I Left My Heart in Moscow but My Love Waits in Pittsburgh

“Which one do you want?” Jordan held up a polar bear stuffed animal and a penguin stuffed animal.

“Neither!” I exclaimed, “Neither! I can pay for it myself!”

“Come on! It’s my birthday present to you.”

“I thought you taking me to the zoo and letting me live with you are your birthday gifts to me,” I pointed out.

“No, those are me being a good friend. Now, which one? Polar bear or penguin?”

“Polar bear,” I said with a smile, “I already have a Penguin.” I gave Jordan a quick kiss on the cheek, “Thank you.”

After Jordan bought the plush polar bear, Jordan and I strolled aimlessly around the zoo. “Tell me about dance.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know. Everything.”

We had strolled to a gazebo that had smooth wood flooring. “Ballet is all about the line. The line of your body and sooner or later, you lose that line and never get it back.” I grasped the white, wood railing of the gazebo and did some barre work. Tendu, ronde jambe, arabesque, pique, attitude, plie, releve, eleve. “The funny thing about barre work is that you focus and concentrate so much on getting everything so precise and perfect that you begin to think of nothing at all.

“People say modern ballet by Balanchine and Martha Graham is all about the people. I dance ballet because it’s not about the people. We wear pointe shoes so that we look we're floating. Classical ballet is another world, a world away from our problems. I get to express myself, be vulnerable, and bare my soul while escaping the very problems that plague me. It’s difficult for me to explain. I love classical ballet. Giselle, Swan Lake, Romeo and Juliet, Scheherzade, La Bayadere, Manon, Sleeping Beauty, the Nutcracker. It’s so magical,” I started to do more complex barre work. Penchee, battement, stretched attitude and arabesque, moving an invisible beat and rhythm.

“The real key to ballet is not only expressing yourself in a way that touches the audience, but doing it in a way that is effortless. Everything has to look easy, graceful and elegant. Never forced or difficult. The audience must never suspect the strain or difficulty. All the hard work, the blood, sweat and tears must never be known by the audience. Once you can do it to the point where it looks easy, then you can focus on your expression and artistry.” I paused and did a string of chaînés turns. “Tell me about hockey. I want to know everything.”

“On the surface, hockey is simple. Get the puck in the net and whoever gets the puck in the net more times wins. Then there is the added role of the players and the positions. You have the goalie and the defensemen, who are trying everything they can do to prevent the offense from scoring, and the wingers and the center- that’s me- who are trying everything they can do to score. Then the role of the referee and the rules is put in the mix. Put it on ice and add pads and a helmet and you have yourself ice hockey. Hockey is amazing. There’s something amazingly visceral and freeing about it. When you’re out on the ice and skating as fast you possibly can, you feel like nothing can touch you. Of course, it’s great therapy and the perks are amazing. I mean I can’t think of another job where you get to release your anger and frustrations by checking people into the boards and get to take naps in the afternoon.” I could tell by his face just how much he loved hockey but you didn’t need to see his face. His voice told it all. “Tell me about your parents,” Jordan changed the subject.

“What is there to tell? My mother, the world famous ballerina, and my father, the son of a world famous ballerina, who happens to be a very rich businessman in Russia. I guess seeing it now; I realize that my parents were never truly in love with each other, rather in love with the idea of each other. I suppose my mother was a trophy wife of sorts. When you’re little, you think your parents are made for each other and are each other’s one true love. I know now that love affairs look different to the people inside of them,” I recounted glumly. “What about your parents?”

“Didn’t mean to bum you out,” Jordan murmured, his eyes soft. “They live a simple life, out on a farm. I sometimes think that maybe I should’ve stayed with them and helped them work the farm. They’re the happiest people, I know. They were even in this commercial for the NHL. I couldn’t bear to watch it. It was so cheesy! But they loved it. Mom’s so proud of me and my brothers. She made us this shrine, with all our hockey memorabilia. You’ll get to see it, when I take you up there for Christmas.”

“First I’m moving in with you and now I’m going to your parents’ for Christmas? Making plans isn’t that a sign of commitment?” I teased.

“What can I say? You’re definitely a keeper.”

I couldn’t help but smile. I let go of the rail to do a small diagonal across the wood platform. Développé, arabesque sauté.

“You just can’t stop dancing. Can you?”

“It’s in my DNA. I can’t help it,” I grinned, bashfully.

Jordan linked his arm through mine, “Let’s go back home?”

Home. It’s taken me a long time to realize that home is not a building. Home is a place where you're happy and loved. “Yes, let’s go back home.”



"I invited some people over tonight. To celebrate Sveta-mas. Something super casual, I'm ordering pizza and the guys will probably bring beer," Jordan explained as I unpacked. "I didn't invite any of your dancer friends because, well, I didn't have their contact info but I guess it's better this way, with what went down."

"Yeah, I suppose so," I murmured softly. "Nothing too crazy right?" I never really like big birthday parties, even when I was little. I never understood what the fuss was about. A year older. A year done. A new year to begin. There didn't need to be a big party to announce that.

"Nope, nothing too crazy," Jordan sighed as he flopped onto the bed. "Sveta, do you believe in true love?"

"Umm, what?" I stumbled over the words.

"Do you believe in true love? I mean your parents didn't have the best relationship and you always talk about how awful your last relationship was," Jordan rambled.

"I don't know. I guess I do. I mean it's a nice thought, isn't it? Soul mates that someone out there is the perfect one for you. I think people get caught up in finding the perfect lover when they should be working on creating the perfect love. We always want to find Mr. or Mrs. Right but we should really just be trying to work at a relationship. That doesn't really answer your question," I wrinkled my nose and continued unpacking.

"No it doesn't," Jordan laughed. "But I like your view on things."

I finished folding and stacking my last set of leotards in one of my designated drawers. I let out a sigh of relief and I flopped onto the bed next to Jordan, "What's your dream girl like?"

"Wh-what?" Jordan choked out.

"Your dream girl, tell me about her." I couldn't help but giggle at his reaction.

"Why?"

"Just curious. Look who's flustered now!" I teased.

"I always imagined her to be a girl version of me," Jordan swallowed, "Blonde, busty, a party girl." Jordan paused as if trying to formulate the right words and the right response, "But you're better than my dream girl."

"Why's that?"

"You're real."

How long we lay there, on his bed, fingers interlaced, eyes locked? No idea. Long enough for the pizza guy to arrive and knock four times. All I know was that it simply was not long enough.