Tango may be fickle, but she is also forgiving! Viva la tango!
Tonight was glorious. I made a circuit around the room and the step that had eluded me came to me and embraced me. Like the cliched lover, it pushes me away and pulls me back. We dance, Tango and I, and if I am brave it will help me...
For now, Tango is the dance and the partner. Though I come to tango with empty hands, it finds a way to fill them.
I have a love-hate relationship with this dance. Spurned by the move I could not perfect, I thought of sitting out. I crafted one-thousand reasons why I should not be here tonight. But I am sitting on the studio's stoop and waiting for my turn, waiting to see if tango will take me in its arms tonight. If it will love me despite my clumsiness. I cannot be afraid to move.
I came to tango tonight to smile and to laugh with new friends. Some of us are progressing quite quickly. I try not to think of the progress but of the process of dancing.
As I moved around the floor, guided by a learning leader, I laughed as the familiarity I had felt last week revealed itself to me. As I listened to the music, as I moved backwards through it, I became five all over again...
Musical chairs...
When you were little, did you have a secret love? Did you walk around the chairs to that music? Only one chair left, there could only be one winner. Did you secretly wish you'd land on his lap?
We tried a new step at the end of our lessons. I was lost. Tango made me sad -- it taunted me a little. To lose step with tango struck me with longing. I missed the partner who still had not come for me.
There is no sadder dance to dance than the tango when your heart belongs only to yourself. And yet, I am not afraid to dance.
There are no rules in tango. No certain steps to memorize. There is no net. There is only the trapese of your partner's arms and the music.
We walked in circles, strangers. Forward. Backward. It seemed familiar to me with the first step. I danced with the teacher. I kept my eyes on her eyes. Where she led, I followed.
Strangers all, we were paired. Couples split and the very few Individuals that come on their own, myself included in that small fraction, slid in like clever interlopers. Each woman moved down the line of dance until we had been with each man present.
I am partnerless. I come to tango with empty hands but with an open heart. Maybe once I learn to dance, my parter will show himself.
I am not afraid to move.
I used to talk to my mom about leaving, always about going somewhere else or
being somewhere else. She always said that the reality is different from the
fantasy. She would know; she did the same thing when she was young.
I asked her once if she would apply for an Italian passport, she could, and if she could I probably could. I had planned on going to Italy for a summer or a year and working. I probably would have stayed for good. She said No.
I realized after she passed away (but never before) that she didn't say
those things to discourage me. She just didn't want me to leave. She never
wanted me to leave, but she would never have stopped me. She never stopped
me.
Recipe: Bonjour du jour
4 parts studio
1 part toy
1 part vodka
2 parts kahlua
2 parts cream