Black feathers extend from the sides of his mask, obscuring his peripheral vision. No matter. The mask’s eye holes are large enough for him to catch glimpses of the decor as he whirls. Fairy lights drape the walls, casting an amber glow. Garlands of dried roses accentuated with lavender twigs and eucalyptus leaves scent the air. Baroque sofas of black lacquered wood and pink velvet frame the salon. A few bodies spin about with him, although most pose on the sofas, some at awkward angles.
The waltz ends. The string quartet packs up and leaves, soon to be replaced by another crew, a jazz band, maybe, or a tropical ensemble. On nights like tonight, musicians will follow musicians until everyone is ushered home.
He hops to the bar at the back of the room. The bartender waits with her arm extended over the countertop, offering a glass he can wrap his fingers around. He takes it, bows, and hops to his favourite stand on the wall. From here, he’s free to watch as guests flit in and out, some losing themselves in gossip and laughter and drinks, while others venture onto the dance floor.
His eyes survey all, but his heart seeks only one.
A jazz trio mounts the stage, and as they prepare their places and tune their instruments, the grand doors burst open and all heads lift as one. Wearing a Royal Navy uniform, Captain Jang—his Captain Jang—descends the imitation marble staircase, arm in arm with the prima ballerina. Jang’s smile rivals the sun and Sadol can’t blame him: the captain, a man of mythical proportions, matched with the belle of the ball on the most magical night of the year, the eve of the summer solstice. How could he not shine?
They step onto the dance floor and other couples join them. Sadol sits this one out. The jazz trio begins their song, a vintage that features the smooth notes of a saxophone. Crowded as the dance floor is, the other couples make way for the captain and the prima ballerina, the quintessential protagonists in any and all stories invented for them.
Sadol sighs. What’s it like to be so beautiful? His captain’s arm folds around the ballerina’s waist. The other locks at shoulder height, supporting the delicate hand of his dancing partner. Limber and petite, she fits in Jang’s arms in a way Sadol never could. They dance in perfect synchronicity. Featherlike, gliding from end to end as if on clouds. It’s her doing, her gift to him and all who dance with her. Sadol’s heart clenches at the sight, but the ballerina can’t help her blessing any more than Sadol can help his curse. She didn’t ask to be made nimble, just like he didn’t ask to be made rigid.
Unable to avert his gaze, he fixes his eyes on the stunning couple dancing circles around the room. The odious mask is not so odious now that it covers the tears he cannot shed.
The music stops again and all the dancers clear the floor, except for Jang, turned to face him. A smile blooms on the captain’s face, his dimples deepening in slow motion as he beckons Sadol to dance. The fairy lights change from amber to indigo, transforming phosphorescent dots stuck on the ceiling into stars.
At the opening beats of a Cuban bolero, Sadol levitates to the dance floor. Jang spreads his arms wide and he slides into them. Standing at eye level with the captain, he must seem as gauche as the akkasinamu tree. “I’m too inflexible for this dance,” he mutters.
“Lean on me and let go,” Jang says.
His unbending arms rest atop Jang’s shoulders, crisscrossing at the wrists. The captain’s pliable arms pull him by the waist and wrap around his torso, holding him in a close embrace. Sadol takes a deep breath and softens his body as best he can.
Dancing cheek to cheek with the only one he’s ever loved, swaying to the slow bolero rhythms under a pretend night sky—if he could close his eyes, he would. Something pulls at the ribbons keeping the mask in place and it slips from his face. The salon is empty save for the two of them and the jazz trio. He shivers in Jang’s arms. Is he dreaming? How could this moment be real? He’s never been anything but a side character. A background prop with a generic name.
Until now.
“You are so beautiful to me, Yeon,” the captain whispers in his ear.
Yeon. He can’t remember the last time anyone called him by his real name.
Heartbeat by heartbeat, Jang turns his face, lips burning a trail as they graze Sadol’s cheek. He makes his eyes go blurry—the best he can do to close his eyes—and stops breathing. The captain’s lips are on his, fluttering pecks that become caresses and grow firmer, more daring.
Electricity runs through Sadol’s body. An unfamiliar warmth blossoms from deep inside, threatening to consume him. Jang pulls him closer and closer, but there is no more space between them. Jang’s mouth—how to describe it? Salty and sweet and everything in between, mixed with the smell of the sea on the captain’s skin. Each of his senses is attuned to Jang, Jang’s taste, Jang’s smell, Jang’s feel, Jang’s sounds. Still he wants more. He wants—
Lights shine bright overhead and Sadol is yanked from Jang's arms. The night ends, and with it, his dream of starring in a love story with his captain. Will he have another chance? As long as the gown is his and the sky turns indigo and the bolero plays, he just might.
Karla resides in Toronto with her daughters, white dog, black cat, and fish (white angelfish, red-tailed black shark, five danios, countless guppies, a few Japanese trapdoor snails, and two assassin snails). Born in El Salvador and raised in eleven cities across three countries, Karla discovered different lived realities and likes to explore them in her writing. Karla writes in all genres, but her favourites to read include horror, psychological thrillers, mysteries, and crime.
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