carnival – sprained – mask – oxidation – awkward
apple – juvenile – controversy – twirl – sassafras
It was a new bar in town, despicable name. Sassafras. Open concept, dim lightning save for the piano that stood in a spotlight in the middle of the tables. I ordered an apple martini. The pianist didn’t sing, though he had a microphone, but fingered the grand instrument marvellously. It was a jivvy, jazzy, jumpy tune he played. I’d had only a sip of my drink before I wanted to dance along. They had the space for it, an obvious opening, between the tables nearest the stage. But people sat near the walls, leaning over their high tables to exhibit some fake sophistication. So I moved through the empty chairs to the clearing like a shark on the prowl. The musician didn’t see me, the masquerade mask of his costume must have narrowed his vision, for right as I stepped to the floor the song ended. Awkward, that. He saw me then, made a face I couldn’t decipher. He gestured at the keys; I requested “Carnival”. Even more of a groovy song than the last and I moved to it. Closed my eyes to not see the onlookers. Cowardly that, juvenile. A fever came over me; I bobbed my knees, twisted my shoulders, fists raised. Maybe a twirl, I thought, maybe a kick— my foot struck hardy muscle. A crash. I opened my eyes immediately to see a man tumbled backward into a mess with the furniture. Carnival stopped mid-note from the pianist rising to help my fellow dancer. It was with stark clarity I noticed the onlookers then. He’d bonked his head, his hand came back brown from the blood already undergoing oxidation. The bouncers asked me to leave — seems I caused quite the controversy at the Sassafras. And no one even asked about me; it turns out my ankle had been sprained.
