Micro fiction by Kendra Cardin

Disco Cinderella

For Mom

Laces tied tight, Ann laps the roller rink, arms outstretched like wings, the dragonfly tattoo on her right shoulder gliding along for the ride. It’s ’70s Night, and she could skate till dawn, boogying in her hand-knitted halter top, bell-bottoms and vibrant blue eyeshadow — a disco Cinderella. Except this time, the footwear stays on, sets the overtoiled woman soaring, wheels spinning, hips swaying.

Ann knows she can’t stay long. Tonight, a mirrorball moon glittering her skin, the tender voice of Thelma Houston imploring her not to leave this way. Tomorrow, a harsher slice of light beaming down, the clang and whir of an MRI machine.

Ann lifts her face up toward the rainbow hues of the rink’s spotlights, shimmies the tension from her shoulders, finds the beat again. One more time around, arms stretched wide as wings. Dazzling like a disco ball, like Cinderella at the ball. Like a dragonfly.