My version of 'Her First Ball' by Katherine Mansfield

I wrote this when I was 13.

Dear Diary

I remember how excited I was going to my first ball and I tried not to smile too much, I tried not to care. But everything was so new and exciting! When we arrived in the drill hall, all the girls were looking towards the men, but the men didn’t seem to notice. They were too busy smoothing their gloves, patting their glossy hair and smiling among themselves. Then quite suddenly, the men glided across the floor towards the girls and started scribbling on their programmes. I was sure that if my partner didn’t come and I had to listen to the marvellous music and watch the others gliding over the golden floor, I would die at least, or faint. But sure enough my partner came, he seemed quite surprised that it was my first ball and it was such a relief to be able to tell somebody. Then the music stopped and we took a seat. My partner coughed, tucked his handkerchief away, pulled down his waistcoat and took a minute thread off his sleeve. It wasn’t long before the music started again and I was swept away along the dance floor. Once the dance finished I found myself bumping into a fat, old man with a big bald patch on his head. When I compared him with the other partners he looked shabby. His waistcoat was creased, there was a button off his glove and his coat looked as if was dusty with French chalk. He was very rude, the way he spoiled it all, by saying things like “one day you’ll be sitting up there on the stage in your black velvet. And these pretty arms will have turned into short fat ones”. After a moment of thought, I replied “I want to stop.” I leaned against the wall, tapping with my foot, pulling up my gloves and trying to smile. Could it all be true? I didn’t want to dance anymore, I wanted to go home. Then a soft, melting tune began, and a young man with curly hair bowed before me. Very stiffly I walked towards him and very haughtily I put my hand on his sleeve. I floated away like a flower tossed in a pool and the fat man didn’t cross my mind again. It was simply heavenly, gliding across the floor with a fine gentleman. His marble white gloves pressed against my waist and the lights, the azaleas, the dresses, the pink faces, the velvet chairs, all became one beautiful flying wheel. Slowly his voice dimmed and the music faded into the distance and Oh what a magical night it was!

Leila