I arrive home exhausted. I enter the living room on wobbly feet and throw myself on the sofa. Sam is already home reading the news on his laptop. He looks up and smiles:
He waits for me to continue. But I just sigh, put back my head and close my eyes.
“How was the concert?”
“Did you enjoy it?”
I get up suddenly and go to the kitchen. What I need is a cup of tea. I put the kettle on. A cup of hot fragrant tea has always been my panacea in any kind of stressful situation. I stand idly by the stove. In my mind, I go over the evening. I can’t help wondering at the drastic change in me. During the first half of the program, I was comfortable and absolutely engrossed in the music. The second half was a disaster.
Why were my aches and pains absent during the first half and so prevalent during the second?
Reminiscing about our stage performances with Aliza, did trigger a strong nostalgia in me. It brought it all back: The training, learning new choreographies and practicing patiently for long hours, the satisfaction of mastering each movement and reaching that perfect balance and finally, the elation felt at the applause and appreciation by the audience at the end of a challenging and well executed dance variation.
The kettle’s loud whistle startles me out of my reverie. I get the teacup, choose my favorite tea bag (earl grey) and add a teaspoon of honey.
I turn around. Sam is standing in the doorway eyeing me curiously.
“Sofie what’s wrong?”
“Something is obviously bugging you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
He stays silent while I stir the tea.
“You miss it.” He states.