That was the sound.
It was barely audible. I don't think anybody there heard.
That sound ruined my life.
I got to the studio early.
Bobby met me at the door.
"Hey, buddy," said Bobby.
We hugged.
"Come on in." He held the door open. "Joe's waiting to see you."
We walked down the hallway.
We entered the dance space. Joe stood there, extending his hand.
"Bobby here's been saying some good things about you."
I shook his hand. "Thanks. I don't pay him enough. It's not everyday I get a private audition."
"Yeah, he owes me plenty," piped in Bobby.
Joe pointed to the floor.
"Anytime you're ready."
I warmed up at the barre.
I finished last the set of movements, choreography Joe laid out for me. I'd felt pretty good showing him my steps.
Joe came over to me.
"You seem to be favoring your right leg."
"Just a little tight."
"Bobby said it was alright."
"It's the California weather," I quipped, rubbing it. "The dryness makes it stiff."
Joe laughed, but folded his arms.
"I need somebody who can take a beating," he said. "The pieces I've come up with for our next tour are very physical, very demanding. You sure you can do it?"
"Yes."
He went back to his chair.
"One more time."
He hit the play button on the tape deck.
I went through it from the top.
"Good," he shouted. "That's what I want to see in my dancers."
His dancers? I got the job?
To impress him, I put everything into my last jetŽ.
I soared into the air. Floating. Flying.
Then I landed.
I just got my life back, don't do this to me.
Bobby and Joe ran up to me.
I was crying like a baby.
They helped me up and I put weight on my right leg.
It was fine.
This time, I fucked-up my left knee.
