Stacie Anderson, [Mercer Dance Studio, Soho, New York City, NY]
In the fall of 1994, after seeing a production of "The Nutcracker" for the very first time, something inside me changed. Even though I was only ten years old, I decided that on this occasion, my stubborn nature would help me get what I wanted; my very first dance class, with my very first pair of ballet shoes that I wore continuously, both at class and at home, all day and every day until my feet would start to blister.
As my love and passion for dancing continued and only managed to get stronger, surviving the passsing fads and phases of the time, it became one of the most important things in my life, something that has stayed with me, even now. Whenever I dance, something inside me changes, and a metamorphosis sweeps through my entire body.
my favourite thing in the world was to watch ballet, and sooner or later, I would come to love and appreciate the art of ballet more than I could have ever imagined. I would look at the dancers in awe and amazement, my eyes sparkling with happiness, starstruck at the way each of them glided through the air, every step taken being precise, unique, carefully structured, yet still managed to hold a fantastical kind of grace, beauty and poise in every single pirouhette. I believed that somehow the dancers were not just dancing, but bringing to life something wonderful and beautiful, as if some kind of phantasmagorical dream was being vividly brought to life right in front of my very eyes, being told in a way that I loved, and after the production was over, after my parents had taken me home, I would spend hours dancing and twirling in my little tutu ballerina dress, my favourite thing in the world, until I was exhausted and my feet were sore.
Fortunately, I was able to carry on with my love of dance, so that it became less of a childish phase, and more of an valued interest, something which I could work on and therefore perfect, up until the point where the people that mattered, the most important people I could come across and work with in my chosen field of dance, would tell me that I was the best they had seen in a long time, and that they were selfish enough to work with me and with nobody else.
For the past 5 years, I had transgressed from studying classical ballet, wanting to expand my range and try and see if I could be more than just a one trick pony. I had proved myself across many levels in the field of ballet, having graduated from The Julliard School as well as having taken courses for preparation for casting productions at the Royal Ballet School in London. The difficult task that had immediately ensued was trying to figure all of it out, to try and find myself a happy medium of dance, something where I could find myself, express myself, and have the freedom to dance as I wanted to, yet at the same time I wanted to try and avoid any of it turning into nothing more than a chaotic mess, still wanting something that would satisfy my need for the grace, elegance, and precision that a ballet dancer would bring to each and every step.
Falling in love with Modern Dance had been pretty easy for me. I found myself being allowed to freestyle a little bit more sporadically in this particular genre of dance music, and attention and detail was paid more to your other body parts, rather than just your legs and the way your feet managed to point and perfect itself in a certain way. It was in this way that dancing now defined me, it was a part of me which I felt could not be erased, and had come to be identified by me, and by many around me, as the greatest love of my life, on a professional level at least.
Dancing had become a catharsis for me – my sanctuary, the little place inside my head where I could let go and express myself, I could move in a certain way that would give the impression of pure fluidity – each dance step moving seamlessly into the next, in very much the same way as water – pure, fluid, and able to take on and master any shape.
I had been a classically trained ballet and modern contemporary dancer for 5 years, and the dance studio had been the only place – my only source of refuge, where I felt as if I could find true release, seeking solace and comfort from trying to come to terms with everything.
Every dance studio had been the same – but different. There had always been the shiny, polished and buffed parquet floor, along with the ceiling to floor sized mirror that expanded vastly across the room, ready and waiting to show you your own reflection no matter how many times you perfected or messed up your steps.
Today was different. I had to prove myself, now more than ever before. I had been working on a long piece of choreography for just over a year now in order to take part in one of the biggest dance productions in New York City, and it had become my whole world. It meant everything to me, and if I didn't get it right and perfect it, my career would go nowhere, and I would be back at the very beginning, eradicating everything I had worked so hard to achieve. I looked at my reflection in front of the mirror, pushing back my curls quickly with my hand. I started to practice my steps, each one slowly, carefully, as if I was in slow motion. First the combination, then making sure I had every turn and canon perfectly in step. I turned to the side and practiced my romme de jamme a terre, making sure I had each part of the steps in perfect synchronisation. I had already practiced the contemporary, modern half of my dance sequence, and now I had to make sure each and every part of this sequence was completed to avoid any other disapointment.
It was quiet for a long moment, just the heavy thud of my heart hammering loudly, the broken rhythm of my ragged breathing, my whole body moving in syncrohnisation. It took me a few seconds after stopping to realize that I was no longer alone in the dance studio.
I looked around quickly to see who had come in, quietly and silently and underneath my radar, as I looked at the person leaning against the large studio door, staring at my face, as I looked at him and our gazes locked for a moment, and he looked back at me before giving me a large dazzling smile.
He walked quickly towards me, suddenly as if he was a man on a mission, and he refused to look up at me again until he was standing firmly in front of me.
“I've missed you.” I said sarcastically, standing in front of him, a small smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.
“Very funny, hot shot.” Ben said, giving me a small wink as he did so.
Ben Conrad had been my dance director for my upcoming showcase for the past year. He had wanted to cast me for the role in his female lead in his biggest production to date, and he had been coming to see me frequently at the dance studio a couple of times every week to see how much progress I had been making. Although it had been particularly slow at first, I did my best to give him what he wanted, and so far, he had been pretty pleased with me. Up until now, the steps and the routine had been perfectly choreographed, so I had no idea what he would say to me this time, but it was evident that he was here for a reason.
Ben always had a cheeky smile on his face, ready and willing to listen to whatever questions or queries that I had, always giving me sound and honest advice when nobody else would have the guts to.
He looked at me and I took in his face – his strong features, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he looked confused, the way he smiled in such a way that it was infectious, making me laugh until my eyes watered. He always looked sharp, and up until now I had never seen him in anything more casual than a suit. When he spoke to me about dancing, you could see the passion he had for it behind his eyes, and we would often find ourselves talking for hours, this one irrepressible passion between us being our common thread, always looking at me intently whenever we spoke.
He looked at me before averting his eyes again. “Let's talk.” He said, as he beckoned towards the raised platform behind us where I sat down and waited.
Ben pulled back a little and straightened up before he sat down beside me. He looked at me for a long time before he spoke.
“Stace, I don't know how to say this.”
“What's going on? What's wrong?” I asked, nervous as I waited, scared of whatever I was about to hear.
“I'm pulling out of the production.”
“What?” I said, an angonized look on my face. “What are you saying? You can't... you just can't.... you can't leave!” His words hit me like an electric shock that pulsated through every part of my body. I couldn't seem to make sense of what he had just said. Everything I had worked for – everything we had both worked so hard on, felt as though it was all about to come crashing down around us, and I remained powerless to stop it.
“Where has all this come from?” I said, struggling to understand his sudden change of heart after having a vested interest in this particular production for the best part of a year.
“I've been offered a fantastic opportunity somewhere else... its a two year contract to do four productions over the course of two years. Since I only do one a year from absolute scratch, it'll be a lot more work, but there's going to be more flexibility too. Its going to be completely on my terms.”
“I thought your productions were always on your own terms?” I asked, looking up at him, my head slightly raised.
“Oh yeah, of course it is. As long as its a critical success. If one of my productions has all the classical makings of being an absolute disaster, then things are a little bit more streamlined.”
“What's going to happen? Will you stay to complete this?”
“That's what I wanted to talk to you about. They're bringing in someone else. Some new choreographer who also happens to be an up and coming producer.”
I shook my head and looked at him, knowing that things wouldn't be the same. My future, my career – it could all be dangerously close to jeopardy.
“Stace, I don't want you to feel sad.” He said, rubbing my hands together soothingly as he looked at me.
“I know that, I know.... its just.... I'm sorry... I'm not trying to make you feel guilty.”
