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CHAPTER 1The corridor sounds hollow and each sound is moreintense than the one before. Maybe its because I am soscared of what I’m about to find. Or what I’m too late tofind. He was like a father to me, even though my own isalive and well. His name is B. Just B. And he was mysunshine when the days were dreary and the nights weredisheartening.And he wasn’t that just to me, but to all of us. I’vethought of him often throughout the years and during therelentless voyage to my new-found success. His wordsof encouragement and those of precaution have guidedme even though I hadn’t talked to him in…well, in years.So when I heard the news that he was dying, I wasimmediately drawn to this hospital even though I knew itmight cost me my dream tour. The one I had beenworking towards all these years. The very reason I hadbeen neglecting B. and my other friends.My being here did not just mean a few hours away fromthe tour, but a few days, maybe even weeks. I was hereto save a life. Here to grant a little more time andhopefully some salvation. For B.’s sake, yes, but also for my own…for all of our sakes. We all needed him in our corner. To provide us guidance for just a little whilelonger. My one source of apprehension is that I don’tknow what type of attitude I might face when I get to B.But one thing I do know and that is it’s time for me to facemy demons…ones that I had created through my ownselfishness throughout the years. You, see I have cometo know that God tests us. This was to be one of mytests. It’s His way of adding to my testimony and if Icould get past this tests and still love God for who He isand not for what He gives me…my tour, my success, mydreams…then I could accomplish anything.I might even be able to accomplish loving again. Sosimple, love, yet something that I had squared myself from for so many years. I just believe that this was theone test that would allow me to love again. I believe thisin my heart and because of this belief, I felt a mightypresence…His might presence. Not necessarily apresence of victory or even deliverance, but one of truth…there was going to be truth here today. It was timefor me to be truthful not only with myself, but with those Ilove and more importantly, with those who loved me. As I approach the nurse’s station and for the first timenotice almost all eyes on me, I suddenly remember who Iam now and that I’m not just the dance student I oncewas when I first met B. on that hot, intense day in Augustalmost 15 years ago.---It was 101 degrees in the shade and I was hot! I wasmad as hell and I felt like just giving up on what I haddreamed of since I was a child growing up in a quainttown in Indiana. I would make up dance routine after dance routine just to escape the clamor and confusion of my parents constant quarrelling. My mother jumping upoff the couch would be an “elongated twirl;” my father’sfinger going back and forth in her face would be a “bodyshimmy;” and each squirm of her lips so close to his
 
while she was spitting her words with contempt wouldplay out my rhythmic “point, step, point, point, step,point”…and the finale, his slam out the door, would bemy dramatic “turn, twist and land” in the perfect and finalbow of my performance. Performing was my life and Ihad always taken it seriously, and out of the trepidation of my youth, I had indeed perfected it.So why, at that moment, had my dance instructor justhumiliated me for the umpteenth time? I came to classfully prepared to execute the perfect performance, theultimate
 peotre
. I had been in the dance studio with mypartner half the night until I had that land perfected andwhen I came to class to demonstrate my hard work, myimbecile instructor had the audacity to exclaim, “And youthink that’s what’s going to get you your major break…your looks aren’t everything and neither is daddy’smoney. It takes SACRIFICE, COMMITMENT andDILIGENCE of which you have none…”I didn’t hear the rest because I ran out in humiliation anddisgrace. Still clad in my dance attire and sweat drippingfrom every pore on my body, the 101-degree heat onlyintensified my vehemence and like I said, I was mad ashell! I was reliving everything, all the hours of preparation when everyone else was hanging out withfriends eating, drinking and partying. Now, that’sSACRIFICE. I refrained because I knew I couldn’t abusemy body even slightly and still demand the rigorousrequirements that dancing necessitates. Now, that’sCOMMITMENT. I constantly rehearsed when otherswere partying, socializing and entertaining their friendsand almost always declined offers from peers. Now,that’s damn DILIGENCE!“What more does she want? Blood?”I must have uttered these words out loud because thenext thing I know, I heard a deep, throaty voice say,“Sometimes they do, dear and if you want it bad enough,you’ll give it to ‘em. But remember, not so much that youhemorrhage. Just enough to let ‘em know you’re in it andready, willing and able to go toe-to-toe as long as isrequired. That’s what I tell my River.”I hesitate. But in spite of myself, I repeat, “River?” I’mconfused.“She’s my daughter. The reason I’m on this here campustoday.” The old man chuckles. “I’m not a student, after all. Though, I gather why you might have mistaken mefor one.” Again, his low and soft chuckle.I really take a look at him for the first time and see that hehas deeply-tanned and wrinkled skin. Not as if he’s old,but rather as if he’s been out in the sun all his life. Hehad a wonderful head of hair though, dark brown andvery full. And his eyes. They were dark and rich, notonly with wisdom but with laughter too. This was a manwith a sense of humor. And I was in desperate need of some of it. So again, in spite of my agitated state, Irepeat:“River?” It’s as if I’m dumbfounded by a simple word.
 
“Yes, child. River. You don’t know her? I thoughteverybody knew my River. We call her that becauseRiver is like time, she never, EVER stands still. MyRiver’s sings like an angel and she is also a designstudent here. She design’s dance steps…what does shecall it…uhm…” He’s thinking.“Choreography?” I look closer at the old man, who didn’tseem as old as I originally thought, but he was timelessin that you would never be able to guess his actual age.His laughter would put him at that gleeful age of abouteight. His full, wavy and gleaming hair would put him atthat romantic age of about twenty. His deep and sexyvoice would put him at that mature age of about thirty-five. His eyes would put him at that sageous age of about ninety. But he still had a lot of life in him and heseemed to have more spunk than most of the people Iknew that were my age. So if I average all of those agesout, I guess that would just about put him at about…“…oh, yeah, choreography.” He agreed. His rich voiceinterrupted my serene, but somewhat useless thoughtpattern. “My name is B. by the way and I’m sorry to havebothered you …you were in deep contemplation bothtimes I interjected. I do apologize.”I hesitated before answering. After all, I don’t maketalking to strangers a habit. But my curiosity got the bestof me and I decided to respond in a kindly manner.“That’s okay, my grandmother used to say, ‘tis the sort of contemplation that goes best with conversation. So,you’re free to interject. No need to apologize.” I pauseagain before saying, “Would you like to know somethingsad and sorrowful?” I asked, putting myself out on a limbto this stranger and about to expose some of my rawestfeelings.B. didn’t answer, he just looked at me. I couldn’t read hiseyes. At the time I thought it was because I was sopreoccupied by my own situation. Only later did Irecognize that it was because I hadn’t the means to beable to decipher such wisdom as what his eyescontained.I continued, steadfast. “I am who I am and I just mightnot be as flawless and perfect as I have strived to be allthis time.” There. I said it. But I still feel burdened andan enormous amount of sadness as I am forced todiscard an illusion that I have carried around sincechildhood. For so long, it has been all that I have had, allmy own…being perfect. I look at B. wondering what inthis not-so-old man has forced me to so suddenly shedsomething that I have always used as an armor of defense. And not only did I shed it, but I did so withouthaving anything with which to replace it.“Why is that realization sad and sorrowful, child? Ialways tell my River that on our journey here in this life,we are ever-changing and defining and redefining our growth. So to redefine is not sad, nor sorrowful, but justthe natural course of life.”“What? So, don’t strive for perfection, but strengthinstead?” I ask confused. “But I’ve put in too much timeand diligence into being perfect. I just can’t believe thatno one is perfect. I don’t want to be all-around perfect at
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