Strings.

How many old women were once the prima ballerina for the Ballet Russe?
What do they think of now?
Do they still dream of dancing--even with canes or crutches or the hair of children clutched close?

There is a woman in marketing named Kim. I call to ask her questions very early--before she arrives. She will only return my calls if she is sure I am not here. To actually hear our own voices pour together would give away some secret we are keeping. We do not know the other's face.

Maybe she is the woman I passed on the street this morning. We glanced and frowned and went along with our lives. The Claire de Lune was blaring in my heart.