To the Underground Lake
She was young, or maybe it was just the effect of the evening that made her seem that way. The tulle ballet tutu suited her, as did the snowy white tights that felt like feathers against her legs and the unblemished white ballet shoes on her feet. The sleeves of the pale yellow sweater she wore over her pristine leotard were too long for her arms, and they engulfed fingers that clutched the ends of the fabric nervously. She stood at third position, with her feet almost perfectly opposite one another and only slightly askew, and she watched the dancers with wide eyes. She stood at the edge of the dance floor, hope with pale blonde hair in ballerina’s bun, and she watched the twirling bodies.
She tried to step forward, but she could not, and her expression melted into confusion. There was no wall or visible barrier, but her way was blocked, and no amount of attempting to circumvent the dance floor or stairs worked. It was only when she pressed herself close to the wall that she could move, and she followed the wall to the foyer, where she watched for a length of time before attempting to walk beneath the row of lights and find someone to talk to. Again, the room refused her entrance. Again, she could only move forward by pressing against the walls, away from the chattering people. She traversed the length of the room this way, and then she returned the way she came.
She took the staircase that led down, and the dark steps to the world beneath the opera did not turn her away. Here, she could walk down the center of the steps, with no need to cling to the wall or the railing. Here, she could step unencumbered. Here, in the darkness, she was allowed to stand in the spotlight that did not shine. Here, she was alone, and the only sound that reached her ears was the denied life happening above her head. She looked up with regret, and then she plunged further into the darkness of stone steps. She stopped when she reached the edge of the dark water, unsure where to go next.