Otherwise We are Lost

7 PM and completely exhausted. Thank God, it’s still summer and the season hasn’t started yet. Once the performance season picks up, I would be lucky to make it home at 1 AM.

I finished stitching on the red and indigo overlay onto the black tulle, turned out Igor did like it. My fingers felt sore and my back ached from being hunched over either the sewing machine or over the tutu as I hand stitched the overlay.

Once finished, I fitted the tutu over the leotard-clad dress form and took a step back to judge the costume.

I guess it wasn’t too bad. Not my personal vision but its Igor’s and that’s all that matters.

I wrapped my knit cardigan around me and grabbed my purse. I rolled my shoulders back, the stiff muscles aching as they tried to relax. Maybe if I hurried I could make the 8 PM ballet class. It was a beginner class but it was something.

I turned to lock the door to the costume shop and-

“Lesya.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin, “Oh my goodness, Sergei, you scared me half to death. What are you doing here so late?”

“I had to finish up some negotiations and sign my contract. Igor wanted to clarify some things with me.”

“Like no drugs.” Igor was two generations removed from the drug addled 70s, when dancers were regularly doing lines of cocaine or God knows what to get through performances. By the 90s, everyone knew better. Drugs were still fairly prevalent but it wasn’t the disco bloodbath of the 70s.

Sergei pressed his lips into a straight line, “No drugs.”

“Igor is a stickler about that. I can’t even take an ibuprofen or smoke a cigarette without him yelling at me about it,” I smiled. Trying not to see the disappointment in his eyes.

It was strange being here with him. Ten years is a long time. I had a crush on him and he seemed to like me enough. Nothing really ever came of us, but it would’ve been difficult. His mother watched him like a hawk, she was at every class, every performance, with visions of her son dancing onstage all over the world. She was always like that, even when we did gymnastics. She dreamed that her son would be Olympic champion.

When he left for England, we wrote. He wrote about how he would learn Baryshnikov’s variations in Don Q and Spartacus by watching the videos and freeze framing every movement. He wrote about how he moved out into the dumps and lived in “impressive squalor” but he didn’t care. He loved nature. “I believe that if you’re good to nature, then nature will protect you back.” To him, nature extended to rats and maggots. He wrote about when his parents divorced. Again, for the second time. He wrote about how he cried for two days and declared to me that he was never going to let them or anyone hurt him again. And then he wrote to me about his crazy stage. He missed class because he could and did drugs because he could. He wrote about how he didn’t care if no one came to his graduation performance, he wasn’t going through the hassle of securing visas and places to stay for his family. Or for me. After the performance, he wrote about how he didn’t care because he was too high on ketamine to feel anything.

Then he stopped writing.

But the newspapers didn’t.

Every week it seemed a new article about a new role or his meteoric rise was published and for everyone relating to his ballet another related to his “epic partying” and his new tattoos.

Sergei smiled. I missed his smile, “Zelensky is a good man. He- he cares a lot.”

“Yes. He likes to nurture people. Take them under his wing and help them grow. He can see the potential in a person.”

“Is that what he did with you?”

“Yes, when you graduated in Kiev and left for England, I stayed. I was able to get a spot at the Vaganova Academy and he saw me there. It was obvious that I wouldn’t be a prima ballerina or even a second soloist. But he saw that I had good eye for the stage and that I could sew. He told me that no company would hire me. But he did anyways, I spent two years in the corps in Novosibirsk, living for every second of it, despite being just the background. He let me dance as a Big Swan once and in the pas des quatre, then the costumier retired and he became artistic director here too. So here I am.”

“I always thought you were a good dancer,” Sergei said softly, “Do you want me to hold your bag?”

“Oh no it’s fine,” We both walked towards the exit, “I don’t want to keep you.”

“No more drugs remember,” Sergei laughed, “I’m free for the night.”

I laughed, “I suppose so. Are you living with Igor’s family?”

He arched an eyebrow, “Did you live with him, when you first came to Moscow?” Zelensky was known to have many things, a rapport with Putin, money and numerous affairs.

“Yes. I lived with his family for the first year, before I could afford an apartment on my own.”

“Interesting,” Sergei paused, “I will walk you home.” He said more as a declaration than a suggestion. “Moscow is dangerous at night.”

“Moscow is always dangerous,” I paused, “Not as dangerous as Kiev, though.”

“Yes,” he laughed, “Mother always used to walk me to and from class because of the muggings. Do you miss Kherson?”

“I miss my family. I haven’t seen them in so long,” I sighed, knowing the subject of family was still touchy with him, “But my heart beats for Moscow. There’s a pulse to this city and it lives and thrives in a way that I don’t think any other city can. I feel at home here. You’ll like it here.”

“Oh is that a promise?” he teased.

“Yes, there’s no way anyone could ever hate Moscow,” I pushed open the door, leading out into the center of Moscow’s Tverskoy District. Here was the heart of the city. The Bolshoi Theatre, the Duma, Pushkin Square were all here. “What is it like in London?”

“Lonely. It was a lonely time for me.” There was a gentleness, a vulnerability in his face that told me not to pry.

“Even with your girlfriend?” I blurted out the words before I could stop myself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want to have secrets here. Not anymore. I was happy with Helen. I think my happiest times in London were when I was onstage or with Helen. She was the source of all my happiness but she wanted kids and I couldn’t be the one to do that for her. I wanted to be free.”

“And now you’re free?” I looked up at him, the city lights outlining his profile, as I guided him along the winding cobblestone streets.

“I don’t know. Not yet. Maybe,” He frowned, “We’ll see.”

“When is your first performance? Will you be dancing Swan Lake and Giselle?” The first two productions of the season.

“Giselle, maybe if I can learn the parts fast enough. Swan Lake is too soon.”

“This is where I live,” I stopped in front of the old brick façade. “It’s not much, but it’s home for me.”

“It’s nice,” Sergei smiled.

This is it.

The moment. Everything could change. Or it could stay the same.

I could say goodnight and thank him for walking me home.

Or I could invite him up.

“Do you want to come up? Are you hungry? I can make the potato pancakes you’ve always liked.”

Then he did it again, one of those long, slow smiles that promised unspoken things, “Yes, I’d love to.”