Every night was phantasmal, full of music, laughter, high kicks and red lipstick – but it was empty. Behind all of those beautiful showgirls’ sequins was a sadness I’d never imagined. I often felt weighed down by all of their melancholy – girls who seem to have it all, falling apart at the seams. Omaha was so far away, and after six months in Vegas I was feeling homesick. As another feather fell limply off my costume I wanted nothing more than to know exactly who I was and where I belonged. One night the seventy-something casino owner Eddie came by to visit his “favorite girls.” Singling me out, he pulled my copper curls, telling me that with my blue eyes I looked exactly like his daughter. After the show he pressed into my hands a little canister, two red dice sitting unassumingly at the bottom. His only instructions were to shake them when I felt sad.
That night as I lay in bed I remembered the dice, I felt homesick so I dug them out of my bag and shook the canister vigorously, the little dice thwacking against the plastic. And then the inexplicable happened – an arc of light appeared in my room, I saw myself in a peacock feather headdress, my hips sparkling with sequins, feathers cascading down my sides. It was otherworldly – my legs kicking in perfect sync with music the world had never heard. I became addicted to the dice, every time I shook them I saw something I wanted beautifully illustrated in front of me. It became habit, a glimpse into my future. But one day, I saw Omaha – the clear skies and uncomplicated landscape. I returned home, sitting those little dice on my bedside table just in case. I still try to shake them, but nothing happens anymore. I guess I don’t have anything left to want.
I had a bit of a difficult time with this. My object immediately made me think of a Vegas showgirl, but I had to put it into first person in order to keep the story shorter. I originally intended something darker, but I'm not quite up to that task. Instead I decided to go with the whimsical. This is what happened.
ReplyDeleteReally like this piece. There's a nice use of other objects, too--the limp feather--representing moods. The melancholy of the showgirls is an interesting element that you could work to elaborate a little bit, perhaps providing a little, specific list of sources. One thing, too, with the fantastic: when narrating its effects, the piece is stronger if it doesn't "diagnose" the events as "inexplicable," "otherworldly," etc. Observe the inexplicable in juxtaposition with the explicable, and let the reader wonder what normal is.
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