In the Air (4 page)

Toby, my ass! I was positive Natalia remembered my name, though it was cute that she acted like she hadn't. As I watched her walk out of rehearsal, I thought about why I came here: to steer my life in the direction I wanted and not the direction my father felt it should go.

Being a dancer was never an acceptable career in my household, but it was always the one thing I wanted to do. In my early years, I played baseball because my father insisted. I hated the sport and begged my mother to let me do something else. A few months after I turned eleven, she took me with her to see
Alice in Wonderland
at the Connecticut Ballet Theater. I remembered watching the strong men dance and how flawless it seemed when they lifted the women in the air. When I left the performance that night, I knew that I wanted to be like the men I had just seen. The next day, without my father's knowledge, my mother signed me up for ballet. Since my very first class, I never looked back.

Walking out of the room, I reached for my Ray Bans and felt the vibration in my pocket alert me of a missed call. Seeing that it was Aubrey and not my father, I exhaled a sigh of relief. Before dialing her number, I watched as the cars passed through the streets. I had to take a few relaxing breaths before talking to Aubrey, knowing the conversation was sure to spoil my mood.

"Hello?" she huffed into the phone.

"Hey. I saw I missed your call; just got out of rehearsal."

"I knew this was going to happen, Sam. You're already moving on and forgetting about me," she whined.

"Aubrey, I'll never forget you." I felt like that statement had left my lips at least a dozen times since I arrived yesterday.

"We've been together every day for most of our lives. Excuse me if I have to get used to this distance you've put between us."

My girlfriend, Aubrey, grew up down the road from me. We were inseparable. Our mothers had us around the same time and declared from day one that we would someday fall in love. We, of course, thought that was gross when we were nine, but once we became teenagers, their wishes came true.

"We're not even two hours away from each other, Aubrey. Look, I know the distance will be hard on our relationship, but if we want to be together, it has to be this way."

"I didn't know you made the rules for our relationship. What about what I want, Samson?" As Aubrey continued her tirade, I recalled the girl I fell in love with, the girl that wanted to be a photographer and travel the world. I missed that girl. It seemed the longer I stayed with this new version, the tighter the rope around my neck would become, until one day, I wouldn't be able to breathe at all.

As I rounded the corner, my gym bag hooked onto a shelf, spilling everything. "Fuck!" I exploded. "Damn it, Aubrey! You need to stop bitching at me every single time we have a conversation. I can't take it anymore!"

I bent down to pick up my belongings, trying to compose myself. Over the last year, our relationship had taken a turn for the worse. Before, we were best friends and got along easily. Now, we constantly argued over the smallest things. I debated ending it many times, but I couldn't stomach the thought of losing something we'd worked on most of our lives.

"First of all, Samson, you're an asshole," Aubrey seethed. "Second of all, you brought this on yourself. You're the one that left home to become a ballerina."

Breathe in. Breathe out.

"
Really? A
ballerina?
If you're
going to talk to me like that, there's no use in continuing this conversation." As I stepped into the daylight, I looked at my new surroundings. My home. I refused to let Aubrey, or anyone else for that matter, ruin this for me.

"I keep hoping you'll realize how much it's killing me that you chose to go to New York, but I don't think you ever will. Your family misses you. I miss you!"

I held the phone away from my ear and turned the volume down. I knew she was full of shit. My mother may have missed me, but my father was happy I was out of the house. This way, he wouldn't have to see the son who was such a disappointment to him.

Before I left for New York, my father sat me down in his study and asked if I was sure this was the path I wanted to take.

"Dad," I told him, "my life isn't something you can control. This is what I want to do and there's no way you can change my mind."

My father studied my face, almost as if he were waiting for me to crack a smile and admit I was joking. When I didn't say anything, he continued on his rant.

"Sammy, I just can't stomach the idea of my son going off to spend his days dancing. You know it makes me sick, seeing you prance around in spandex. It's an embarrassment to the Callahans."

Since I refused to follow in his footsteps and go to medical school, he considered me a waste of space. I drove the memory of that conversation from my mind. I was beginning to wonder if Aubrey was oblivious to what was happening right before her eyes. If she was convinced that my dad missed me, what other nonsense did she believe?

"I do miss you, Aubrey. The girl I used to know, I really miss her." I felt my throat clench and became irritated that these conversations were happening every day. I was tired of arguing. More than anything, I wanted to be happy again.

"Whatever, Samson. I'm the same girl I've always been, but now I have grown-up goals. Not that you know anything about that. Goodbye."

In the past, Aubrey had been supportive of my dancing. She came to all of my performances, taking pictures of every dance. When our junior year arrived, though, the pressure of getting accepted into Yale became more important than anything else. Aubrey threw her camera away, along with her carefree attitude. I understood why I was put on the back burner, I just didn't think I'd stay there. Everything changed the moment she received her acceptance letter. When it was clear that the girl I loved all my life had disappeared, I went after what I wanted. It was upsetting to move away from her, from everything I'd ever known, but my dreams didn't line up with hers.

I'd practically lived in the city most of my life, traveling back and forth to visit my dance teacher, but now that I was able to call it home, the surroundings seemed different. It looked brighter, cleaner even. I shook off Aubrey's call and allowed myself to forget the drama for the rest of the evening.

I had plans to meet up with one of my best friends, Wren, later that night at the housewarming party of our buddy, Jay. The three of us had gone to high school together, but Wren was a year older and had lived in the city for a year now, attending NYU as a literature major. His parents bought him a condo in Brooklyn, and when I told him I would be moving to the city, he urged me to move into his complex. I tossed around the idea until I was informed by Juilliard that I had to live in the dorms my freshman year. Judging from the experience I had meeting my roommate earlier this morning, I already knew it was going to be awkward living with him in a room the size of a closet.

