Pieces of a Life

The sky was dark both with rainclouds doing their work and with the sun’s descent as the afternoon turned into evening. The ground was dark, too, with all the rain that had poured down and with the drops that still fell in a slowing rhythm by the time Evelyn and Leila were leaving; the only noise in the car was the sweep of the windshield wipers and the hiss of the wet asphalt under the tires. At a red light, Evelyn looked over at Leila thoughtfully and said, “You know, I’ve never seen you dance.”

Leila resisted the urge to scrunch up her facial features in distaste. She’d thought of the same thing but hadn’t counted on anyone else thinking of it too. And Evelyn would be one of the most forceful of her friends. Leila looked at her hands resting in her lap, sighed quietly to herself, and just said, “Oh.”

“I mean, I just think that’s weird. You’ve danced for forever, and not once have I seen you. Not once. I don’t know,” Evelyn frowned and accelerated as the light turned green. “It just strikes me as weird. I never thought of that before.”

“Hmm.” Leila mumbled, just looking down at her lap. Luckily, they reached the house before Evelyn could say much more on the subject.

Aside from the boys they’d left at the house, there were more people there now. Zack had shown up with Angie, his gorgeous girlfriend whom Leila had met at the store, and there were a small handful of other people that Leila didn’t recognize at all. Evelyn was unaffected by the apparent beginning of a party at her house and led Leila into a small room void of people. There were bolts of cloth on the floor and coming out of the closet, cases of pins, mannequin busts laying in random places, a drafting table, and a fancy sewing machine. Leila deduced that this was Evelyn’s makeshift, at-home studio and was a little amused. Making clothes was about the only thing Evelyn took seriously, other than maybe Johnny Depp.

Evelyn reached into the closet and sorted through garment bags, occasionally pulling something out and staring at it thoughtfully. Finally she pulled out a dress and handed it to Leila with an excited grin. “Evelyn, I’m not really here to play dress-up,” Leila said, looking at the dress. It was a pretty dress, though. “I mean, I do appreciate it, but I should get going back to the house.”

Evelyn raised one manicured dark eyebrow and had a tiny smirk on her lips. “What, so you can just go to sleep watching The Sopranos by yourself, drinking diet ginger ale like you always do?”

Leila felt her cheeks warm and turn pink. “It’s a good show!” She squeaked defensively. “And I like ginger ale!”

Evelyn shook her head and draped the dress over her arm. “Leila, just listen. You said yourself that you have no friends and no life. Well, here you go. You’ve got some choices that could change things. You can go home with your HBO and ginger ale, or you can stay here. You can have a few mixers, get dressed up, and actually have a good time.” Leila’s mouth turned down. She knew Evelyn had a point. “But if you really need to watch a few good mob hits you’ve already seen three times over, and if you’d really rather have dry-ass fucking ginger ale than a tasty vodka mixer, you can do that.”

Leila blinked, looking at the dress hanging off of Evelyn’s arm. Evelyn’s smirk grew into a smug little smile. She knew she’d already won. Leila nodded and took the dress.



There was vodka and rum and gin to be had, beer and Jaeger and Jack Daniel’s, Long Island Iced Tea in pitchers and too-strong Cosmopolitans colored flirty pink in oversized martini glasses. Empty bottles and cans and cups, or with a dribble left in them, or even forgotten halfway done on end tables and counters. God, could they drink. And Leila, in the lovely dress Evelyn had made and black tights sheathing her toned legs, sat sloppily on top of Jack’s car in the driveway. And Alex was beside her, a red cup of Jack and Coke that was more Jack than Coke in his hand, sitting on the metal roof of the vehicle in the cool night.

It was that point of drunkenness that is too strong to be called a buzz, even past the borders of plain old “drunk”, just bordering on completely trashed. Leila’s face seemed to be thinking for itself and she kept fighting for control over it, sipping the strong, fruity mixed drink in her big glass. She felt like she had to talk, and so she did.

