about him aside from the fact that he plays guitar for a local band.

"Hey, Kim, has Jase ever talked to you about Mark before?" I ask as I pound out another hamburger patty.

"Not much. He was pretty pissed off at himself when they broke up, so I figured he had really cared for him but didn't realize it until they split." Kimber slides the salad in the fridge then opens a bag of chips to pour in a bowl.

"Hmm..."

"What?" Sheeyes me as she pops a chip in her mouth.

I walk to the sink to wash my hands. "Nothing." I shake my head. "Just curious."

"We're here," Jase calls out.

I walk into the living room and give him a hug.

"Mark, this is Candace," Jase says as I pull away.

I turn to Mark, "Hey! It's great to meet you. Come on in. We're in the kitchen getting the food ready," I say as I start walking towards the kitchen.

"Hey, Jase," Kimber says with a mouth full of chips.

Jase looks at Mark then back at Kimber. "And this crazy girl is Kimber."

"Nice you meet you guys," Mark says with a grin.

Mark is good looking with an athletic build similar to Jase's. He has dark brown hair and striking green eyes.

"Will one of you start the grill?" Kimber asks the guys.

"Yeah, I can do that," Mark says, and Kimber leads him out back.

Jase and I grab the food and head out behind them. We are lucky to have a large backyard with a nice patio that is covered with a pretty white pergola. We have a table that seats six and off to the side, several chairs that circle around a fire pit. There is a small bar area with a built in grill that we only used when there were guys over to start it up.

Most students our age live in smaller houses or apartments, but Kimber's parents own this house. They bought it when they were having the house built that they live in now.

"This is a nice place you have," Mark says.

Kimber flops down in a chair. "I suppose," she says with a sigh.

I roll my eyes at her and look at Mark, "Please, just ignore her dramatics."

Kimber looks at me and laughs.

"Hey Jase, will you run inside and grab the case of beer that's in the fridge and bring it out? There's a cooler next to the door that already has ice in it," I say.

"Sure," he says and he walks inside the house.

I walk over to Mark who is standing next to the grill and hand him the plate of burgers. "So, Mark, are you in college too?" I ask

He grabs the plate from me and starts placing each patty on the grill. "Yeah, I'll be graduating after this year." He closes the lid and we both sit down as Jase walks over and hands us all beers.

"Same here," I say. "What are you studying?"

Mark takes a swig of his beer, "Same as Jase: Architecture." Looking over at Jase, he adds, "That's how we know each other."

We continue getting to know Mark and having good conversation. I really like him and we corner off for the majority of the night, talking and laughing, while Kimber and Jase drink and talk about who knows what. It's nice to have a relaxing evening with friends.

After cleaning up, it was starting to get late, and we decide to call it a night. I have an early class in the morning, so I need to hit the sack.

"It was so good to meet you, Mark," I say as I walk him to the front door.

"Same here," he responds.

I lean over and give him a hug, "You're welcome anytime, and you don't need Jase with you to stop by."
"Thanks," he says.

Kimber and I say our good-byes to the boys and they head out. Walking to their car, Mark holds Jase's hand and leans in to kiss him on the neck. When I close the door, I look at Kimber. "I love seeing Jase like that," I say.

"Like what?" she asks.

"Happy and comfortable," I say as I lean against the door.

Smiling at me, Kimber says, "Me too. He told me about his trip home."

"Sucks, huh?" I say as I push myself off the door and start walking towards the back of the house to our rooms.

"Yeah," she says and she follows me. "I love you, Candace."

I turn to her, surprised by the affection behind her words.

"I know I tease you a lot, but I just wanted to say it so you know," she says.

"I love you too, Kim," I say as I wrap my arms around her tightly. Kim and Jase are like family to me. They both love me and support me the way family should.

We pull apart and head to our separate rooms.

"Good night," I say.

"Night, hooker."

I shake my head and laugh as I close the door behind me.

So far my classes have been uneventful. It's the first week, so I don't expect much until at least next week. I just left my Methodologies class and I'm on my way to the studio for my Ballet Technique class. When I walk through the double doors, I am greeted by a few of the girls.

