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Tango
Exit dreams
He takes one step forward. She takes one step backwards.
He takes another step forward. She takes another step backwards.
Postures straight, shoulders back. Arms held strong beside torsos.
She twirls suddenly, falls into his arms. He catches her, tosses her, spinning her round. Another catch, his eyes locked onto hers. The music rumbles. Anticipation builds in her belly.
The rumbles turn to footsteps slapping against cold tiled floors, sending a tremor through her body. Her hand moves with practiced fluidity. Exit YouTube.
Eyes demurely lowered to her biology textbook, heart pounding in her chest. She looks up, the blood of a performer singing in her veins.
Her mother’s face looks back at her: wearing its mask of satisfaction, crusted smile in place.
“How's biology coming along?”
“Fine.”
Her mother walks away, triumphant.
She closes her eyes, the thrum of tango still swirling through her body. And then,
it fades,
leaving just a steady hiss of respiration, the routine pumping of her heart, and a mind filled with the anatomy of a plant.
This is my response to Microcosm’s August prompt, Exit. In the spirit of leaving, this was written in recognition of my 15-year-old self, who never found the space to pursue her dreams.