“You know,” Her lips were moving in all the wrong ways. Speaking was harder than she remembered. “Julliard begged me to go there and dance.” She turned her head to Alex and mouthed, begged with wide eyes for emphasis. He nodded, also wide eyed, listening eagerly. He took a long swig from his cup.

Leila’s head did not want to move properly and she swayed around slightly. “So many letters and phone calls,” She slurred, squinting her eyes as she remembered. “I wish anyone else would’ve paid me that attention.” Her fingers fumbled for her glass and she drank. “I just wanted someone to acknowledge that. Julliard! Fucking Julliard!” She gestured with her hands, animated.

“I know!” Alex agreed eagerly although he didn’t really know like he said he did. He nodded again. Leila huffed a sigh and smacked her lips noisily.

“Nobody said anything. Nobody. Fucking Julliard, Alex! God, just think about it.” Alex continued to nod. Leila swallowed another mouthful of her drink. “So many places, I’ve been asked to dance for so many places. These directors—these ballet company directors and choreographers and producers—they get in this—this arms race. Who can get me there, who can pay the most, build the best show and best company.” She was frowning.

“And then,” She drawled drunkenly. “There’s Baltimore.” She tilted back her cup, but it was empty. She frowned into the glass unhappily. Alex crawled over to her and put his cup to her lips, tilting it and giving her a sloppy, nursing sip of his drink. Leila wiped her mouth and thanked him. “Baltimore…Baltimore hates me. Everyone’s shoving me off like that annoying child nobody wants to babysit.” She smacked her lips again, eyebrows pushed together in a small frown.

“Nu uh,” Alex argued. “We missed you. A whole fucking lot, Leilabelle. You—you just left. And we didn’t know what to do.”

Leila’s face, her auto-pilot face, crinkled and puckered its lips. She sat there and listened, drunk, as Alex, also drunk, babbled on about all she had missed and caused and influenced just by leaving. She listened to him talk about all the things she’d run away from.

They’d graduated high school, glory, glory hallelujah. They had grand ideas and plans for the future: All Time Low had a record deal! A tour! Evelyn and all her clothes! And…Leila? Where did she go? They were all wondering. She had disappeared. No one had heard from her. She wasn’t at All Time Low’s first big show, or the fashion show competition where Evelyn had won $20,000. They called and called and she was gone. She hadn’t been home in days, her father told them. She just left one morning and didn’t come back. One bleak summer morning, similar to when she’d returned for her father’s funeral years later.

And they were so scared, Alex told her, drunken misty puppy eyes on this car roof. They were so scared when they couldn’t find her, so scared when no one had heard from her. Her room seemed untouched. Her phone went straight to voicemail. They were this close to putting up the Have You Seen This Girl? posters, holding those candlelight vigils to pray for her safe return, calling in the news cameras and the police. They were this close, Alex told her, to filing the report when Evelyn spoke to her dance instructor. And they found out she had moved out West, way out to the other side of the country. East Coast girl on the West Coast. The wrong coast. They found out she left for San Francisco, of all places; the San Francisco Ballet School. Easily one of the best schools in the country, Leila’s teacher had told Evelyn. Well, fuck San Francisco. Fuck ballet. And fuck her, Evelyn had said. And she cried on Jack’s shoulder for the longest time and had to be the one to tell them all what was going on.

And yeah, the San Francisco Ballet School was one of the best schools in the country. The San Francisco Ballet Company was one of the best companies. And all those other companies that requested Leila to dance with them. Yeah, top notch. World’s finest. But they all felt so betrayed, Alex told her. She had to have made the decision sometime in advance. Bought the ticket. Contacted the school. She had to have planned her departure from her entire life sometime in advance. And they loved her so much, he said, and she just left. He looked at her, done for now. The lump in Leila’s throat tasted like Grey Goose and fruit juice. And apologies. Glory, glory hallelujah, were they drunk.

