I wasn't upset by it since I didn't have any time to prepare a routine. I came to the realization during one of the landings, after feeling my knee start to give, that I have to let this part of my life go. It was fun while it lasted, but it's really what started my descent into the booze and drugs.
I wasn't sure what I would do with the rest of my life until I saw those kids audition.
They were wonderful.
The two of them melded with each other and the music-- seamlessly.
They did the moves with perfection. Each step they took, each spin, leap and lift, done as one body, one soul. A fluid creation of muscle, desire and passion.
I looked over to Juliet.
In her face I saw exactly what I felt.
A mixture of pride and regret. Pride that we helped these two kids reach their dreams and the regret that we are no longer of able to hear the applause that they'll soon be receiving.
We were also recalling the first times we'd made a dance company.
It was like I was king of the world. I thought I would be the featured soloist right off the bat. It took me two years to get out of the chorus and into a featured solo.
I didn't care. I was just glad to be a part of it. Just glad to be doing my art.
Then I pissed it away.
I hope they won't.
I hope the business doesn't eat them alive and spit them out. That each morning when they get out of bed they won't have to grit their teeth in pain from the injuries that come from being careless. That they'll be a few of the lucky ones that last longer than a few years.
I hope they survive.
After the audition, Leah-- the oh-so-nice artistic director I had just danced for-- came up to me.
"You didn't make it," she said. "But, how about taking me out to dinner?"
"Sure, Leah."
"Call me by my nickname, please. Lee."
"Lee," I said. "That would be nice."
I looked at her and thought, maybe those kids weren't the only ones to get lucky today.
