Amelia in Pink
She was elegant, and slender
A perfect form under every light
The perfect ballerina.
And tonight, another perfect night
The music – memorized by heart, notes inscribed in memory
The audience – eager for her
She balanced herself: a hand on the bar
The other straight in the air. The contours of that arm flowed to the rest of her dancer form as she practiced her dance. She reenacted her part in her mind. Performed the pirouettes and was lithe on her toes.
The beats, she hummed under her breath.
The pink material stretched against her rib cage.
Her hair in a bun. Not a strand misplaced.
She balanced on her toes
Closed her eyes.
One, two, three?
Her eyes opened. In surprise. In shock. In panic.
Her mind raced.
The music beat faster.
Which was it?
She reenacted the scenes again.
On stage, it was the climax of an act.
She was due next.
First on stage.
No, no, NO.
Her steps paced across the room. Her hands smoothened her hair. Covered her eyes. Continued pacing. Fingers clenched, unclenched. Crack of the knuckles. A sea of applause filled the air in the auditorium and flooded backstage. Drowned her. Her hand was in her hair, strands misplaced. Her eyes shut in a cringe.
Someone walked to her. What is he saying? Now? No, not so soon. His hands were on her back, pushing her towards the curtains.
She stood behind the heavy drapery. Where the sliver of light shone through ,on her face. She drew in a breath. Her hand smoothened her hair.
And the wheels turned…