I nodded as heat pressed into my eyes again.
She leaned back then patted my cheeks. “But I’m proud of you, Hollie.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
She wiped her tissue along her bottom lashes. “What are you going to tell Izzy and Nora?”
I took a long, shuddering breath. “I don’t know. I honestly need some time to think about it.”
“Of course. I’m going to head home and help Estelle with the girls and get dinner on the table. You come home when you’re ready.” We walked together to the parking lot, where we headed toward our cars. Inside the Volvo, I blasted the heat and tapped through my phone’s notifications. As expected, the family group chat was filled with fingers-crossed and well-wishes and I missed a couple calls from my dad, who was somewhere in the mid-West. But the only notification I gave my attention was one single text from Jesse.
I know you have family you need to update, but call me when you can.
I texted back.
I will in a little while. I think I just need some quiet right now.
His text came back immediately.
I’m here. Whenever you’re ready.
My mind fell numb as I drove, the engine humming nearly lulling me into a trance. The feelings in my chest were so big, I couldn’t sort them behind the wheel. So I shut them down. I flipped the blinker and almost exited onto the interstate until I remembered my house sold in the beginning of September. I cut the blinker off and wondered how long I would keep doing that. As much as I loved my parents, their house didn’t feel likemine.Hopefully it wouldn’t take too much longer for me to emotionally settle in with them.
The court house was so far off my typical path that I got disorienteddriving and had to pull up my maps app. It routed me down some roads I hadn’t driven since I was a kid. Even though I was only a few blocks down from my parents, I gaped out the windows as I drove, absorbing the way the world had changed. Braking at a traffic light, my gaze skittered to the left side of the road, where the old bowling alley stood—a thread of my past still hanging on for dear life.
Its neon sign glowed and cars littered the sparse parking lot.
I huffed in disbelief. It still existed? It was stillopen!
Driven by a force outside myself, my hand reached for the blinker and I made a left hand turn. Ignoring all the parking spaces, I did the only thing I’d ever done. I drove around to the back and parked so that my headlights bathed the cinder block wall.
The back of the bowling alley hadn’t aged a day.
Before I’d even decided what I was doing there, I exited the car. Leaving the door ajar, I took tentative steps toward the wall. I blinked the blur away and cleared the lump in my throat as I reached forward and dragged my finger tips along the blocks until my fingers found divots—my tally marks. How, after all this time, could you still see them? Faded by years, they had almost disappeared.
Fog lifted from my mouth as my breath puffed in disbelief.
Staring at that wall, my stifled feelings clenched my throat. Tears pooled in my eyes and I bit down on my lip. Every hard thing I’d swallowed down bubbled to the surface as a tsunami of hurt crashed over me.
I was brave here—dancing and watching, making beauty with a shadow. I could come here and completely strip down to my most vulnerable self. As a child, I processed things here that were heavy and dark and I’d leave with my head held high. In some ways, the Hollie behind the bowling alley was my best version—raw and unafraid, open and bold.
I missed her.
And suddenly, like a winter gust of wind, words spoken over my heart splintered through my soul, tearing apart my armor.
If he took dancing from you, take it back. Every chance you get.
A sharp breath filled my lungs as tears raced down my cheeks.
Take it back.
I took my girls back. I took my future back. I could takemeback, too.
Glancing down at my clothes, I realized my black flats, panty hose, and suit skirt wouldn’t be very conducive to dancing, but I didn’t really care. I knew what I had to do. With shaking legs, I returned to the car and dropped into the driver’s seat, pairing my phone to the sound system. Not wanting to overthink it, I picked the first song that popped in my head—the song I played the very first time I danced here.
Patrick Watson’sTo Build a Home.
The first chord pulsed though my ears and barreled into my spirit, tearing every wound in my heart wide open. Clutching my chest, I got back out of the car, and walked into the light. This was where I’d found my heart as a dancer while my family’s foundations quaked. And now, here I was, fully transformed by the trials of life—a dancer on wobbly knees, relearning how to move without fear.
