And Taylor knew it was completely fair. You’re right. I have no excuse, except that I got caught up in everything that was happening. And time kept passing. And the longer I waited, the harder it seemed to reach out. And I told myself you probably didn’t want to hear from me anyway.
Because you’d moved on with your life and had your own things going on. And I was just making excuses, because the truth is I was a terrible friend, and I’m sorry. Sarah’s eyes were glistening. I watched your career take off. I watched you become the biggest star in the world. I watched you live our dream. The dream we were supposed to live together.
What happened, Sarah? You were so talented. You were the better dancer between the two of us. Everyone said you were going to make it to Broadway. Sarah laughed bitterly. Yeah, well, everyone was wrong. I kept dancing until I was 22. I went to New York like we always planned. I auditioned for everything.
Broadway shows, dance companies, music videos, backup dancer positions, anything I could find. I came close a few times. I got callbacks. I got told maybe next time. But I never quite made it. And eventually, I ran out of money, I ran out of time, I ran out of hope. So, I came back to Pennsylvania, and I got a job at a restaurant.
And I told myself it was just temporary until I figured out my next move. But temporary became permanent, and here I am. Are you still in Pennsylvania? No. I moved to Nashville 3 years ago. Thought maybe being in a music city would reignite something. It didn’t. I met someone, got married, got divorced. It’s been a great time.
The sarcasm was thick. Do you have kids? Taylor asked gently. Sarah’s face softened slightly. Yeah, a daughter. She’s 8. Then her face hardened again. And before you ask, yes, she loves dancing. And no, I can’t afford lessons. So, she dances in our living room to YouTube videos, and I watch her and see myself at that age, and I wonder if she’s going to end up like me.
Full of dreams that never come true. Taylor felt like someone had reached into her chest and grabbed her heart. What’s her name? Emma. Sarah, listen to me. I’m going to fix this. You can’t fix this, Taylor. This is my life. I made my choices. No, Taylor said firmly. This isn’t about choices. This is about talent not getting the opportunity it deserves.
It’s about dreams not getting the support they need. Emma is going to get a full scholarship to the best dance academy in Nashville. I’m making a phone call tomorrow, and it’s done. And you you’re coming to work for me. Sarah stared at her. What? My tour needs a choreography assistant.
Someone who understands dance at a fundamental level. Someone who can work with the backup dancers, help refine routines, bring creative ideas. The salary is $150,000 a year. You start as soon as you want to. Taylor, I can’t. Don’t say you can’t accept charity. This isn’t charity. This is 18 years late. We were supposed to do this together, Sarah.
We were supposed to make it together. I left you behind. I let our friendship disappear. I let you struggle while I succeeded. Let me make it right, please. Sarah’s walls were crumbling. Tears were streaming down her face. I can’t just accept a six-figure job I’m not qualified for. You’re absolutely qualified for it.
You have more dance knowledge than half the people on my payroll. And you know what else? You understand what it’s like to dream. You understand what it’s like to work for something. That’s what I need around me, not yes people. Real people who know what this costs. I haven’t danced professionally in 12 years. Then we’ll get you back into it.
Private lessons, the best teachers, whatever you need. But Sarah, I’m not taking no for an answer. Your daughter is getting that scholarship. I’ve been successful for 18 years, and I’ve never been able to share it with the person I started dreaming with. Let me do this, please.” Sarah put her head in her hands and started crying, really crying.
18 years of bitterness and disappointment and abandoned dreams pouring out of her. And Taylor got up and slid into the booth next to her and put her arms around her. And Sarah collapsed against her. And they sat like that for a long time. Two 34-year-old women who used to be 13-year-old girls with matching dreams.
“I hated you,” Sarah finally whispered. “I hated you for making it. I hated you for leaving me behind. I hated you for living the life we were both supposed to live.” “I know,” Taylor whispered back. “I would have hated me, too. But I also watched every award show. I streamed every album. I went to your concert last year and stood in the nosebleed seats and cried because I was so proud of you and so angry at myself for not being down there with you.
You were supposed to be down there with me. You were supposed to be on that stage and I’m sorry it took me 18 years to figure out how to get you there.” 3 months later, Sarah Mitchell was standing backstage at the Eras Tour, clipboard in hand, working with the backup dancers on a routine she’d helped choreograph.
Her daughter Emma was in the audience, front row seats that Taylor had personally arranged, having just finished her first month at the Nashville Dance Academy on the full scholarship Taylor had personally funded. And when Taylor took the stage that night, she walked to the microphone and said something she’d written that afternoon.
“I want to dedicate tonight’s show to someone special. Her name is Sarah Mitchell. We met when we were 8 years old and we used to perform dance routines in her basement. We dreamed about making it big together. We promised we’d always perform together. And then life took us in different directions and I let 18 years go by without making good on that promise.
But Sarah is here tonight. She’s working with our incredible dance team. And I want to say something publicly that I should have said a long time ago. Sarah, this success was supposed to be ours. Every award, every sold-out show, every moment, you were supposed to be here for it. I left you behind and I’m sorry.