The dance program here at the University of Washington isn't huge. You're in classes with the same people every quarter. I've been with these girls for three years, and even though we all see each other every day, I don't hang out with any of them outside of classes and studio. Everyone is pretty competitive, so I prefer to keep it strictly professional and not mingle outside of school.

This year will be exceptionally competitive because of our senior capstone, which is a self-choreographed solo. Only two solos will be selected to perform during the final production at the end of the year. It's an important performance for graduating seniors because there will be lots of agencies in attendance. Getting a solo can mean having a job after graduation.

Everyone is scattered around the studio, taping up their toes, banging new pointes on the floor to break in the box, stretching, and a few are even quietly chatting. I keep to myself and start taping my toes. The past three years that I've spent here have been good. I tend to get lead placements in dances, standout solos, and duets with the male dancers. We combine with the guys on Tuesdays and Thursdays for an extra hour on top of our normal two-hour class.

I look up and see Andrea Emerson walk in. She's our instructor for all technique classes, and she is hardcore. She has no patience for inconsistency and expects perfection. She's tough, but she's the best. I feel a little nervous upon seeing her, even though I put in studio time at least three days a week over the summer. If you are off your game, she will let you and everyone else know it.

Ms. Emerson is a seasoned dancer who has made a decent name for herself throughout her career. Although she is in her fifties, she can still dance like the pros. She has an intimidating look about her. She always wears her long blonde hair up in a tight bun with a black leotard, white tights, and a sheer black wrap skirt. She always has a stoic look, and in three years, I have yet to see her break a smile.

She claps her hands twice, and everybody goes in search for their place on the barre. We all look the same with our hair secured in buns on the tops of our heads, black leotards, white tights, and our pale pink pointes. The classical music of a piano comes through the speakers and fills the room. I place my left hand softly on the barre and wait for the signal to begin our exercises.

The routine never changes. I've been doing these exercises since I was eleven and was in my very first ballet class. It was my mother who first signed me up for ballet. She never imagined that I would want to make a career out of it, but I have always loved dance. The freedom you can find within the strict boundaries of technique makes me feel alive. I am happiest when I am dancing.

I work gracefully through the ninety-minute routine, and when we come to an end, Ms. Emerson calls for us to gather in the front of the room. She begins to talk about our solos for the year.

"Things will be different this year. Instead of you choosing your piece of music, you will be drawing it out of this basket. There is a different piece on each CD. You will randomly choose your CD and that will be the song that you will use to choreograph your final routine. Don't forget ladies, this could be the beginning of your career, and for some of you, the end," she says.

I slowly make my way up to the large, weathered black wicker basket. I look down at the pile of discs that have the potential to launch me forward or drown me. Picking the wrong song could be disastrous. I close my eyes and pull out a CD, all the while praying to the dance gods to bless me with the perfect piece of music. I stare at the blank disc as I make my way over to my dance bag that is lying on the floor. I sit down, shove it in my bag, and start to remove my pointes.

I walk out in the warm August afternoon and slide into my white Infinity coupe, setting my bag on the passenger seat. I take out the disc and push it into the CD player, turn up the volume, and hit play. I close my eyes as I wait for the music to start. I can barely hear the strings of a violin at first. They slowly and quietly begin to build with the low, deep hum of a cello followed by a dark, melodic piano. I recognize the piece as Clint Mansell's 'Lux Aeterna'.

This is an extremely dark piece of music. My stomach hollows and I feel anxious. I have never danced to, yet alone choreographed, anything this dark. I was hoping for something feminine and delicate, not this. All I can picture is Natalie Portman's psychotic character in 'Black Swan' as she bleeds out on stage. When the song comes to an end, I turn off the stereo and drive home in welcome silence.

I don't want to think about what I just heard. Instead, I try to focus on clothes.
Yes, clothes. Think about clothes, Candace.
Sorting through my
closet in my head, I try to think about what I'm going to wear to the party tonight. It doesn't take long for my mind to fill with dread when I think about being honest with Jack and letting him know that I'm not looking for anything with him. And based on the music I just heard, my year is fucked. I am going to be living and breathing dance if I'm expected to choreograph a masterpiece to that song.