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I want to crawl through the phone and hug my mom. I want to wrap them both in my arms and hold them tight.
"I'm so sorry—I'm so sorry for these last few years. You guys didn't deserve that from me. I wish… I wish I could take it all back."
My dad hushes me through the phone. "The only thing that matters is that you're back now. It'll give us an excuse to come to New York."
"I'd love that. I can't wait to see you." I smile into the phone.
"So, tell me. What's next for you, Luna?" my mom asks.
I bite my lip, debating whether or not I should tell them. But I know more than anything, they were some of my biggest supporters growing up, and nothing will make them happier. "I think I'm going to go down to Julliard."
My mom starts up a whole new round of crying. I can hear her pull the phone away from her ear, her sobs so emotional and so damn sad.
"Do you think they'll take you? After all these years?" my dad asks, much more collected this time.
I shrug, twirling my hair around my finger. "I don't know. But I'd like to try. If they don't… well, I guess that's my own mistake I'll have to live with. I'll find something else. But I want to at least try."
"Have you danced? All this time, have you danced at all?" my mom asks.
I bite my lip, this part making me nervous. No, I haven't danced. Not ballet. Though, I know I'm still flexible, I don't know if I have it in me to be a professional anymore. "I haven't."
"Let me look around for some studios you can practice in. I'll find you a place where you can get a new leotard, too. Will you be there for a while? I can call you back soon." Excitement builds in her tone, and I smile, thinking back to all those years ago. She was always excited when it came to my dancing. She always knew I had a skill, something better than many other people had. I was far more advanced than the dancers my age. I've always been that way. And she loved experiencing that with me.
"I can stick around if you want to look and call me back." I pull the sheets back, stretching my legs as I slide my feet to the ground.
"Okay, but wait! I don't want you to go yet. Can we talk for a bit? I missed your voice."
I slide to the ground, my butt hitting the floor and my back hitting the side of the bed. I want to talk to them, too, but I don't want to tell them about my journey. There were many good moments, but right now, the bad has tainted the good.
I only want the good.
I think my mom notices this. "We don't need to hear about your travels, Luna. Talk about anything. Tell me about Roman. It's been so long since we've seen him. How is he doing?" That brings tears to my eyes. Roman was just as much of a child to my parents as I was. And my parents were just as much parents to him as his own parents were. We're one large family, really.
I tell them about Roman. I tell them about the bits I've seen of New York City, and how beautiful and chaotic it looks. I tell them about his apartment, how messy it was when I walked in. I tell them about how we talked into the middle of the night, catching up on anything and everything.
I talk to them until my voice is hoarse. And then we talk some more.
"Thank you." I hand the cabbie some money, shutting the door behind me. I look up at the giant building before me, a little nervous, a little excited. Not sure if I should really go in there, but now is my chance, and if I walk away, I don't know if I'll ever be back.
I took a shower at Roman's, and by the time I was getting out, my mom was already calling me again with all the details I needed for my day. She gave me the addresses to a few studios and places that had dance uniforms. She made me promise I'd call her when I got home to tell her how my day went.
Once I was ready, I grabbed the key from the kitchen table and the small stack of money Roman left me, and I headed out.
Now I'm here.
At Julliard. My dream.
With a deep breath, I walk up the steps that are so long they could fit a school bus, and into the school. My eyes want to water, but I blink them away, biting my lip as I walk up to the front desk. My sandals echo in the vast area, and I suddenly wish I would’ve gone shopping with this money to get something nice to wear before coming here.
"How can I help you?" the woman behind the front desk asks.
"Can I… can I sit down and talk to someone?"
She looks confused, her eyebrows furrowing.
"I'm sorry. My name is Luna Lewis. I used to dance a few years ago, and my dance instructor was Leona Ivanov. She used to work here—"
"I know who Leona Ivanov is." She laughs awkwardly.