“No.... I know. I want you to understand... this is just something I have to do.”
My eyes finally adjusted to the natural light that had started to flood the room, blinking in the sunlight as I tried furiously to hold back tears as I saw his face clearer now, as he looked back at me. I could see his fierce smile, his large eyes communicating a pained and growing concern towards me – they were tight and slightly fixed around the edges as he gave me a small smile, doing his best to make light of the situation.
“When did you even decide to do this?”
“Seriously?” He took a long and deep breath before waiting to answer his own question. He now seemed troubled by it, as if even he still hadn't worked out a definite wrap on it yet. “I'm not really sure. I've always thought about it, but things have just got better and better, and with everything that's been happening... doing the production, managing to cast you... it didn't – it still doesn't make a lot of rational sense.” He laughed, shaking his head slowly now. “You wouldn't believe how long I've taken to try and convince myself this is the right thing to do. Even though, things are great professionally, some of the passion has gone. And before I completely lose it, I need to go and find it again. Go back to basics and discover why I want all of this in the first place.”
I listened and tried to take on board his reasons for leaving. Ben had become one of my closest friends, one of the few people I could be both serious and silly with without having to have a reason why. I sighed. I couldn't believe my time with Ben was about to come to an end, without any warning.
“It would have been a shame to give up instantly on this opportunity, Stace. I need this – for me, you know? That's worth it in its very self.”
I nodded. I would do my very best to understand whatever it is he needed to find, and try and support him the best way a friend can.
“Well, as you're leaving me all alone, can you at least tell me something about your replacement? And for the record, he will have some very large boots to fill.”
I never imagined my dance career at a loose end. But now, that's what things were shaping up to look like. I had taken for granted that Ben would be involved in as much of this production as possible, and although I knew I couldn't make him feel any worse than he did for leaving in the middle of it, in hindsight I had never stopped to truly value my time and my dance career. I had always been a perfectionist, and the moments where most people would have taken a few steps back to reassess how far they had come, or the progress they still had left to make, often passed me by, and so I never allowed myself to be put in a position where I had stopped to appreciate my career before the worst happened.
Ben laughed as he looked at me. “Have you always been this stubborn?”
I looked at him, a look of pure defiance on my face as I returned his stare. “Yes, and I'm not about to stop now just because you're leaving.” I gave him a smug smile.
“I don't know much about him, if you really want to know the truth....” Ben started. “I've met him once or twice recently through mutual friends. He is amazing at what he does. I mean, even I couldn't fault him.”
I wrinkled my nose slightly in mock frustration. “Right.... did you tell him anything about the production? Anything about me?”
Ben laughed at me again. “He knows what he's doing, trust me. He's been briefed, so make sure you trust him completely. This is my last project in New York, the deal was that I move to Connecticut, but I'm only a phonecall away should you need my natural expertise and leadership skills.”
I laughed and gave him a small punch in the shoulder. “Very funny. You can expect a phonecall from me every hour.”
He looked down at his mobile phone before looking up at me again beseechingly, and sighed deeply. I knew that the end had come around for us – the end of our professional relationship together, however it was one that I had no intention of saying goodbye to, or saying goodbye to a chapter so I could start a new era. I tried to swallow the lump in my tightened throat, but much as I tried, it wouldn't budge, as Ben did his best to infuse his voice with his best saccharine tone.
“You'd think that you would be used to seeing me turn away from you and walk out the door by now.” He said, as we both stood up, his hand tightening around my own.
“I know.” I said, nodding and smiling, finding the strength in my heart to believe that I would continue to see Ben from time to time, that this wasn't the end. He leaned towards me as I wrapped my arms tightly around his body, hugging him and feeling his warm skin underneath mine. I was happy for him – I was nervous – but mostly curious – to what the future – or should i say – new choreographer and producer would bring to the production, and if he would ever be a good enough replacement to take the place of Ben as my go to person when it came to dancing – the thing I loved most and couildn't stand to compromise on. But this time it looked like I didn't have a choice.
I watched Ben as he walked towards the studio exit, and out of the door, waving slowly to him as he disappeared around the doorframe and back out into the reception. I stood still, once again alone in the dance studio, and continued to look at the space where he had just been mere seconds ago, and sighed.
I walked towards the door and grabbed my bag, walking out quickly towards my car, wanting to forget about dancing, at least until all my current memories had dimmed a little bit and I could manage to block certain things out. I needed a change for a couple of hours, and without thinking, I grabbed my mobile and dialled out a number that I hadn't looked at in a long time, needing to find comfort and assurance for my own piece of mind that everything was going to be OK.
Stacie Anderson, [Anderson Residence, Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York]
Going back home had always provided me with a sense of sweet relief. Home – and the people in it – my mother, my father, my older brother – had always managed to give me some sense of solitude, security, and sanctuary right at the moments when I had needed it and depended on it the very most.
Every familiarity in the place that I had once called home became important to me – every smell, every sound, every voice invited me in, reminding me that even after spending my time away and living independently, a small part of me sometimes wished I could go back.
After striking out on my own, my life had been like an rollercoaster ride that seemed unwilling to stop, and if anything, seemed to acclerate me to new and outrageous highs as well as bringing me right back down to new lows without any warning whatsoever.
One of my favourite highs was living with my best friend of ten years, Winona Walters, or Win, as I affectionately call her, which she allows due to the fact she thinks it is a mild improvement of her actual name. We have been inseperable since fifth grade, promising to be best friends forever, the only pact that we had both succesfully managed to keep until now. Win and me are what most people would call polar opposites, but this works to our benefit as we learn to appreciate and value the small things that bring us together. Win has always been vibrant, capricious, and energetic with just the right amount of angst that is justifiable for a 25 year old, and ready and willing to try everything and anything. Win has a natural hourglass figure, and her hair has always been long, jet black waves right down to her shoulders, but recently she decided to cut it all off, so now her hair is a short, sleek crop with a sweeping fringe that frames her heart shaped face.
Win's always been confident, and sometimes this can backfire but she lives her life with absolutely no regrets over the things that she does. Over the past couple of years she has applied this to her lovelife as well, and through many deliberations and decisions, a couple of years ago she decided that she would convert to becoming bisexual, and since then has played both of these roles effectively to get what she wants, playing the sweet and saccharine lover, seducing the men in her life as well as fulfilling the role of a sapphic seductress to her credit, proving herself as the zeitgeist of my early and present years, not only in my eyes but through the eyes of everybody else as well.
Although I had become confident with the way that I looked, I hadn't always been comfortable with my appearance. Many people would say that I am an extraordinarily attractive woman, and while I haven't found anybody else to disagree with this notion, I am grateful for the fact that my looks have helped me somewhat with dancing and my career. I also believe its necessary to have something else apart from your looks and appearance. My hair had always been dark brown in colour, which contrasted with my hazel coloured eyes and caramel skin tone, thanks to my half Puerto Rican and Cherokee background. My face was striking, if not symmetrical, with strong features that made people sit up and notice almost straight away, much to my advantage. I had always had natural curves, but they had disappeared once dancing had become an important part of my life, where I found myself in the dance studio or the gym trying to increase my fitness levels at least four days a week. My time living away from home and at Julliard had also co-incided with my first real break-up, the first real heartbreak, and split from my boyfriend Michael Ayres, who I had met when I was 18, and had started dating when I was 20. We had dated for four years before breaking up last year, and even now, a year later, it still hurt in certain places when I thought about it. After our split, I had thrown myself towards dancing, so it became a much needed cartharsis, but inside I still remained completely lost with everything that had happened.
Being back at home with my family had forced me to come to terms with the fact that I needed to take better care of myself now that I was back from Julliard, and on my own. My home had – and stil does, contain so many memories – good times, bad times, sad times, as well as times of anarchy and chaos, as well as complete euphoria.