I crossed over 67th street and headed to the Apple store. Since guys don't typically have housewarming parties, I didn't know what to get. Jay practically had everything already. His parents catered to his every need, and now his only goal was to throw the best parties in the city. As I browsed the newest iMacs, a sales associate stopped and asked if I needed help.

"Can you point me in the direction of housewarming gifts?"

The sales guy gave me a confused look. "I guess ... portable speakers would be good?"

"Sure, portable speakers. That works." I was in a hurry to get out of the busy store and to the party on time. "Show me the way." I signaled him to move. After almost head-butting a few people to get them out of my way, we finally came upon the speakers. I picked up the first box I saw and walked to the registers. The line was insanely long and I remembered why I liked having a personal shopper back home. After I made my purchase, I quickly walked back to the dorms to change. My roommate, Myers, wasn't around, and I was glad there wouldn't be an awkward invitation thrown out on my part.

Getting into Jay's building was like trying to get into Fort Knox. The overweight security guard sat at his desk, scrolling through the list of approved visitors.

"Samson Callahan, for the hundredth time," I seethed.

"Sorry, son, I don't see your name on here; therefore, you aren't allowed upstairs."

I felt like jumping over the fat bastard's makeshift desk and pummeling him, but decided violence wasn't the answer. As I reached for my phone to call Jay, I turned and saw Hadley Shepard walking in. In high school, Hadley was the proverbial town bicycle. Any guy was free to hop on for a spin and pop a few wheelies along the way. I was probably the only guy at St. Luke's that never took a joyride.
Would it still be called a joyride if her lady bits were a common place for men to park?

"Well, if it isn't Samson Callahan. No surprise you're late." Her high-pitched voice rang through my ears as she walked toward me. I'd never been close to Hadley, but she and Jay had an on again/off again relationship since high school. She came to New York to pursue her dream of becoming a Broadway star. Hadley was the farthest thing from prudish, so I was sure if she opened her legs for the right casting director, she'd be on a stage in no time.

"Hadley, wow, I'm surprised to see you're not horizontal by this time of night."

She sneered, which made her face look like an angry Chihuahua. "Very funny, Sam. Is that girlfriend of yours still buying your claims of heterosexuality?"

Hadley stomped off in Mr.Fatty’s direction and gave him her name. As he stood up from his chair and waddled across the foyer to retrieve the elevator, I was tempted to grab his stupid list and add my name. Just as I was about to, the elevator opened and out walked Jay with his arm slung over some blonde I didn't recognize. I guess he and Hadley were "off" right now. Hadley swiftly brushed past Jay into the elevator, ignoring him and the blonde.

"There you are, Sam. Where the fuck have you been? Wren is upstairs already." Jay had a grin plastered on his face, which could only mean one thing: he was about to get laid.

"Standing here for the past fifteen minutes. You could have remembered to put me on your list, asshole."

"Fuck, my bad." Jay's palm hit his forehead. "I had Patsy create the list and she must have forgotten you."
What the hell is the use in having a party planner if they forget a simple task like that?
Jay turned to the security guard. "Tom, let Samson up to my place. He's cool." He walked to the doors, turning back before exiting. "Samson, I'll be right back. This beauty right here wants to take a joyride in my Porsche."

There's that term again.

The doors to the penthouse opened and there stood a waiter, with a glass of the best whiskey on the planet. This was exactly what I'd needed all day. My hand wrapped around the cool glass and my throat began to ache for the slow burn of the liquor. I walked into Jay's place and noticed a few of the guys from St. Luke's hanging out in the kitchen, probably reliving our high school days. If there was one thing I didn't want to do, it was dwell on the past. I was over trying to keep up the facade of what the preppy kid with lots of money was supposed to act like. I wanted to focus on dance, not on how much my car was worth or how many girls I'd slept with. I steered clear of the kitchen and headed into the living room.

Jay's condo looked like a picture from those house magazines my mother always read. White furniture went perfectly with the dark wood floors that lined the entire loft. A stone wall stood opposite the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Manhattan. I had a feeling Jay's mother designed the space. I saw Wren sitting on the stark white couch, talking to another one of our friends.

"Dude, where the hell have you been?" Wren stood up and slapped me on the back. I hadn't seen him in six months and I barely recognized him. No longer preppy, he had on a flannel button up, dark jeans that looked as if they had been painted on, and his hairstyle had changed dramatically. The once short spikes had been replaced with closely shaved sides and a messy, grown out top. Then I noticed the tattoos. My best friend was now a hipster.

"Wren? Is that you, or did you kill off my normal-looking friend and replace him?"

"Funny, Samson. I'm glad your humor stayed intact through all of those ballet classes."

When Wren first moved to New Canaan, Jay and I were freshmen in high school. I remembered the first day of school, Wren walked into the cafeteria and straight to our table. "Can I sit here?" he'd asked. We all stopped talking and looked up at the voice none of us recognized. Wren had moved from South Africa that summer. Since that first day of freshmen year, Wren, Jay, and I had always been best friends.

"When did all of this happen?" I pointed to the black drawing peeking out from Wren's shirt. I wasn't entirely surprised by his new appearance. He was the rebellious one in the group. Every time his parents pushed him to do something he didn't want to do, he pushed back harder and refused. I respected him for always sticking to his guns.

"I started with this one." Wren pointed to the inside of his wrist to a solid black triangle. "Then I got this," he pointed to his other arm and showed a black ink drawing of his favorite writer, Kurt Vonnegut. "After these two, I became addicted and I couldn't stop." Almost everything, including Wren's knuckles, was covered in art.