But she turned back and gave it everything. There was nowhere else to go after all. She submitted to the smoking ballet teacher who must've welcomed her back with a cruel smile and began building her strength back up. They walked around the halls with cups of tea on their heads and their backs arched like harps.
And she made it. She was the only one. Out of a hundred and fifty students, only Cassie got a job. I don't really know that some of them fell by the wayside, took up normal studies or switched to yoga. I always felt that ballerinas doing yoga was a bit like race car drivers driving taxis, but then again, I'm a bit weird.
The catch was that the job was in Ostrava. And that's how she ended up here four years ago. That's how the French, Russian and Japanese ballerinas ended up here too - a decaying legacy of eastern bloc culture, a quirk of history. It was all so strange, I thought - how accidental everything was. She didn't seem to mind too much, Ostrava had a lot to offer under the rust. Pockets of life - music, clubs and a wonderful absinthe bar she promised to take me to.