So now, being able to return home on the rare occasion to look around my family home with brand new eyes felt special – but unbenowst to me, out of all my family, I was the only one who continued to feel this way.
*
Driving up the driveway, my house had always held an enigmatic fascination which had never ceased to exist, right from when I was a little girl up until now. My parents, Gail Reed and Simon Anderson had always believed that they were individual and special as a couple, better than the trappings of the suburban life they had not been able to escape from buying into, their prolonged resistance being futile. They both believed that one day, they would still be able to live out their dreams, ambitions and fantasies, whilst being able to eclipse the notion of suburban life as well as the people around them they so often described as 'average, generic, and sinfully boring.'
There was no doubt in my mind that both of my parents would remain kindred spirits to each other – one and the same during their 20 years of marriage together, and I had always looked to each of them as my role models, both for me, and my older brother Darren, who was on the cusp of turning 25 years old. I was still trying to get my head around the fact that Ben was leaving and I had no idea of what I could expect for the future, so speaking to my parents about arranging a visit had given me a sense of calm. Mum had responded with the fact that she had needed me to see me today anyway, and that Darren would also be coming over. A whole family affair.
I got out of the car and made my way quickly up the driveway and knocked on the door loudly, feeling a bit disorientated by the speed in which the day was moving. It was already late afternoon and I was exhausted, despite having not done that much, convinced it was more of an emotional toll than anything else.
The door opened, and I found Darren leaning on the side of the doorway, looking down at me, a smug smile on his face, his hair a lot shorter and darker than the last time we saw each other, and seeming a lot taller than usual.
“Hey sis.”
“Hey. You going to let me in or what?” I asked, returning his smug smile.
“Yeah sure. You don't happen to know what any of this is about, do you?”
“No – no idea. I just needed to get away from everything, actually.”
“Right.” Darren said, raising his eyebrows and looking at me.
“No, no, you know I didn't mean it like that! Its just hard sometimes, you know?”
“Yes, your life is hard, what with all the dancing that you do, but not as hard as preparing yourself for a baby.”
I looked at him and smiled, still finding it hard to believe that in a matter of months my brother would actually be a dad.
“Yes, OK, your life is officially harder than mine. Wow – I never thought we'd say that about each other.”
We both laughed. “Yeah, neither did I.” He said, as he moved away down the hallway to the kitchen as I followed him into the house. As I followed Darren around to the kitchen, my home had become so familiar to me, even now, that it was like I had never left. Darren entered the kitchen and moved around wordlessly to the breakfast bar, going to get drinks from the fridge, as he set out two glass tumblers on the granite worktop. Light struck through the double glass doors that led outside to the large back garden, natural afternoon sunlight filtering through the arch that split the kitchen in two. The sunlight cast its reflective rays even further now, past the kitchen and through to the hall to the larger and more formal of the two living rooms where my parents would be no doubt waiting and chatting amongst themselves for us to arrive.
“So, seriously, how are you doing? How are you and Tasha coping with everything?” I asked, looking up at Darren intently.
Darren was busy fixing drinks, pouring the wine into two short tumblers from the large wine bottle beside him, before he looked up at me and gave me a puzzled look.
“God, Stace, you really can be melodramatic sometimes. We're just having a baby, its not like we've experienced a natural disaster or anything...” He said, looking at me and laughing again, before he continued.
“Yeah, things are really good between us. I mean, the first couple of weeks were really hard. Tasha couldn't stop crying, her mood swings were up and down, and I guess I did my fair share of freaking out, so I didn't know what to do for a long time. But, its been a couple of months now, and we're excited about it all. Its going to be tough and this wasn't the time in our lives when we would have planned this, but its great nevertheless.” He said, finally thumping the icebox with his hand to extract a couple of ice cubes, chucking them into the tumblers in front of him.
“So, what's new with you? Why are you stressed? Is it because you've lost your touch? Bet that's rough.” He said, looking up at me now, having finished the drinks and holding one tumbler out towards me.
“Very funny!” I said, punching him as hard as I could in the shoulder, watching him as he raised his eyebrows at me, not even flinching for a second, and then giving him a condescending smile.
“Is that the best you got?” He said again, fixing his face into a look of shock alarm.
I pushed my hair back from around my face with both of my hands and smiled appreciatively as I took the glass tumbler out of his hands, and sipped my drink quickly, feeling the cold liquid run down my throat.
“Nothing, really, its just Ben told me he was leaving today... and he's not coming back.”
“Wow – sorry to hear that. Are they bringing someonen else in?”
“Yeah, Ben said he found someone else.”
“Personally, I feel sorry for the guy, as by the looks of things, it looks like he'll have to face your wrath on Monday morning. That's gotta hurt.” Darren said, looking at me and smiling.
“I'm sure It'll be OK. They're stupid if they can't recognise all the talent you have, anyway.” Darren finished.
I smiled as I looked at my brother. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
“Come on, we better go and see what this is all about.” Darren said, grabbing the two tumblers and walking out of the kitchen into the living room, eager to see what was going on, and what was about to happen.
*
Our parents were waiting patiently for us on the inside of the door of the living room, both of them sitting calmly on the sofa, some distance apart from each other, not speaking to each other, their faces changing from quiet preoccupation to relief as we walked into the room. On closer inspection, I noticed that my father Simon looked like he was on tenterhooks, his expression erratic and nervous, the first time I had noticed him like this, a sharp comparison to his usual playful banter and friendly nature.
I looked over to my mother, Gail, who for a brief moment, looked like she had a lot on her mind. But this disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. The silence and the tension in the room was sharply overwhelming and was creating an atmosphere of unease, and would no doubt provoke endless questions from both me and Darren. I looked over to my mother, who was briefly staring across the sofa towards her husband with a look of soft heartbreak on her face, but despite this seemed to feel no aversion to having him sit a short distance away from her, if only for the benefit of both me and Darren who were still standing uneasily and awkwardly in the room, unsure and confused as what to make of this sudden image before us.
“Hi....” Darren said, breaking the ice, his voice becoming a bit of a shock for the rest of us in the room as we looked towards him, grateful that he had managed to break the tension.
“Mum... “ I started, looking towards her as her eyes found mine, now unable to hide her brief moments of sadness that flashed through them. “What's going on? Why did you want us all together?”
Mum stood up quickly and laughed, looking around at all of us and shaking her head slowly, her long black hair now pinned up in a sleek chignon as she smoothed out the slight creases in her black dress. I flashed another glance at Dad, looking closely as I could see dark bags and lines around his eyes, and he looked as though he hadn't slept for weeks. As I looked into his dull brown eyes, he looked lifeless and emotionally drained behind them as he happily allowed for mum to do all the talking.
“Its important that you be here... I can't remember the last time we all sat down for a family meal. I wanted to see you both.” She said, gesturing towards the table as she made her way up from the sofa, my dad giving us a small, stiff smile as he nodded in agreement and walked slowly behind my mother's silhouette, towards the table where he sat across the table from her.
Darren and I exchanged puzzled glances as we made our way towards the table and sat down next to each other and across the room from our parents. I was more than happy to eat and relax and forget about everything, which is what I had come here for, but somehow I was convinced that tonight would end up becoming something else.
Darren cleared his throat uncomfortably as we both concentrated on the table and the plates of food around us. Besides the cutlery and the plates, there were large coloured earthenware pots on the burnt terracotta wooden table filled with salad, pasta, fish, chicken, and rice, as well as two large jugs of water and two large bottles of wine, which based on the atmosphere at the table, I had now become drawn to more than anything else on the table. I looked over at Darren, who by his expression, I could see had mirrored my thoughts exactly.
