It’s always worth it to be friends with the support staff, both here and when you’re a dancer. I’d forgotten about the parallels between the two careers I’ve had. But Aly’s invaded all of my thoughts lately and so ballet has too. Work’s a welcome distraction. I plop Diana’s favorite iced coffee on her desk when I sign in and wink. “Hello, Mrs. Monroe. How are you?” “Zed-boy! How many times do I have to tell you to call me Diana?” she exclaims, getting up and coming around the other side of the desk to hug me. “You look like you didn’t get a lick of sun this summer.” I love the way that sounds. A lick of sun. Like the sun took a big, slobbery tongue to all the people and they got sunburnt the way a cat’s tongue can leave a scratchy red mark. I did get sun, but my definition of tanned and Mrs. Monroe’s definition are different. She summers down at the beach. She comes back a whole different color.
