10
Walking had been a key skill in her job a decade ago, but her movements now were short and jerky, like a quickstep, instead of long and graceful like a waltz. The wide obi at Midori’s back felt like a hundred tiny laces pulling her spine taut, like a too-small corset. She could bring air into her chest, but it wasn’t making its way down her spine. She made her way across the floor.
In the midst of her promenade across the ballroom, the singer up on the main stage hit a high note. Midori winced at the shrill note as the woman ended the song. Her ten-year old could hold a note better than that woman. Kimmei had no fear of the spotlight. The little girl would march center stage, grab the mic, and belt out a perfectly pitched tune. All the while, Midori would be standing in a corner, an a