“Mum.... you really didn't have to go to all of this trouble... this is amazing... I thought this was all just a casual thing....” I said, looking up at her and smiling, hoping that she would see the appreciation in my face and take some small comfort in this.
“Oh, don't worry, its my pleasure. I wanted to cook for everybody, since its the first family dinner we've had in a while.” She said, looking at me and smiling.
“I'm sorry... I'm so sorry.... I can't do this.... I need to get out of here... sorry.” I looked over at dad for the first time and looked up, starting to get up from the table, a panic stricken look on his face and started to make his way towards the door. As he passed my mum's chair, she got up from her chair and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn around and look at her. She stood up and turned his body towards hers, pressing his body closer towards hers, and grabbed his face as she looked into his scared eyes, a nervous, tired, and tense expression on his face.
“No, Simon, NO! You need to do this, now more than ever. You did this – you did this to us, not me. We need to finish this, we need to stop pretending like any of this isn't happening, do you understand me? I just can't do it anymore. I can't keep rescuing you every time you fall.”
Dad looked around the room at all of us, and slumped heavily into the chair next to her. They sat down and said nothing for a while. Their breathing slowed right down, and the tension intensified with each passing second and minute.
“Can somebody please tell us what the hell is going on?” Darren said, looking between confused and bewildered expression on his face. Dad looked up at Darren and said nothing. Mum hesitated as she looked between me and Darren before she opened up her mouth slowly to speak.
“Your dad has a drug problem. Cocaine. And he needs our help.” Mum said, finally providing the missing link in all of this, and finally helping the whole situation to make sense.
That one sentence hit me like a bullet. I was in shock, I didn't want to believe any of it – I couldn't believe it, everything inside me was telling me that none of it was true – if anything, mum had just made a mistake and over reacted. I tried to erase the anger that was boiling through my veins, but it was incredibly hard. I couldn't take my eyes off my dad sitting across from me, who had become a stranger to me now, who refused to admit or deny what had been said, who refused to talk.
“I don't believe any of it – I don't want to. I know you wouldn't do this, you wouldn't do this to us, right?” I said, looking at my dad now, wanting him to stand and speak up and confirm his innocence that I longed and needed to hear before I completely lost it.
“Answer the question.” Darren said, looking across the table at dad, a fierce, angry look in his eyes.
Dad looked across the table at both of us and shook his head, rubbing his hand over his face before he looked across the table at Mum, waiting for her to rescue him all over again. She returned his gaze and started to open her mouth to speak.
“Your dad... its been so difficult these past couple of months, and while his actions are inexcusable, I....'
“Mum, please!” Darren interrupted mum mid-sentence, suddenly banging his fist down on the table in frustration and anger.
“If I'm going to listen to any of this, I don't want to hear from you. Dad needs to talk. Now.” He said, staring at Dad intently, his eyes unmoving and unwavering as he stared coldly across the table.
“I'm sorry...” My dad said, opening his mouth to speak. “At first, I only tried it because I needed a pick me up. Things were rough at work, and it was getting me down. I didn't even like it, but work pressure increased, and soon I relied on it more and more as things got worse...” He looked over at mum who looked over at him and sighed reluctantly.
“I can't listen to this... you're right Dad, you don't want to talk about it, and I don't want to hear about it. Why did you do this? I've always been so proud to have you in my life as my dad, and I've been so happy about the fact that my son or daughter would have you in their lives too, but now... I can't even bear to look at you anymore. You disgust me.”
“Don't talk to your father like that.” Dad said, looking at Darren now, his expression blank. Darren stood against my father, his body blocking the door.
“Get out of my way.” Darren said, maintaning eye contact with my dad, who was now standing in front of him, refusing to move out of the way and let Darren pass, which in his raging anger seemed like the right thing to do.
“Darren, I....” Dad began, before Darren pulled back slowly and punched him in the face, to which his body fell down and away from the door.
“ I don't know who you are anymore, I don't want to know. You'll be lucky if you see your grandchildren at all.” Darren said, his voice raised now, as he got up from the chair and started to move away from the table. I looked up at him and grabbed his hand as he walked past my chair, tears in my eyes as I looked at Dad again and shook my head furiously. Darren looked down, a look of pain and immense hurt on his face as he shook his hand out of my own and passed my father, who was now standing and cradling a bruised and bloody nose.
“Stace, don't... just back off, OK... I mean it.” Darren said as he pushed past me and stormed out of the room as I watched him disappear helplessly.
I looked at Dad, wanting him to say something, anything, to try and get himself of the hole that he had managed to dig for himself. I buried my face in my hands and shuddered at the thought, at the undeniable fact that my dad had been secretly snorting cocaine for some time now. I sighed and looked over at my mother, who I knew would take the blame for this the way she had always took on everything herself. I shook my head fiercely and then shot a glance at the faces of my parents. I stood up from the table and started to walk across the room.
“Darren's right... about everything. Get the help you need, but this isn't over.” I said, my eyes filling with tears as I walked out of the kitchen and out into the hallway, before making my way quickly outside the front door where I could think more clearly in the fresh air.
I looked around for Darren as I stood on the driveway, hoping he would still be here, needing someone to talk to about all of this, but he had disappeared. I tried to think where he would go, or what he would do, but my mind was drawing a complete blank.
I quickly pulled out my phone and punched a number in quickly, waiting for a response from the other end of the line.
“Hello?” Said a soft voice, ringing through my ears like wind chimes.
“Tasha, its Stacie.”
“Oh, hey Stace. How's it going?”
“Yeah, fine thanks. Is Darren home yet?”
“No, isn't he supposed to be at your parents' house? I expected him home a while ago, actually.”
“Right. As soon as he does come home, can you get him to ring me? Its important.”
“Yeah sure. Are you sure everything's OK?”
“Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. Please just get him to ring me.” I said, closing my cell phone and pressing it to my mouth, not knowing what to think.
I just couldn't put any of it together in my head. On the one hand, I had always tried to see the best in people, tried to value and appreciate them for their personalities, and I had always loved and respected my parents no matter what had happened. But more than that, I just couldn't reconcile someone like my dad with the concept of cocaine. I couldn't visualise him as the stereotypical junkie who spent every waking hour searching for their next hit.
I drove home, wishing I would hear from Darren and know that he was OK. i went back to my apartment, wanting nothing more than to forget about my entire day. I dropped my bag in the kitchen and listened to my answering machine where one final goodbye message from Ben was waiting for me, as well as one from Win to say she was home and good luck with the showcase. As she usually got in after me in the evenings, this particular message had become a bit of a daily ritual which I had come to appreciate a lot.
I couldn't sleep that night, and all I wanted was for things to return to normal. I had no idea what would happen now, or in the future. I felt fragile, and all the strength I had left had managed to completely disapear within one day. As much as I loved my dad, as much as I loved my parents, I couldn't – I didn't want to be a part of it. I couldn't be sure that my dad would do his best to get the help he needed – despite mum's efforts. I wished it could actually be as easy as getting up and walking away, walking out of a room, never having to think about it again. But no matter how many times I tried to put it out of my head and concentrate on something else, something always brought me back. Darren would be the only other person who would understand that it wasn't about friendships, relationships, personalities or anything else. With anybody else, I would be able to handle it, eventually at least. But the reason why it was so complicated and so pressurized was the simple fact that it wasn't just anybody else – it was my dad, it was my mum – my parents together that had unveiled this secret, and no matter what, they would always cause me endless hours of deliberating, with nothing but my endless thoughts to distract me, getting under my skin and staying there no matter what. It is a hard thing to do, to finally accept your parents the way they are and know that they are essentially flawed, and no matter how hard you work or how hard you try at getting everything as perfect as you can, you have to let go and move on. I had let go and moved on, but the hard decision I needed to make now was if this had become permanent and irrevocable.
