I feel my chest shaking, and I press my palm against my satin gown, directly over my chest, hoping to calm the quaking. "I just wanted him to be here," I whisper.
She gives me a sad smile, the same smile that I've been seeing over the past year. Ever since the day he left, it's been pitiful, sad looks given to me in every direction.
"Why don't we head home, huh? I can grill for us down by the lake. It's a beautiful evening," Cypress says from behind me, wrapping me in a hug of his own.
I inhale a shaky breath, giving him a smile and a nod. We all head out, going in our separate cars back to our houses.
A year ago, after Roman left, he called that same day. He found a payphone on the road, using the spare change in his pocket to give me a call. He didn't call his parents; his friends didn't call their parents. He only called me. It left me with an inkling of hope that everything would be okay. That our time together could be filled with phone calls and letters. If I closed my eyes, it was like he was almost there, lying next to me on my bed. That’s how soft his voice was. It was low, echoing in my chest and making me feel like if I reached out, my fingers would thread through the thick strands of his hair. I could pretend he was with me every time he called, and the next time I'd open my eyes, it'd be a year from now, and Roman would be in front of me.
I'd get letters. The beginning weeks and even the first couple of months consisted of my mailbox being stuffed with letters upon letters from Roman. Love letters, really. Small trinkets that he'd find and mail to me. Things he knew I'd love to see. Promises of places that we’d travel to when I would go on the road with him someday. Stories he'd tell, people he'd meet. The letters were filled with each moment of his life. He wanted to share those moments with me, and I swallowed every word, every curl of every letter. Every dot and period, every crease in the paper. I'd smell the letters, hoping for a small scent of him. A remembrance, something normal that I could hold on to. I'd feel the texture of the smooth paper, running my finger across the bumpy seal where I know he'd licked. I begged and pleaded for time to fly by.
Unfortunately, time seemed to slow.
Roman never made it home for Christmas. They were too busy in the recording studio to make the trip, their manager too strict and kind of a hard ass, Roman would say.
Then New Year’s came, and I waited by my phone, curling the cord around my finger until my blood ran cold. Once the clock struck midnight, and the new year was here, I still hadn't received a call. I clutched my phone in my arms all night, waiting for the obnoxious ring and Roman's timbre voice to relax my frayed nerves.
It never came.
He called days later, telling me how chaotic things had been in California. Now they were getting ready to head out for another tour.
I cried. I cried so hard through the phone he had to have felt the tears. He pled with me to stay strong, that nothing has changed between us. That before I knew it, we'd be together again.
But now, here I am.
I'm alone. I haven't heard from Roman in weeks. I know he's okay, because the local paper always loves talking about the local boy turned rock star. He's on tour, traveling and making friends and being famous.
No phone calls. No more letters. Our connection has gone silent, just as my heart has. It no longer beats. My blood no longer pumps. I'm a walking zombie as I float through the days. Senior year in high school was supposed to be filled with happiness and good memories, but I barely remember a day of it.
I'm so lost, I don't even know what tomorrow brings.
I stretch my unused feet in front of me, feeling useless and sad. My body isn't as flexible as it once was. Just a few months without dance has turned my body into something it's never been before.
The moment Roman left, my love for dance dwindled. Don't get me wrong, it's always been a part of me, and it always will be. I went to the studio for a long time after he left, trying with everything in me to get that strength, that power, that drive back that I've had in me for thirteen years. But the moment Roman left, it's like he took my ability to dance with him.
I can dance just as good as I always have, but my heart isn't in it. My mind isn't in it. And ballet isn't a sport that you do half-assed. Do it with everything in you or don't do it at all. Ballet doesn't deserve me when I'm like this. My slippers don't deserve my blood and my leotard doesn't deserve my sweat. Not if my heart isn't in it.
My heart isn't in it.
It just makes me wonder, how Roman can be such a big impact on my life, but I'm such a little impact on his? If he can continue to sing and make music, but I can't even find it in me to tie my slippers around my ankles, were we ever soulmates at all?
Is it possible that he's my soulmate, but I'm not his?
The thought pulls me into a dark, dark pool of dread and tragedy, dark as my black hair. It curls around me like a cold blanket, and I chill.
All the way to my soul.
My toes curl in the cool lake, and I watch the minnows swim around them. They float up to my toes, getting a sense of what the unusual thing is floating in their home. I move my foot and they flitter away in the blink of an eye.
The edges of my dress are damp, floating on the surface of the water as I kick my legs. My butt is planted on the end of Roman's dock, and I watch the sunset over the horizon. A few fishermen still linger about, creating small waves as they drive by. Mr. Sorenson from across the lake comes by in his pontoon, his grandkids sitting on the edge, half of their bodies suspended in air as they look at the water. Their bright orange life jackets choking them to death.
My eyes flit back down to my toes.
None of it matters anymore. It's all meaningless.
It's been two weeks since graduation, and I still haven't heard from Roman. I sent him a letter with the date and time of the ceremony, and I figured he'd be there. I'd hoped, but now that weeks have passed, the hope is long gone that I mean anything to him at all.
He's forgotten about me.