Page 76 of Beautiful Small Things
The fall has turned into winter, and I am no more fulfilled now than when I left. Leaving Marcus, Iris, and the rest of my family was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.
It’s been four months. Marcus tried to reach me initially, several times per day. He sent me pictures of Iris, and I would smile through the tears, but I didn’t respond. Eventually, the messages stopped.
I think I’m doing the right thing. It’s killing me, but I need to keep my focus here on fulfilling my dream. At least, that is what I tell myself every time I reach for the phone to call Marcus’s voicemail just to hear his voice on his outgoing message.
Colby sends me pictures and videos, and I’ve seen Iris on video chat. She’s getting so big. She’s starting to say words now. She can’t say James yet but lights up with recognition when she sees me. It’s both uplifting and soul-crushing.
I’ve found a routine, but still haven’t acclimated to this place. I don’t know if it will ever feel like home. I don’t like the noise or the hustle and bustle. Mostly, I dislike it because it doesn’t drown out the sadness in my heart, even with everything going on around me. The weather is cold, but it still feels like I’m trying to breathe in honey-thick air with every breath.
I’ve been dancing or working out for ten hours a day. I’m probably in the best shape of my life, but my knee is killing me. I promised to try this, and I have to prove to everyone that I can do it even though dancing doesn’t give me the same joy it used to.
At least I’ve become friends with at least one person here. His name is Richard. He knows enough to know that I’m not interested in any sort of relationship other than friendship, and he’s never asked or made me feel uncomfortable about it. Having someone to spend some time with is nice so I’m not always so lonely.
We’re sitting in a cafe one day when Richard carefully approaches the subject of home.
“Do you think you’re ever going to be happy here?” He questions, just as I take a bite of my bagel and smear.
I hold up a finger, signaling for him to wait while I finish chewing my last bite of food. “What do you mean? I’m doing better.”
His right eyebrow peaks as he replies. “Are you?”
“Sure,” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. “I only cry four times per week now. It was every day there for a while.”
He stifles a laugh. “James, I have watched you wage this internal battle for a few months now. Can I be honest?”
“Please,” I reply.
“I don’t think this is the life you want.”
I fold my hands on the table. “I don’t want to fail,” I tell him honestly.
He leans forward and offers a quick response. “Since when is it considered a failure to make a happy life?”
I shake my head. “You don’t understand. This was always my dream. My parents gave up so much to live this life. Shit, I gave up so much. I have to try to see it through.”
“I understand that,” he nods, “and I think it was important for you to come here, or you might have always wondered.”
I don’t want to haunt your what-ifs.
“But you don’t seem to love dancing. At least not here.”
“It’s just hard. A lot is expected of us,” I reply defensively.
“You’re right, it is. But I still love it. I love the grind. I love being so exhausted I can barely move. I love the idea of dancing all over the world and possibly meeting my prince charming.”
My eyes grow wide as he laughs.
“Don’t even think of deflecting this conversation with questions about my sexuality. This is about you,” he says with a wink.
I let my head fall on the table, audibly shaking the cups and silverware.
“I don’t know where I belong anymore,” I admit. “I had a fire for dancing for most of my life. Then I had a fire for a man I love deeply and his amazing daughter. Now, I don’t know what’s left.” I look up to find him watching me thoughtfully. “I feel empty.”
“Do you want my advice?” He asks with a soft smile.
“Obviously,” I reply with a heavy roll of my eyes.
“Give it until Spring. If you don’t rekindle your love affair with dancing by then, you never will. At least, not in this capacity.”