*
In the fall of 1994, after seeing a production of "The Nutcracker" for the very first time, something inside me changed. Even though I was only ten years old, I decided that on this occasion, my stubborn nature would help me get what I wanted; my very first dance class, with my very first pair of ballet shoes that I wore continuously, both at class and at home, all day and every day until my feet would start to blister.
As my love and passion for dancing continued and only managed to get stronger, surviving the passsing fads and phases of the time, it became one of the most important things in my life, something that has stayed with me, even now. Whenever I dance, something inside me changes, and a metamorphosis sweeps through my entire body.
my favourite thing in the world was to watch ballet, and sooner or later, I would come to love and appreciate the art of ballet more than I could have ever imagined. I would look at the dancers in awe and amazement, my eyes sparkling with happiness, starstruck at the way each of them glided through the air, every step taken being precise, unique, carefully structured, yet still managed to hold a fantastical kind of grace, beauty and poise in every single pirouhette. I believed that somehow the dancers were not just dancing, but bringing to life something wonderful and beautiful, as if some kind of phantasmagorical dream was being vividly brought to life right in front of my very eyes, being told in a way that I loved, and after the production was over, after my parents had taken me home, I would spend hours dancing and twirling in my little tutu ballerina dress, my favourite thing in the world, until I was exhausted and my feet were sore.
Fortunately, I was able to carry on with my love of dance, so that it became less of a childish phase, and more of an valued interest, something which I could work on and therefore perfect, up until the point where the people that mattered, the most important people I could come across and work with in my chosen field of dance, would tell me that I was the best they had seen in a long time, and that they were selfish enough to work with me and with nobody else.
For the past 5 years, I had transgressed from studying classical ballet, wanting to expand my range and try and see if I could be more than just a one trick pony. I had proved myself across many levels in the field of ballet, having graduated from The Julliard School as well as having taken courses for preparation for casting productions at the Royal Ballet School in London. The difficult task that had immediately ensued was trying to figure all of it out, to try and find myself a happy medium of dance, something where I could find myself, express myself, and have the freedom to dance as I wanted to, yet at the same time I wanted to try and avoid any of it turning into nothing more than a chaotic mess, still wanting something that would satisfy my need for the grace, elegance, and precision that a ballet dancer would bring to each and every step.
Falling in love with Modern Dance had been pretty easy for me. I found myself being allowed to freestyle a little bit more sporadically in this particular genre of dance music, and attention and detail was paid more to your other body parts, rather than just your legs and the way your feet managed to point and perfect itself in a certain way. It was in this way that dancing now defined me, it was a part of me which I felt could not be erased, and had come to be identified by me, and by many around me, as the greatest love of my life, on a professional level at least.
Dancing had become a catharsis for me – my sanctuary, the little place inside my head where I could let go and express myself, I could move in a certain way that would give the impression of pure fluidity – each dance step moving seamlessly into the next, in very much the same way as water – pure, fluid, and able to take on and master any shape.
I had been a classically trained ballet and modern contemporary dancer for 5 years, and the dance studio had been the only place – my only source of refuge, where I felt as if I could find true release, seeking solace and comfort from trying to come to terms with everything.
Every dance studio had been the same – but different. There had always been the shiny, polished and buffed parquet floor, along with the ceiling to floor sized mirror that expanded vastly across the room, ready and waiting to show you your own reflection no matter how many times you perfected or messed up your steps.
Today was different. I had to prove myself, now more than ever before. I had been working on a long piece of choreography for just over a year now in order to take part in one of the biggest dance productions in New York City, and it had become my whole world. It meant everything to me, and if I didn't get it right and perfect it, my career would go nowhere, and I would be back at the very beginning, eradicating everything I had worked so hard to achieve. I looked at my reflection in front of the mirror, pushing back my curls quickly with my hand. I started to practice my steps, each one slowly, carefully, as if I was in slow motion. First the combination, then making sure I had every turn and canon perfectly in step. I turned to the side and practiced my romme de jamme a terre, making sure I had each part of the steps in perfect synchronisation. I had already practiced the contemporary, modern half of my dance sequence, and now I had to make sure each and every part of this sequence was completed to avoid any other disapointment.
It was quiet for a long moment, just the heavy thud of my heart hammering loudly, the broken rhythm of my ragged breathing, my whole body moving in syncrohnisation. It took me a few seconds after stopping to realize that I was no longer alone in the dance studio.
I looked around quickly to see who had come in, quietly and silently and underneath my radar, as I looked at the person leaning against the large studio door, staring at my face, as I looked at him and our gazes locked for a moment, and he looked back at me before giving me a large dazzling smile.
He walked quickly towards me, suddenly as if he was a man on a mission, and he refused to look up at me again until he was standing firmly in front of me.
“I've missed you.” I said sarcastically, standing in front of him, a small smile pulling at the corners of my mouth.
“Very funny, hot shot.” Ben said, giving me a small wink as he did so.
Ben Conrad had been my dance director for my upcoming showcase for the past year. He had wanted to cast me for the role in his female lead in his biggest production to date, and he had been coming to see me frequently at the dance studio a couple of times every week to see how much progress I had been making. Although it had been particularly slow at first, I did my best to give him what he wanted, and so far, he had been pretty pleased with me. Up until now, the steps and the routine had been perfectly choreographed, so I had no idea what he would say to me this time, but it was evident that he was here for a reason.
Ben always had a cheeky smile on his face, ready and willing to listen to whatever questions or queries that I had, always giving me sound and honest advice when nobody else would have the guts to.
He looked at me and I took in his face – his strong features, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he looked confused, the way he smiled in such a way that it was infectious, making me laugh until my eyes watered. He always looked sharp, and up until now I had never seen him in anything more casual than a suit. When he spoke to me about dancing, you could see the passion he had for it behind his eyes, and we would often find ourselves talking for hours, this one irrepressible passion between us being our common thread, always looking at me intently whenever we spoke.
He looked at me before averting his eyes again. “Let's talk.” He said, as he beckoned towards the raised platform behind us where I sat down and waited.
Ben pulled back a little and straightened up before he sat down beside me. He looked at me for a long time before he spoke.
“Stace, I don't know how to say this.”
“What's going on? What's wrong?” I asked, nervous as I waited, scared of whatever I was about to hear.
“I'm pulling out of the production.”
“What?” I said, an angonized look on my face. “What are you saying? You can't... you just can't.... you can't leave!” His words hit me like an electric shock that pulsated through every part of my body. I couldn't seem to make sense of what he had just said. Everything I had worked for – everything we had both worked so hard on, felt as though it was all about to come crashing down around us, and I remained powerless to stop it.
“Where has all this come from?” I said, struggling to understand his sudden change of heart after having a vested interest in this particular production for the best part of a year.
“I've been offered a fantastic opportunity somewhere else... its a two year contract to do four productions over the course of two years. Since I only do one a year from absolute scratch, it'll be a lot more work, but there's going to be more flexibility too. Its going to be completely on my terms.”
“I thought your productions were always on your own terms?” I asked, looking up at him, my head slightly raised.
“Oh yeah, of course it is. As long as its a critical success. If one of my productions has all the classical makings of being an absolute disaster, then things are a little bit more streamlined.”
“What's going to happen? Will you stay to complete this?”
“That's what I wanted to talk to you about. They're bringing in someone else. Some new choreographer who also happens to be an up and coming producer.”
I shook my head and looked at him, knowing that things wouldn't be the same. My future, my career – it could all be dangerously close to jeopardy.
“Stace, I don't want you to feel sad.” He said, rubbing my hands together soothingly as he looked at me.
“I know that, I know.... its just.... I'm sorry... I'm not trying to make you feel guilty.”
“No.... I know. I want you to understand... this is just something I have to do.”
