Jane dances, blue dress skimming the paunchy outline of her stomach. Her hips sway and swirl. The blues blend until she’s underwater in a fabric ocean of azure, cobalt, and navy.
Jane’s husband nearly drowns watching her, so he turns away, gasping for air to serve drinks. His friends talk about their cars. The wives cluck tongues and gossip in breathy whispers while servers move through the crowd with purchased gaiety, and someone whispers, maybe it was the dancing.
In another world, across and above the room, there are no husbands, no neighbors, no ultrasounds—just Jane. And Jane dances.
“I write because I can’t play with my cat and watch Star Trek all day.” – the writer