Dear Monita,

Do you remember when we tied for first place in the local dance competition? If so, do you remember how mad you had been at me for stealing your thunder? Perhaps you also remember slapping me for telling you I had earned my score. That isn’t really what I want to talk about, but dance was what we had in common.

I miss doing pirouettes as we moved along the ground. I miss showing other people what they need to know. You had always helped me to do those things. Maybe it is just childish ambition, but I believe you could have been the best. It was obvious you were a better dancer than me. Not by much, but still better. You were able to get to the front of the dance room even though you were of a different religion. You couldn’t tell me that didn’t make you a better dancer.

You were the only other girl wearing pointe shoes, at least for our age level. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t beat the equality we faced there. However, I must admit that I do give myself credit for you being so good. I introduced you to dance. I introduced you to my gift, then you outshined me.

At first I hated you for it. Maybe that is why I let you dance while you were sick. Perhaps I knew it would kill you. Perhaps I didn’t want the competition you brought me. Then again, I always have enjoyed a little competition. Dancing on pointe at such a young age leaves little room to be outshined in a small town. When you came along, I finally got the competition I had craved before. I don’t think I could have killed you for that, even on a subconscious level.

Do you want to know something? I haven’t danced for anybody since. Even when I dance alone, it isn’t quite as joyful. I didn’t have the heart to keep dancing after you were gone. How could I?