My eyes finally adjusted to the natural light that had started to flood the room, blinking in the sunlight as I tried furiously to hold back tears as I saw his face clearer now, as he looked back at me. I could see his fierce smile, his large eyes communicating a pained and growing concern towards me – they were tight and slightly fixed around the edges as he gave me a small smile, doing his best to make light of the situation.
“When did you even decide to do this?”
“Seriously?” He took a long and deep breath before waiting to answer his own question. He now seemed troubled by it, as if even he still hadn't worked out a definite wrap on it yet. “I'm not really sure. I've always thought about it, but things have just got better and better, and with everything that's been happening... doing the production, managing to cast you... it didn't – it still doesn't make a lot of rational sense.” He laughed, shaking his head slowly now. “You wouldn't believe how long I've taken to try and convince myself this is the right thing to do. Even though, things are great professionally, some of the passion has gone. And before I completely lose it, I need to go and find it again. Go back to basics and discover why I want all of this in the first place.”
I listened and tried to take on board his reasons for leaving. Ben had become one of my closest friends, one of the few people I could be both serious and silly with without having to have a reason why. I sighed. I couldn't believe my time with Ben was about to come to an end, without any warning.
“It would have been a shame to give up instantly on this opportunity, Stace. I need this – for me, you know? That's worth it in its very self.”
I nodded. I would do my very best to understand whatever it is he needed to find, and try and support him the best way a friend can.
“Well, as you're leaving me all alone, can you at least tell me something about your replacement? And for the record, he will have some very large boots to fill.”
I never imagined my dance career at a loose end. But now, that's what things were shaping up to look like. I had taken for granted that Ben would be involved in as much of this production as possible, and although I knew I couldn't make him feel any worse than he did for leaving in the middle of it, in hindsight I had never stopped to truly value my time and my dance career. I had always been a perfectionist, and the moments where most people would have taken a few steps back to reassess how far they had come, or the progress they still had left to make, often passed me by, and so I never allowed myself to be put in a position where I had stopped to appreciate my career before the worst happened.
Ben laughed as he looked at me. “Have you always been this stubborn?”
I looked at him, a look of pure defiance on my face as I returned his stare. “Yes, and I'm not about to stop now just because you're leaving.” I gave him a smug smile.
“I don't know much about him, if you really want to know the truth....” Ben started. “I've met him once or twice recently through mutual friends. He is amazing at what he does. I mean, even I couldn't fault him.”
I wrinkled my nose slightly in mock frustration. “Right.... did you tell him anything about the production? Anything about me?”
Ben laughed at me again. “He knows what he's doing, trust me. He's been briefed, so make sure you trust him completely. This is my last project in New York, the deal was that I move to Connecticut, but I'm only a phonecall away should you need my natural expertise and leadership skills.”
I laughed and gave him a small punch in the shoulder. “Very funny. You can expect a phonecall from me every hour.”
He looked down at his mobile phone before looking up at me again beseechingly, and sighed deeply. I knew that the end had come around for us – the end of our professional relationship together, however it was one that I had no intention of saying goodbye to, or saying goodbye to a chapter so I could start a new era. I tried to swallow the lump in my tightened throat, but much as I tried, it wouldn't budge, as Ben did his best to infuse his voice with his best saccharine tone.
“You'd think that you would be used to seeing me turn away from you and walk out the door by now.” He said, as we both stood up, his hand tightening around my own.
“I know.” I said, nodding and smiling, finding the strength in my heart to believe that I would continue to see Ben from time to time, that this wasn't the end. He leaned towards me as I wrapped my arms tightly around his body, hugging him and feeling his warm skin underneath mine. I was happy for him – I was nervous – but mostly curious – to what the future – or should i say – new choreographer and producer would bring to the production, and if he would ever be a good enough replacement to take the place of Ben as my go to person when it came to dancing – the thing I loved most and couildn't stand to compromise on. But this time it looked like I didn't have a choice.
I watched Ben as he walked towards the studio exit, and out of the door, waving slowly to him as he disappeared around the doorframe and back out into the reception. I stood still, once again alone in the dance studio, and continued to look at the space where he had just been mere seconds ago, and sighed.
I walked towards the door and grabbed my bag, walking out quickly towards my car, wanting to forget about dancing, at least until all my current memories had dimmed a little bit and I could manage to block certain things out. I needed a change for a couple of hours, and without thinking, I grabbed my mobile and dialled out a number that I hadn't looked at in a long time, needing to find comfort and assurance for my own piece of mind that everything was going to be OK.
Stacie Anderson, [Anderson Residence, Upper East Side, Manhattan, New York]
Going back home had always provided me with a sense of sweet relief. Home – and the people in it – my mother, my father, my older brother – had always managed to give me some sense of solitude, security, and sanctuary right at the moments when I had needed it and depended on it the very most.
Every familiarity in the place that I had once called home became important to me – every smell, every sound, every voice invited me in, reminding me that even after spending my time away and living independently, a small part of me sometimes wished I could go back.
After striking out on my own, my life had been like an rollercoaster ride that seemed unwilling to stop, and if anything, seemed to acclerate me to new and outrageous highs as well as bringing me right back down to new lows without any warning whatsoever.
One of my favourite highs was living with my best friend of ten years, Winona Walters, or Win, as I affectionately call her, which she allows due to the fact she thinks it is a mild improvement of her actual name. We have been inseperable since fifth grade, promising to be best friends forever, the only pact that we had both succesfully managed to keep until now. Win and me are what most people would call polar opposites, but this works to our benefit as we learn to appreciate and value the small things that bring us together. Win has always been vibrant, capricious, and energetic with just the right amount of angst that is justifiable for a 25 year old, and ready and willing to try everything and anything. Win has a natural hourglass figure, and her hair has always been long, jet black waves right down to her shoulders, but recently she decided to cut it all off, so now her hair is a short, sleek crop with a sweeping fringe that frames her heart shaped face.
Win's always been confident, and sometimes this can backfire but she lives her life with absolutely no regrets over the things that she does. Over the past couple of years she has applied this to her lovelife as well, and through many deliberations and decisions, a couple of years ago she decided that she would convert to becoming bisexual, and since then has played both of these roles effectively to get what she wants, playing the sweet and saccharine lover, seducing the men in her life as well as fulfilling the role of a sapphic seductress to her credit, proving herself as the zeitgeist of my early and present years, not only in my eyes but through the eyes of everybody else as well.
Although I had become confident with the way that I looked, I hadn't always been comfortable with my appearance. Many people would say that I am an extraordinarily attractive woman, and while I haven't found anybody else to disagree with this notion, I am grateful for the fact that my looks have helped me somewhat with dancing and my career. I also believe its necessary to have something else apart from your looks and appearance. My hair had always been dark brown in colour, which contrasted with my hazel coloured eyes and caramel skin tone, thanks to my half Puerto Rican and Cherokee background. My face was striking, if not symmetrical, with strong features that made people sit up and notice almost straight away, much to my advantage. I had always had natural curves, but they had disappeared once dancing had become an important part of my life, where I found myself in the dance studio or the gym trying to increase my fitness levels at least four days a week. My time living away from home and at Julliard had also co-incided with my first real break-up, the first real heartbreak, and split from my boyfriend Michael Ayres, who I had met when I was 18, and had started dating when I was 20. We had dated for four years before breaking up last year, and even now, a year later, it still hurt in certain places when I thought about it. After our split, I had thrown myself towards dancing, so it became a much needed cartharsis, but inside I still remained completely lost with everything that had happened.
Being back at home with my family had forced me to come to terms with the fact that I needed to take better care of myself now that I was back from Julliard, and on my own. My home had – and stil does, contain so many memories – good times, bad times, sad times, as well as times of anarchy and chaos, as well as complete euphoria.
