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“Hello?”
“Hello, Emma Tucker?”
“Yes, speaking.”
It’s the receptionist at the school, wondering why I am not presently there for my audition. She wonders if I’m late. I should be there right now.
I say I’m not late.
I say I can’t make it.
I say I’m never coming in.
I don’t tell her that it’s because my mother is currently lying in bed, sick, at the hospital, and that even if I did succeed in the audition, I still wouldn’t be able to pay for the training. Because all my savings are now going toward making Mom better. I can’t tell her that because I’m too scared to admit with my own mouth that my fantasies are over.
I just hang up on the dance school.
I hang up on my dreams.
I hang up on all my hopes for the future.
Because Mom is the most important person in my life, and she deserveseverythingthat I can give her to make her well again. Even my dreams. Even my life savings. All this, as long as she gets better.
I block the dance school number, just in case they try to call another time. I never want to see that number again. It will only make me sick to the point of depression.
That’s it. No more.
I hold my head up high and walk the few blocks from the train station to my apartment building. I’m telling myself I’m not going to cry. I’m not thinking of anything except what I am going to do for Mom.
This is what’s happening. I’ve made my decision. Mom is the priority.
I unlock the door to my tiny apartment and walk straight into my room, ignoring my Spanish roommate making dinner, and the first thing I do is tear down the poster of Swan Lake on the wall. I rip it to shreds and dump it in the trash. I just feel empty.
It’s over.
It’s done.
52
EMMA
I don’t do anything else for the next week other than work my little ass off and visit Mom as much as I can in the hours I have off. All I can think about is money, and my lack of it, and the fact that everything I’ve saved is going toward Mom and her care. And whatever else I can do to help her.
And I think of how I’ve made that decision to end any potential career in dancing, and that I am sticking by it, no matter how much it hurts my soul to no longer pursue what I once dreamt of. I push all that pain deep inside me. I know it’s not healthy to do so, but it’s all I can do tokeep goingand survive another day.
But sometimes, when it’s the dead of night or when I’m left alone scrubbing down one of the dirty hospital tiles, I feelsomething. I feel like life is pulling me down and that I am drowning. It overwhelms me if I let it. In those moments, I close my eyes and try to bury that feeling. I can’t deal with it yet.
They say that financial stress can feel like torture. Well, I currently feel like I’m experiencing the most severe form of waterboarding.
I haven’t seen August all week. I’m unsure whether I actually want to bump into him or not.
He’s dating that girl, isn’t he? The socialite who fits him. I should really just forget all about him.
By the end of the week, Mom is being transferred back home. It isn’t a good thing or even a sign that she is getting better - it’s simply because there’s nothing left to do to help her now other than the surgery she’s going to have in a few weeks. When they told me what they have to do to help her, I nearly broke down. But I remained strong for Mom. Sheneedsthis surgery. And I know the surgery is almost guaranteed to totally wipe out my savings, but I will do anything for Mom. If this surgery helps her, then I am willing to pay whatever the cost.
After another day of scrubbing restrooms, I finish my shift and clock out, saying goodbye to Diana.
“Send my love to Faith for me,” I tell her. “I miss her.”
