I had spent the early hours of Saturday morning drinking coffee and pushing scrambled eggs around a plate, picking at a piece of toast and nibbling a fruit salad in turn. I ate almost none of it.
“Did you sleep?” my mother asked, walking into the kitchen and cinching her robe tightly around her waist.
“Not much,” I admitted, holding out my coffee mug for a refill. She glanced at it, then at my face, as if trying to gauge my caffeine level. She must have deemed it acceptable because she stood over me and filled up the mug.
“Hey.” My father walked in and pulled his favorite chipped blue mug out of the cupboard over the sink. “Did you get any sleep?”
I exchanged glances with my mother, who winked at me and shrugged.
“Not much. I couldn’t sleep, so I was up early running through my routine.” I put my cup down on the table and took a deep breath, willing my hands to stop shaking. I wasn’t sure anymore if it was nerves or caffeine causing that.
My father sat down across from me and leaned over, putting his hands on my knees. He was usually a man of few words, but he looked me in the eye proudly and nodded.
“You’ve got this, son. Remember who you are.” He patted my leg again and stood up, taking his coffee cup with him as he left the room. I raised an eyebrow at my mom as Jen walked into the room. I was surprised my father had even that much to say before his morning coffee. His words resonated, but before I had a chance to think much about them, Jen’s voice cut into my reverie.
“So? Ready to go in front of a bunch of racist jackoffs and dance your butt off?” she asked, biting into a chocolate-chip muffin.
“Jen!” my mother and I both yelled.
I stifled a laugh. “They’re not all so bad,” I told her. “But yeah…I don’t know. I’m second-guessing the flip.” All I could imagine was trying to flip, falling short and landing on my head.
“Shake it off, bro. You’ll be fine.” She was being flippant, but she didn’t know how big a deal this was. It could make or break my experience at the Cultural Center and determine whether I stayed or not. And it scared the hell out of me. She glanced away from picking the chocolate chips out of her muffin and adding them to the pile on the edge of her plate and saw my terrified expression. “John! I didn’t mean to freak you out! Do you need a paper bag to breathe into or something?”
“No.” I held a hand up in front of me. “I’ll be okay.” I tried to take a deep breath, but I couldn’t seem to get enough air into my lungs.
“Mom!” Jen yelled, jumping up from the table and dropping her muffin. “John’s dying or something!” She ran around the table to me. “Put your head between your knees, John! Here! Breathe into this!” Jen grabbed the bag her muffin had been in and thrust it into my hands.
Mom ran over to me. “Jen! Stop manhandling him.”
I breathed deeply into the paper bag, the smell of chocolate-chip muffins filling my nose. That actually made it worse. Now I felt like I was going to throw up too. I sat up and pushed the bag into Jen’s hands while my mother rubbed my back.
“I’m okay. I’m okay,” I told her. “I just…realized how much I have to lose. And how much I want to stay there and learn.” I tried again to keep my hands from shaking.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” my mother asked, looking at me worriedly.
“Yeah. I’m good.” I tried to sound convincing.
It must have worked, because my mother nodded. “Okay then. Good.” She looked at the clock and then flew to her feet. “Oh my goodness! Get dressed! We should have left by now! Jennifer!” She spun toward Jen, who had a forkful of fruit halfway to her mouth.
She dropped it in surprise. “What?” She hopped off her stool and grabbed a paper towel to clean up the fruit.
“Get ready! We have to leave in five minutes!” Jen rolled her eyes and sauntered out of the room.
“John!”
“Right here, Mom.”
“Get dressed! We’re going to be late!”
“I am dressed. I’ve been dressed for hours,” I told her, sipping at my bitter coffee.
“Oh. Good. Okay then.”
“Mom?” I said.
“Yes?”
“You should get dressed.”
“Oh!” She looked down at her robe. “Yes! I will.” She kissed my cheek. “I’m proud of you, John.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said as she ran off to get dressed.