Dancer

There was a thin layer of perspiration on her forehead, but she waltzed across the narrow room even faster. Her sleek, glossy hair whipped behind her back. Arms raised almost as if in prayer, her heart beating to the music. It didn't matter that Aunty was just a door away, staring dumbly at the ceiling. It was more distant to her than Momma's smile, crisp with the freshness of a newborn, although...

No matter. The night belonged to her alone. Faster.

Here it comes. Her favourite song by her favourite singer. Her body tensed in anticipation, before jerking like a string puppet to some beats, and floating like a lost swan in the uncharted sky to others. She imagined that he was there, angelic features twinkling in the night sky, like some dim light that simply refused to be extinguished. His voice ringing out only for her to hear.

She had only met him once. There was a distance of but fifty metres between them; she was leaning over the balcony, much to the annoyance of those seated behind her, gazing at his illuminated form below. Momma had been there too.

No. No. Faster. Faster. She must not see Momma's disapproving smile.

Past and present merged into one as his voice tinkled and stilled everything else in the universe. The stars had stopped in their tracks to shine on him, or so it seemed to her. Her sweaty hands had clutched a bunch of roses - beautiful in their richest bloom of velvet blood red, but she knew that it would never be good enough as a gift to him. So the bunch went into the dust bin, and another girl was the one who went forward with flowers to accept his beaming smile and a soft whisper of thanks.

She sneaked out of the auditorium after that, before Momma could suggest that they should get his autograph. But Momma had always read her only too well. No matter how loud the music was, she could hear Momma's voice, maybe not as melodious as the Angel's, but no less sweet. "Surprise!" In her extended hand was his photograph with the unmistakable cursive scrawl on top. His smile seemed deeper than usual, his dimples more pronounced, almost as if he saw mother and daughter plunging into each other's arms.

The air around her enveloped her in a warm embrace, as if trying to calm a small child screaming for "Mummy!" Though she was no toddler, like an obstinate child, she would have no-one's hug but her Momma's. She didn't want an Aunty's fussing over her at meal times and then returning to her corner, where she resumed her preoccupation with staring at the ceiling. She wanted Momma. Now.

Music forgotten, the tears coursed down her cheeks. She banged her small fists on the bed. He had an excuse for not being by her side - he didn't even know of her existence, probably. Momma had no excuse. Where was she?