Dancing Lights

I danced. I wore red lipstick, a party dress, and uncomfortable shoes. The spring air was smooth and tinted with new flowers. It was fluid as it wrapped itself around my twirling form. Infinity was slow then fast with the beat of the music. I danced. I stepped in time with the warm night. I touched many hands and swung around a menagerie of feet. My uncomfortable shoes crushed a few unlucky toes. As I skipped, I was beautiful, pretty, and lovely.

The night ended. The air turned heavy and cold. It started pouring. I tripped over my shoes. My head ached from the champagne. My feet hurt. My dress was sweaty, the frills hung limp. I cried. 

She found me wet and staggering. My hair, breaking free of its elaborate braided prison. I was half fabulous midnight dancer and half drunken mess. I stepped in a puddle, soaking the black leather of my strappy heels. The flower in my hair fell into the dirty water. The muck stained the delicate white petals a grimy forgotten cream. I wanted to go home, but the bus was late and the taxis were moving too fast for my befuddled mind. I sat on the bench under the shelter of the bus stop. The rain pounded the plastic roof, turning the outside world into a blur of street lamps and headlights. 

She stepped under the roof, staring straight into the sickening speed of the striped street.  She wore a dress. It was green, long and elegant: subtly, quietly audacious. Her dark hair was pinned up in a simple bun, exposing a graceful neck and stunning pair of gold earrings.  She appeared to take no notice of my sopping soggy form. She was untouched by the rain, besides perhaps, a wild wet glimmer in her eye. Despite her extravagant garb she was barefoot. Her toes flexed in response to the muddy sidewalk, relishing the grit. Her bus arrived. She glided into the fluorescent vehicle, fading into a face in the window. I glared at my shoes.