By Rebecca Hope Terry There it is, a fresh split on the bottom of my thick-skinned dancer’s foot, just round the corner of the bunion. Looks like a fish gill, we used to say. To fix it, I dig out my little brown suitcase, full of safety devices. It’s been awhile since I have opened
By Rebecca Hope Terry This can’t be happening, I said to myself as I searched, again, all the compartments of my dance-bag. I still couldn’t find my contact lenses for rehearsal. I asked the choreographer if I could wear my glasses. “No.” For a myopic dancer, dancing without glasses can be a fascinating experience. An