Dance.

Dance.

A.

The chandelier sparkles from the impossibly high ceiling, casting a warm glow around the cavernous room. The finest oaks and mahogany from the verdant jungles of Brazil were crafted into exquisite pieces of furniture and scattered about the hall. Soft music wafts through the fresh evening air, the quadrille band playing on an unobtrusive stage at the far end of the hall. I approach a young lady dressed in a simple flowing white dress, her blond hair cascading past her bare shoulders. I bowed formally in front of her, gently smiling as I ask “Will you favour me with your hand for the next dance?” I stay bent as I await her reply, holding my breath as she acknowledges my request, before flourishing her ornately embellished dance card. Thanking her for graciously accepting my offer to dance, I inscribe my name on the card, dipping my head as I step away, eagerly anticipating the next dance with her.

1.

A storm of colours washes over the dance floor, outlining dark shapes jiving to a rhythmic beat that pulses through my body. An overhead vent spews a thick cloud of condensed vapour into the writhing mass of bodies, the moisture refreshingly cool on my flushed skin. Cheap alcohol erodes my sense of reason, taking my dignity and trampling it under feet that tap subconsciously to the trance beat. I remember what I can from several YouTube instructional videos, bouncing on my knees and jerking my arms periodically around, fitting in perfectly with the crowd’s perception of dance. To be honest, I felt like an epilepsy victim, voluntary muscle spasms triggered by being trapped in a claustrophobic world of strobe lights. Overenthusiastically thrusting my elbow back, I accidentally hit someone. Turning around, I find myself staring into the mascara-rimmed eyes of a pretty girl.

B.

We move in unison, each precise step complimenting the other, a resplendent sight to behold in the centre of the hall. I am reaping the rewards of countless months spent under the tutelage of my dance instructor, as my equally talented compatriot glides alongside me. I continue to dance according to the strict instructions laid down by my forefathers. As those standing off the dance floor applaud us, I long for the freedom to move as I wish, instead of being confined to follow in the dance steps of countless other men. Distracted by my thoughts, I stumble and nearly collide with my dancing companion.

2.

In another world, I would have looked into her eyes as I apologized, she would have smiled sweetly and said no problem. We would have chatted, and gone on a date that very weekend. As it turned out, the blaring music meant that my eloquent apology went unheard. Her black pupils surrounded by mascara and impossibly long eyelashes made her look permanently pissed, and I had no idea if I was her source of irritation. Raising my hands in surrender, I shuffle off the dance floor and head for some liquid comfort.

C.

Communication, especially in verbal form, is forbidden while dancing. It severely breaches social etiquette, and usually results in the offender being requested to leave the ball. My contrite expression is acknowledged as she dips her head slightly, and we complete the rest of our dance in perfect synchrony. As the last strains of music fade, I escort her off the dance floor and we part, each solitary soul destined to wander around for eternity, or at least until the night ends.

3.

“No, you can’t have that,” the bartender shakes his head in exasperation, a slim, pale man clad in a black vest. “Your coupon only entitles you to standard drinks.” As I glance around uncertainly, he abruptly turns and flashes his pearly whites at a group of young girls several seats away from me. “What can I do for you tonight, ladies?” a suggestive wink is followed by a deft toss of a vodka bottle behind his back, ensuring that the trio of floozies begin giggling uncontrollably. With his male free-drink coupon toting customer all but forgotten, he continues to charm the girls.

D.

I step into a side room for refreshments. Dazzling porcelain plates procured from ancient civilizations in the East sit quietly in stacks, fragile towers quivering precariously in the air. An impeccably dressed servant deftly whisks the top plate off, and begins to arrange slivers of delicacies upon it. A full five minutes later, he walks over to my table, and presents a plate full of exotic food to me. Ravenous, but ever self-conscious, I carefully sample the meats in front of me, each slice bursting forth with richness. As I wash down the last morsel with a glass of crimson wine, the four tapestry-adorned walls seem to close in on me, and I feel an inexplicable urge to escape surge up from deep within. Standing abruptly, I stride past the faceless crowd and the twirling mannequins, pushing open the grand doors into the garden outside.

4.

I let out an exasperated sigh as the barman continues entertaining the ladies without as much as a glance in my direction. Giving up on the hope of having a drink to make a dreary night bearable, I head out of the club into the night. As the cool evening breeze caresses my face, I feel light and free. Streetlamps cast little pools of light on the ground, perfectly circular in shape. I stride down the granite steps to the waterfront, the ocean trapping the thousand twinkling lights of a city, distorting whenever a slight ripple passes through. I glance around and spot a solitary figure outlined against the dark grey sky. I peer through the gloom and notice a familiar set of mascara-rimmed eyes daring to stare right back at me.

E.

Away from the crowds and on my own, I feel at ease at last. Loosening my unbearably tight black tie, I take a seat on a pale stone bench overlooking an expansive garden of carefully manicured trees and lawn grass. Crickets chirp a staccato beat, the only sound in the peaceful silence of the night. The great doors of the mansion open once more, and the lady I danced with earlier walks out. “A lady never goes around unescorted,” flashes across my mind as I hurriedly stand and stare, tongue-tied, at her. There is a moment of unbearable uncertainty before she recognises me, and smiles in acknowledgement. She lifts the hem of her dress and steps over, sitting next to me as we silently stare out into the sea of stars, the solitary crescent moon a sideways smile mirrored on my face.

End.