Alone

Tickets are not easy to get at the Royal Circle. A lady does not wish to get a seat by currying favor; the flavor will eventually turn rancid and ruin her day. The scent of expensive perfume pervades the warm air. A packed house of coiffed women in evening frown and men who wear success like a badge; she is here alone in full regalia: pinned-up auburn hair, porcelain skin in a buttoned-up dress. White opera gloves, her nod to convention. Several eyebrows raise when she comes unescorted. There is not much legroom and it cramps her style, yet, she bears the discomfort one hundred feet above the ground. She doesn’t get to see clearly the emotions on the actor’s face. The rest of humanity looks like buzzing bees and butterflies hiding gossiping lips on pale faces behind colorful fluttering fans. She assumes the look; men have no monopoly on the stoic face. An evening out unescorted teaches her the world will always judge not just the melodrama she is watching onstage. There is more to life than The Salon; a woman has a choice. After: Theater by Mary Cassatte 1879 For Debbie Guzzi's Ten Pictures, Ten Poems, Ten Days - Painting 6 Kim Patrice Nunez 13 January 2016 * Published by Ekphrastic: Writing and Art on Art and Writing