With a quick hand motion, she flipped her shoulder-length charcoal locks onto her head. Stuffing in the bobby pins, she secured her hair. With a huff, she turned back to the mirror, and then froze.

“Wow, sis...” He appeared in her bedroom door, staring at his little sister with appreciation. “You look amazing!” She smiled, and this time it reached her sea-blue eyes.

The simple red dress flowed down, barely reaching her ankles. Two boots peeked out underneath. With golden strings hanging from her ears, her hair fastened on her head, and her lips a bright red, she looked like a vision.

Her brother walked closer as she turned to her vanity dresser and quickly slipped on the golden bangles on each arm. The golden necklace followed around her neck, and then she slipped on her grandmother’s wedding ring for an added effect.

“I’m ready.” She announced and turned to him, and then she froze again. “Wow, bro...You really look like a swashbuckling privateer!” She exclaimed giggling.

“Thanks.” His eyes sparkled as he turned to the mirror.

The red coat folded around his strong build, almost hiding the white waistcoat and black shirt underneath. The coat reached down to his knees. His black pants ran down and the attire was finished off by the black golden-buckled shoes.

A sword was also hanging at his side, neatly hidden by the coat. A reddish-brown hat with a feather in finished off his look. He turned to the side, admiring himself.

“Finally...” He muttered.

“Finally you can go back to the time of pirates and sword fights?” She asked, clearly amused. He turned to her and chuckled.

“I know you don’t get it, sis. But the adrenaline surges through me when I think of that time! The adventure! The unknown! The fight for life!” His eyes sparkled with passion as he suddenly took her round her waist and twirled away with her. “The balls. The aristocracy. The Cape of Good Hope.”

“Stop it, Henry.” She laughed. He let go of her and then swept over her with his eyes again, until they reached her boots.

“Really, Isabelle? You couldn’t leave the boots for one day?” She stepped away and grabbed her gloves off of the bed.

“No. You might want to be back in the 1750′s, but I want to be a cowgirl, okay? And if I have to be your partner tonight, I will at least wear ONE piece of my dream with me. And you will accept it.” She smirked as she glided past him.

“Oui, mademoiselle.” He quickly caught up with her, offering his arm. “Please, allow me to escort you to the ball, mademoiselle.”

“You are too kind, good sir.” She giggled, slipping her hand into the corner of his arm.

Sequins, sparkles, a bold rouge lip. The sultry wisps of a time that was never hers, embraced by freedom, elegance, culture and expressionism. She could see it before her eyes, black, white and gold, dripping in decadence. However, it seemed more like a dream, allowing the real world to fade away. It was a renaissance of the soul, and in this time of petaling pleasures, she longed to be in a world she could finally be a part of. 

What was it? Was it the dancing? The flashing lights? The parties which raged until late hours? Or maybe it was the poetry, the literature, and the gilded promise of something better. She swore she lived through it, that her soul had been there once before. She had played Jazz in a smoky speakeasy and she had heard the melodious prose of Langston Hughes. It was ingrained in her very soul, tugging at the strings of fate, longing for the clock to reverse. She felt the inexplicable urge to walk down the streets of New York City, in her flapper dress down to her crystalline black heels. To feel the wind carry the feeling of brimming industrialism and progress. To feel the innovation and excitement as it burned through her veins. Even within the depth of the great depression looming at the horizon, the lively and exuberant culture could not be slowed down. She dreamed because she was tired of the clubs and the lack of respect, tired of all the problems and all her chains. Tonight was her night, the biggest gala in town, and the theme: the roaring 20’s. Smiling to herself, she sat in front of the ivory vanity, placing her cosmetics on the table and getting lost in the hopes of what tonight could be. She dreamed of the rain, not the dance in the rain sort of rain but rather the downpour rain. The kind which makes it impossible to see, vieling the ugliness of the world and washing away the troubles of yesterday. It would be dark, a velvet night, the world filled in hopes of seeing the moonlight once the clouds should break. Maybe, deep within the party hall, the pitter patter of the rain would merely be a faint reminder that there was a world which existed outside of the confines of the idyllic scene. Would there be wind? Carrying the promises of tomorrow with the faint remembrance of the past. It would embrace her with its cool kisses and within a moment it would blow away and forget about that which it touched. Maybe the wind would sing, quietly as it moved and with the melody she would swing, tracing the dance floor, lost in the sea of poeple without a care. To be amongst the dreamers who never left the clouds or the innovation who paved the way for the future, and best of all, the writers, poets and the artist, who strive to express things which no one else could articulate. She could almost taste the hazy, crystal, gold drinks and their bubbles bouncing in her mouth. Like Alice in wonderland and that would be her potion, transporting her to a time beyond her own. Oh, how she longed for a time like that, to live in a simpler time yet a time of change and revolution. For she felt as if she could not fit in anywhere, whether it be with those of her own age or in the stories she claimed as her own. She lived in the aftermath of the time and watched the world become littered with those who thought they were eternal. She had an old soul and her story was etched in black and white, a timeless piece which allowed the facade she put up for the world to fade. Maybe she found that even in a time filled with extravagance, she understood that everyone feigned happiness to some extent, and that’s what made her feel like she belonged in the imperfect, yet picturesque era, that even with the happiness, there was something somber but that would be okay. 

Finally, she placed the gold trimmed and crystal embedded jewelry box in front of her. Running her fingers over the smooth, textured white wood, she picked up the box and winded the delicate, gold knob at the bottom. Slowly, sound ascending, soft music began to echo from the box. It played a tune with an airy piano and a faint lingering of a violin. It seemed to set the scene as she reached into the box, her fingers brushing over the soft, red velvet interior. When she looked into the velveteen box, the memories unfurled around her, reminding her of a lost time. A young girl who waltzed into parties and lit up the room with her glistening smile. To say she was the life of the party was an understatement, she was the heart and soul of the party. Looking away from the trace of the red cloth she only hoped she could dazzle the party as brilliantly as her grandmother had. Her ruby lips parted into a smile as she pulled out the staggering and utterly breathtaking set of gleaming, moon white pearls. She held them carefully in the air, a set of earrings and a necklace, worn in the very time she so wished to belong to. It was a piece of authenticity, the only one that truly deserved a place in an event so true to the past. Once she looked in the mirror, sure of her reflection, she opened the drawer of the vanity and pulled out an old book.

She picked up the novel, and when her hands, black nails and delicate fingers, danced through the pages she found herself at peace. There was nothing more refreshing yet agonizing than reading it, and as F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, “I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.” and that she was.

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