Postcards from Moscow

I'm running from my past. Well, not all of it. Just some of it. I don't know if I will ever dance again, but I know I can teach. When the jerk dropped me, he broke me. I wasn't expecting the first postcard from Vasily, so I scoffed. Why would I want to talk with someone who could do something I couldn't? But, my mother had taught me not to be rude, and I responded anyway.When I saw Jacquellyn Arnolt's name on the list of injured dancers I could write to, I almost didn't do it. She's close to my age, but my French is not the best. We only have one thing in common: our love of dance. I am thrilled to get her postcard back, and respond right away. When she tells me she's coming to Moscow, I am terrified.We know we can help each other, but can we learn from each other? Ballet has broken us and built us, but will it completely destroy us in the end? Beauty hides under the bright lights of the ballet, amidst the lure of Russia's most beautiful city.