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When Thursday night comesaround again, I see the same crowd trickle in. The couples, the familiar faces. Some new students have hopped in on this session, and they look eager to start, excited for something novel. I’ve seen that look before, too. Women dragging dates, girlfriends aiming for a fun night out, engaged couples looking for a reception dance. And before I realize what I’m waiting for, I see her walk in. A flowery blouse and pants again. Same shoes I happened to notice last week. That bouncy haircut that frames her face.
“Hi, Julie!” Tara calls out to her.
Julie’s smile is apprehensive. Still tight-lipped, but a little brighter this time around. Her limbs are a little looser, her back a little straighter. She sets down her belongings and finds a space in the back again. Ethan slides next to her, saying hello. She offers a hello back, but then immediately looks forward to the mirror, waiting for instruction.
This time we talk about the ocho, the step that involves pivots and a figure eight motion.
We refresh our steps for the eight step and the cross. We continue to work on the basics, Tara and I leading, teaching form. Again, I catch Julie and the concentration on her face, the focus on doing it right. There’s something so passionate about it. It’s making me feel a little bit off balance.
After Tara and I dance the steps, everybody pairs up and I find myself going back to Julie. But this time I want to get in right before Ethan can extend his hand out.
“May I?” I offer my hand.
“You want to be my partner?” she asks, surprised.
“Well, it does take two to tango.”
“Clever,” she smirks.
She gives Ethan a small shrug in apology and takes my hand.
We come together slowly, still in a practice embrace, her hands gripping my upper shoulders. And then we begin to move even slower while I let her adjust to the moves, to our bodies moving in rhythm. It doesn’t take very long, our adjusting, because the weird feeling that’s reemerging is now a little more recognizable: this feels familiar.
This feels like we’ve done this dance before, like our feet have met in rhythm before. Like my body settles into a place it has known for a long time. She welcomes what we’re doing. She trusts it, I quickly notice, and that’s a very big thing.
“You’re doing great,” I say.
“Oh. Thank you.”
“What’s your dance history?” I ask.
“My what?” She’s trying to keep her focus on the steps, but that question might have taken her out of it.
“What else have you danced?”
“Oh. Well, I did ballet when I was nine. And then jazz when I was eleven. And then I quit and never looked back.”
“Really? That’s all?”
“Yes?” She makes a figure eight as I lead and watch her body pivot from side to side.
“Keep your chest forward toward me,” I remind her. “You know tango.” It's not a question, but an observation.
“I was exposed to it at a young age,” she says between steps.
Her legs move along in a mesmerizing pattern. Her chest stays forward, her hips face the side and pivot. She might be counting the steps in her head, but like clockwork she’s hitting every single one. I step side to side, shifting weight as I need to, allowing her space and time to hit every move. My handstwitch as I grip her upper arms in a practice hold, unknowingly squeezing to bring her closer.
“But you never danced it?”
“Kind of complicated.” She keeps moving in rhythm as we’re talking comfortably. This close I can’t help but smell hints of perfume on her skin. “What about you?” she asks.
“I got into ballroom dancing in my teens.”
“That’s interesting.”
I shrug. “I needed the structure of it. I liked that I could channel my focus into it.”
“I can relate,” she says softly.