But did they know her story? No. They wouldn’t want to hear it, either. She had given up on Baltimore long before anyone would’ve guessed it. Long, long before she packed that suitcase and cried over her boarding pass. Before she crept out of the house while it was still dark and locked the door behind her for the last time. Before she sat by herself in Baltimore-Washington International Airport while the sky grew to a lighter grey as the sun rose. She had given up long before she set foot in San Francisco, and before she’d first even gotten the idea to leave. Leaving was her only choice. But no one wanted to hear it.

“I had to leave, Alex,” Leila finally spoke, not looking at him. “There was nothing for me here, but all you guys were so happy. I—I had to just bite the bullet and let you move on. There was nothing for me in Baltimore!” She slurred, upset, and looked at him for a second. “But there was everywhere else. Don’t you get it? I couldn’t stay! And I knew— I knew no one would approve, no one would let me go. So I just…did it by myself, and I figured you’d be fine without me.”

“No,” Alex shook his head. “Everything was all wrong. It—we were supposed to be that for life shit! You and me, Leila!” He realized what he’d said and stammered to take it back. “I—I mean, we…you and me…we—we were friends forever, right?” He tried. But the first statement had already escaped and the game had been changed. “Well…well, it couldn’t be because you weren’t there anymore. And yeah, we moved on with our lives, but it was never the same. It was—it was bitter, and sad, and lonely even. And there wasn’t a single day we didn’t feel that. But look at you now,” Leila blinked, not understanding. “Look at your life, Leila! Look at you and what you are! You’re hardly even you anymore. You’re just—you’re just a shell, you’re just pieces of what you used to be!”

So that’s what she was, was she? Just pieces of something that used to be? Her autopilot face managed to gather for a second to show her offense. “No,” She argued. “That’s not true. You may not like what I am now, and I may be a little lost—”

“A little?” He interrupted. But Leila just talked over him.

“—but I did what I knew to do, Alex! I did the only thing I could do. I had no options!” Her voice was raising. “What was I supposed to do? There was nothing left here! No one needed me! I—I danced a principal spot for the Royal Ballet! The Royal! Do you know what that means? This—” Her voice broke. “This is my life, Alex!”

But she wasn’t arguing anymore. He could hear it in her voice, even with how blessedly drunk they were, how she was surrendering her fight. Her last sentence was a broken plea and they just stared at each other as the heat of the argument began to fade. They sat there for a while, just staring at each other, empty cups and a slowly fading buzz being replaced by a wave of dread and sick.

Maybe that was what Evelyn had meant when she said things could grow stronger. The alcohol had made Alex say what he really thought—or felt, more evidently. Evelyn had said “It’s good that you’re back; it’s good for all of us.” Things would change and could grow stronger, she’d said. She had done the classic female move of talking about what you really meant while managing to shroud the truth the whole time. And Leila hadn’t understood when she’d done it. Jesus, she was talking about Alex. Everyone knew how much they needed each other, and everyone knew that Leila coming back meant things would change again. Things would change and get stronger, like Evelyn had said. Leila, drunk though she was, felt like an idiot for not seeing it. She knew when she had left that she would be hurting her friends, and it killed her too, but that had been her only choice. She had honestly believed that they would be better off without her, that leaving and getting as far away as she could was her only option. She didn’t consider that they needed her. That Alex needed her. She didn’t consider that, even with how much she needed them. Or just him.

“We should go inside,” Alex said finally. “There are owls out here.”

Leila didn’t say anything to his ridiculous reasoning. At the time, it seemed logical enough. She slid down the windshield and hood of Jack’s car in her little lace dress and tights, stumbling on unsteady legs to the door. A struggle to step on ground that seemed like it was playing games with their feet. Leila blinked, her lips stuck in a sad frown, and looked at Alex.

“I’m sorry.” She said softly. She put her arms around his torso and hugged him as tightly as she could manage. He hugged her back, her tiny body engulfed in his arms, and rested his chin on her head. She didn’t cry, although she very well could’ve, and squeezed her eyes shut. She never thought about how much she needed him, or the possibility that he needed her, too. Glory, glory hallelujah were they drunk.