So now, being able to return home on the rare occasion to look around my family home with brand new eyes felt special – but unbenowst to me, out of all my family, I was the only one who continued to feel this way.
*
Driving up the driveway, my house had always held an enigmatic fascination which had never ceased to exist, right from when I was a little girl up until now. My parents, Gail Reed and Simon Anderson had always believed that they were individual and special as a couple, better than the trappings of the suburban life they had not been able to escape from buying into, their prolonged resistance being futile. They both believed that one day, they would still be able to live out their dreams, ambitions and fantasies, whilst being able to eclipse the notion of suburban life as well as the people around them they so often described as 'average, generic, and sinfully boring.'
There was no doubt in my mind that both of my parents would remain kindred spirits to each other – one and the same during their 20 years of marriage together, and I had always looked to each of them as my role models, both for me, and my older brother Darren, who was on the cusp of turning 25 years old. I was still trying to get my head around the fact that Ben was leaving and I had no idea of what I could expect for the future, so speaking to my parents about arranging a visit had given me a sense of calm. Mum had responded with the fact that she had needed me to see me today anyway, and that Darren would also be coming over. A whole family affair.
I got out of the car and made my way quickly up the driveway and knocked on the door loudly, feeling a bit disorientated by the speed in which the day was moving. It was already late afternoon and I was exhausted, despite having not done that much, convinced it was more of an emotional toll than anything else.
The door opened, and I found Darren leaning on the side of the doorway, looking down at me, a smug smile on his face, his hair a lot shorter and darker than the last time we saw each other, and seeming a lot taller than usual.
“Hey sis.”
“Hey. You going to let me in or what?” I asked, returning his smug smile.
“Yeah sure. You don't happen to know what any of this is about, do you?”
“No – no idea. I just needed to get away from everything, actually.”
“Right.” Darren said, raising his eyebrows and looking at me.
“No, no, you know I didn't mean it like that! Its just hard sometimes, you know?”
“Yes, your life is hard, what with all the dancing that you do, but not as hard as preparing yourself for a baby.”
I looked at him and smiled, still finding it hard to believe that in a matter of months my brother would actually be a dad.
“Yes, OK, your life is officially harder than mine. Wow – I never thought we'd say that about each other.”
We both laughed. “Yeah, neither did I.” He said, as he moved away down the hallway to the kitchen as I followed him into the house. As I followed Darren around to the kitchen, my home had become so familiar to me, even now, that it was like I had never left. Darren entered the kitchen and moved around wordlessly to the breakfast bar, going to get drinks from the fridge, as he set out two glass tumblers on the granite worktop. Light struck through the double glass doors that led outside to the large back garden, natural afternoon sunlight filtering through the arch that split the kitchen in two. The sunlight cast its reflective rays even further now, past the kitchen and through to the hall to the larger and more formal of the two living rooms where my parents would be no doubt waiting and chatting amongst themselves for us to arrive.
“So, seriously, how are you doing? How are you and Tasha coping with everything?” I asked, looking up at Darren intently.
Darren was busy fixing drinks, pouring the wine into two short tumblers from the large wine bottle beside him, before he looked up at me and gave me a puzzled look.
“God, Stace, you really can be melodramatic sometimes. We're just having a baby, its not like we've experienced a natural disaster or anything...” He said, looking at me and laughing again, before he continued.
“Yeah, things are really good between us. I mean, the first couple of weeks were really hard. Tasha couldn't stop crying, her mood swings were up and down, and I guess I did my fair share of freaking out, so I didn't know what to do for a long time. But, its been a couple of months now, and we're excited about it all. Its going to be tough and this wasn't the time in our lives when we would have planned this, but its great nevertheless.” He said, finally thumping the icebox with his hand to extract a couple of ice cubes, chucking them into the tumblers in front of him.
“So, what's new with you? Why are you stressed? Is it because you've lost your touch? Bet that's rough.” He said, looking up at me now, having finished the drinks and holding one tumbler out towards me.
“Very funny!” I said, punching him as hard as I could in the shoulder, watching him as he raised his eyebrows at me, not even flinching for a second, and then giving him a condescending smile.
“Is that the best you got?” He said again, fixing his face into a look of shock alarm.
I pushed my hair back from around my face with both of my hands and smiled appreciatively as I took the glass tumbler out of his hands, and sipped my drink quickly, feeling the cold liquid run down my throat.
“Nothing, really, its just Ben told me he was leaving today... and he's not coming back.”
“Wow – sorry to hear that. Are they bringing someonen else in?”
“Yeah, Ben said he found someone else.”
“Personally, I feel sorry for the guy, as by the looks of things, it looks like he'll have to face your wrath on Monday morning. That's gotta hurt.” Darren said, looking at me and smiling.
“I'm sure It'll be OK. They're stupid if they can't recognise all the talent you have, anyway.” Darren finished.
I smiled as I looked at my brother. “Thanks. That means a lot.”
“Come on, we better go and see what this is all about.” Darren said, grabbing the two tumblers and walking out of the kitchen into the living room, eager to see what was going on, and what was about to happen.
*
Our parents were waiting patiently for us on the inside of the door of the living room, both of them sitting calmly on the sofa, some distance apart from each other, not speaking to each other, their faces changing from quiet preoccupation to relief as we walked into the room. On closer inspection, I noticed that my father Simon looked like he was on tenterhooks, his expression erratic and nervous, the first time I had noticed him like this, a sharp comparison to his usual playful banter and friendly nature.
I looked over to my mother, Gail, who for a brief moment, looked like she had a lot on her mind. But this disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. The silence and the tension in the room was sharply overwhelming and was creating an atmosphere of unease, and would no doubt provoke endless questions from both me and Darren. I looked over to my mother, who was briefly staring across the sofa towards her husband with a look of soft heartbreak on her face, but despite this seemed to feel no aversion to having him sit a short distance away from her, if only for the benefit of both me and Darren who were still standing uneasily and awkwardly in the room, unsure and confused as what to make of this sudden image before us.
“Hi....” Darren said, breaking the ice, his voice becoming a bit of a shock for the rest of us in the room as we looked towards him, grateful that he had managed to break the tension.
“Mum... “ I started, looking towards her as her eyes found mine, now unable to hide her brief moments of sadness that flashed through them. “What's going on? Why did you want us all together?”
Mum stood up quickly and laughed, looking around at all of us and shaking her head slowly, her long black hair now pinned up in a sleek chignon as she smoothed out the slight creases in her black dress. I flashed another glance at Dad, looking closely as I could see dark bags and lines around his eyes, and he looked as though he hadn't slept for weeks. As I looked into his dull brown eyes, he looked lifeless and emotionally drained behind them as he happily allowed for mum to do all the talking.
“Its important that you be here... I can't remember the last time we all sat down for a family meal. I wanted to see you both.” She said, gesturing towards the table as she made her way up from the sofa, my dad giving us a small, stiff smile as he nodded in agreement and walked slowly behind my mother's silhouette, towards the table where he sat across the table from her.
Darren and I exchanged puzzled glances as we made our way towards the table and sat down next to each other and across the room from our parents. I was more than happy to eat and relax and forget about everything, which is what I had come here for, but somehow I was convinced that tonight would end up becoming something else.
Darren cleared his throat uncomfortably as we both concentrated on the table and the plates of food around us. Besides the cutlery and the plates, there were large coloured earthenware pots on the burnt terracotta wooden table filled with salad, pasta, fish, chicken, and rice, as well as two large jugs of water and two large bottles of wine, which based on the atmosphere at the table, I had now become drawn to more than anything else on the table. I looked over at Darren, who by his expression, I could see had mirrored my thoughts exactly.
