Collision

Not even an hour after the last time we'll do "Love Junkie" the way we just did it and I am already home, with my wine, in tears. 


To begin, here are my list of concerns - I have a huge bruise on the palm of my left hand and one on the pinkie knuckle of my right. Both make putting weight on my hands difficult, which is somehow becoming my go-to mode of movement lately. The right side of my lower back is constantly pinching, making any and all extensions to the back excruciating and occasionally making jumping all but impossible. My left hip is stuck and always feels like it needs to crack, but it never will. It's really starting to limit my capabilities. My ribcage is spiraled out of place - my left side may or may not have a dislocated rib and after tonight's performance, who knows what happened to my right side. I look like I've been thrown down at least three flights of stairs with all my bruises and to top it all off, I have a hive that looks like a hickey.


I can assure you that it's a hive. I haven't had enough fun for it to be a hickey.


And again...this is how I will go down. That's all I keep thinking. This is what it feels like to be too broken to move. 


At least I have the mind power to shut it off and the will power to keep going. But it's getting harder and harder to warm myself up. The aches and pains are winning more and more every day. I'm still only twenty-one, I swear. 


Anyway...Michael's piece was absolutely stunning. I have never heard such an array of compliments before, on both my performance and the piece as a whole. Even the compliments I received personally I attribute back to him 100%. He pushed me to be everything I was on that stage. He molded me to fit his vision. For forty-five minutes, he made me beautiful. 


And then tonight, the last time we'll do this for a long time, having to say goodbye to something that has been so essential to my existence for such a long time, and tragedy strikes. Everything went fine, I was a little less grounded than I would have liked but I knew it was nerves and emotions and eventually I found my feet...and then came the running. That god damned running. Sorry friend, you know I never liked that running stuff. And there he was, right in my path. Okay, split second decision to fix it. I'll just go more downstage and leave her her path. But wait, she moved right back in my path. Okay, more downstage. She moved again. More downstage. She moved. Downstage.


You've got to be kidding me.


And we collided, with the force of a hit that spectators at a football game would cringe at, except, we weren't wearing any pads. All I remember is seeing the floor, and the immediate rage as I picked myself up and ran off. Then the undeniable lack of air in my body and the extreme need to vomit. Quick debate about staying off stage. And of course, I bolted to the front of the line to go back on, running as hard as I can. 


Section's over and I'm back behind the scrim, watching the already heart-wrenching duet and reliving that terrible moment over and over. Terrified of the feedback I'll get after the show. Still feel sick. Maybe before I go back on I can go puke real fast. Not sure I can breathe yet.


No time to puke. Back on stage. Still pissed. Reliving everything, every relationship, all of your faces in hers. Overwhelmed with hatred and the longing to be held, to be put back together, to never let this happen again, and all of the contradictions all of those feelings encompass. In tears as I run to stop her from falling. Dancing the end. Smiling. Am I bipolar? Back to shaking, and crying. Walking off stage. 


Michael, I will remember every face you ever made at me as I walked off from that piece. Thank you for filling my heart and letting me feel.


Bowing and coming off. Collapsing to my hands and knees. Sobbing. Am I sad? Angry? In pain? Scared? All of it? Jess hugging me. Ouch. She doesn't know I'm hurt. This isn't how this was supposed to be. Ah, but there is the beauty in it. That is very truly my experience with love.


So we sit, and she still hugs me, until I tell her I think I'm not okay. The ice. Everyone seeing me cry. I hate that. I HATE that. Then the talk of an EMT. I'll throw a fit, I swear. If I go, they'll tell me I can't dance. There's too much wrong with me right now. Jess, not knowing all of it. She thought I was just talking about my normal stuff. 


Drama. That's all I have to say.


But, before the show, we each had to share a word in order to sum up our experience during this piece. My brain flooded with thoughts, memories and ideas - love, friendship, belief, a chance - but ultimately, what kept coming back was "I'm okay." But then, this isn't just about me. It's about Michael. And me. And everyone who danced. And everyone who watched. And everyone who's ever meant anything to any of us. 


So, "I'm okay," turned into, "we're okay." 


And we are. Or we're going to be.


There will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears. And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.