Page 46 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
She grabs the fork from me and takes another bite of pie, feeding herself this time. “I guess I’m not used to people asking me that.” Her nose scrunches up. “Makes me feel funny.”
“Why?”
“Dreams aren’t for thirty-two-year-olds.”
“Oh no!? They’re not? Then who the fuck are they for!?” I shout.
“Whoa! Cool your jets, dude!”
“No, I will not cool my jets!” I say indignantly.
“Dreams are for kids,” she says simply.
“Pardon me, but fuck that! I mean, yes, dream your little hearts out, kiddos, but what about the rest of the population? You’re telling me we hit eighteen and it’s all over? Whaaat? I’ll have you know that I am thirty-five years old, ma’am. And I still have a shit ton of dreams!”
“Do you use that kind of language around your elementary school students?” she laughs.
I lower my voice. “No, I do not. My apologies. This subject gets me fired up.”
“I can see that.”
Shit. I did it again. Eugene tells me all the time that my enthusiasm—while appreciated—can be aggressive and off-putting.
We fall into silence as we finish our pie.
“Permission to be pushy?” I blurt.
She cocks her head to the side. “You’re asking me for permission to be pushy?”
“I am.”
“I’ll likely regret this, but… permission granted.”
“If you didn’t care what anyone else thought. If you had unlimited resources. If the sky truly was the limit… what would be the dream?”
She leans back in her chair and tips her eyes toward the ceiling.
She takes a deep breath.
I wait.
I’m not afraid of a little silence.
I’ll wait all day for a window into this woman’s thinking.
Just when I think I actually might have to wait all day, she says, very softly, “I’ve always wanted to open a dance studio for kids.”
“So do it!” I yell with excitement.
“Um…” she chuckles nervously.
“Sorry,” I say. “I really am going to work on slowing my roll. What I meant to say was…” I mirror her relaxed body language and tip back in my own chair. “‘…tell me more.’”
Penny waves a hand like she’s looking for a subject change. “I doubt it’s something I’ll ever do, but, yeah, that’s the dream, I guess. My own studio where kids can learn to dance without all the bullshit.”
“What’s ‘the bullshit?’” I ask.
She sighs. “I didn’t have the greatest experience being a professional dancer.”