“Mum.... you really didn't have to go to all of this trouble... this is amazing... I thought this was all just a casual thing....” I said, looking up at her and smiling, hoping that she would see the appreciation in my face and take some small comfort in this.
“Oh, don't worry, its my pleasure. I wanted to cook for everybody, since its the first family dinner we've had in a while.” She said, looking at me and smiling.
“I'm sorry... I'm so sorry.... I can't do this.... I need to get out of here... sorry.” I looked over at dad for the first time and looked up, starting to get up from the table, a panic stricken look on his face and started to make his way towards the door. As he passed my mum's chair, she got up from her chair and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn around and look at her. She stood up and turned his body towards hers, pressing his body closer towards hers, and grabbed his face as she looked into his scared eyes, a nervous, tired, and tense expression on his face.
“No, Simon, NO! You need to do this, now more than ever. You did this – you did this to us, not me. We need to finish this, we need to stop pretending like any of this isn't happening, do you understand me? I just can't do it anymore. I can't keep rescuing you every time you fall.”
Dad looked around the room at all of us, and slumped heavily into the chair next to her. They sat down and said nothing for a while. Their breathing slowed right down, and the tension intensified with each passing second and minute.
“Can somebody please tell us what the hell is going on?” Darren said, looking between confused and bewildered expression on his face. Dad looked up at Darren and said nothing. Mum hesitated as she looked between me and Darren before she opened up her mouth slowly to speak.
“Your dad has a drug problem. Cocaine. And he needs our help.” Mum said, finally providing the missing link in all of this, and finally helping the whole situation to make sense.
That one sentence hit me like a bullet. I was in shock, I didn't want to believe any of it – I couldn't believe it, everything inside me was telling me that none of it was true – if anything, mum had just made a mistake and over reacted. I tried to erase the anger that was boiling through my veins, but it was incredibly hard. I couldn't take my eyes off my dad sitting across from me, who had become a stranger to me now, who refused to admit or deny what had been said, who refused to talk.
“I don't believe any of it – I don't want to. I know you wouldn't do this, you wouldn't do this to us, right?” I said, looking at my dad now, wanting him to stand and speak up and confirm his innocence that I longed and needed to hear before I completely lost it.
“Answer the question.” Darren said, looking across the table at dad, a fierce, angry look in his eyes.
Dad looked across the table at both of us and shook his head, rubbing his hand over his face before he looked across the table at Mum, waiting for her to rescue him all over again. She returned his gaze and started to open her mouth to speak.
“Your dad... its been so difficult these past couple of months, and while his actions are inexcusable, I....'
“Mum, please!” Darren interrupted mum mid-sentence, suddenly banging his fist down on the table in frustration and anger.
“If I'm going to listen to any of this, I don't want to hear from you. Dad needs to talk. Now.” He said, staring at Dad intently, his eyes unmoving and unwavering as he stared coldly across the table.
“I'm sorry...” My dad said, opening his mouth to speak. “At first, I only tried it because I needed a pick me up. Things were rough at work, and it was getting me down. I didn't even like it, but work pressure increased, and soon I relied on it more and more as things got worse...” He looked over at mum who looked over at him and sighed reluctantly.
“I can't listen to this... you're right Dad, you don't want to talk about it, and I don't want to hear about it. Why did you do this? I've always been so proud to have you in my life as my dad, and I've been so happy about the fact that my son or daughter would have you in their lives too, but now... I can't even bear to look at you anymore. You disgust me.”
“Don't talk to your father like that.” Dad said, looking at Darren now, his expression blank. Darren stood against my father, his body blocking the door.
“Get out of my way.” Darren said, maintaning eye contact with my dad, who was now standing in front of him, refusing to move out of the way and let Darren pass, which in his raging anger seemed like the right thing to do.
“Darren, I....” Dad began, before Darren pulled back slowly and punched him in the face, to which his body fell down and away from the door.
“ I don't know who you are anymore, I don't want to know. You'll be lucky if you see your grandchildren at all.” Darren said, his voice raised now, as he got up from the chair and started to move away from the table. I looked up at him and grabbed his hand as he walked past my chair, tears in my eyes as I looked at Dad again and shook my head furiously. Darren looked down, a look of pain and immense hurt on his face as he shook his hand out of my own and passed my father, who was now standing and cradling a bruised and bloody nose.
“Stace, don't... just back off, OK... I mean it.” Darren said as he pushed past me and stormed out of the room as I watched him disappear helplessly.
I looked at Dad, wanting him to say something, anything, to try and get himself of the hole that he had managed to dig for himself. I buried my face in my hands and shuddered at the thought, at the undeniable fact that my dad had been secretly snorting cocaine for some time now. I sighed and looked over at my mother, who I knew would take the blame for this the way she had always took on everything herself. I shook my head fiercely and then shot a glance at the faces of my parents. I stood up from the table and started to walk across the room.
“Darren's right... about everything. Get the help you need, but this isn't over.” I said, my eyes filling with tears as I walked out of the kitchen and out into the hallway, before making my way quickly outside the front door where I could think more clearly in the fresh air.
I looked around for Darren as I stood on the driveway, hoping he would still be here, needing someone to talk to about all of this, but he had disappeared. I tried to think where he would go, or what he would do, but my mind was drawing a complete blank.
I quickly pulled out my phone and punched a number in quickly, waiting for a response from the other end of the line.
“Hello?” Said a soft voice, ringing through my ears like wind chimes.
“Tasha, its Stacie.”
“Oh, hey Stace. How's it going?”
“Yeah, fine thanks. Is Darren home yet?”
“No, isn't he supposed to be at your parents' house? I expected him home a while ago, actually.”
“Right. As soon as he does come home, can you get him to ring me? Its important.”
“Yeah sure. Are you sure everything's OK?”
“Honestly, I'm not entirely sure. Please just get him to ring me.” I said, closing my cell phone and pressing it to my mouth, not knowing what to think.
I just couldn't put any of it together in my head. On the one hand, I had always tried to see the best in people, tried to value and appreciate them for their personalities, and I had always loved and respected my parents no matter what had happened. But more than that, I just couldn't reconcile someone like my dad with the concept of cocaine. I couldn't visualise him as the stereotypical junkie who spent every waking hour searching for their next hit.
I drove home, wishing I would hear from Darren and know that he was OK. i went back to my apartment, wanting nothing more than to forget about my entire day. I dropped my bag in the kitchen and listened to my answering machine where one final goodbye message from Ben was waiting for me, as well as one from Win to say she was home and good luck with the showcase. As she usually got in after me in the evenings, this particular message had become a bit of a daily ritual which I had come to appreciate a lot.
I couldn't sleep that night, and all I wanted was for things to return to normal. I had no idea what would happen now, or in the future. I felt fragile, and all the strength I had left had managed to completely disapear within one day. As much as I loved my dad, as much as I loved my parents, I couldn't – I didn't want to be a part of it. I couldn't be sure that my dad would do his best to get the help he needed – despite mum's efforts. I wished it could actually be as easy as getting up and walking away, walking out of a room, never having to think about it again. But no matter how many times I tried to put it out of my head and concentrate on something else, something always brought me back. Darren would be the only other person who would understand that it wasn't about friendships, relationships, personalities or anything else. With anybody else, I would be able to handle it, eventually at least. But the reason why it was so complicated and so pressurized was the simple fact that it wasn't just anybody else – it was my dad, it was my mum – my parents together that had unveiled this secret, and no matter what, they would always cause me endless hours of deliberating, with nothing but my endless thoughts to distract me, getting under my skin and staying there no matter what. It is a hard thing to do, to finally accept your parents the way they are and know that they are essentially flawed, and no matter how hard you work or how hard you try at getting everything as perfect as you can, you have to let go and move on. I had let go and moved on, but the hard decision I needed to make now was if this had become permanent and irrevocable.
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