Enough… I’ve decided… I’m signing up for tango lessons.
Really… are you sure… at your age?
Well!!! What am I supposed to do? Give up and forget about it?
Yeah!!! A THOUSAND DOUBTS
Am I doing the right thing… am I doing the wrong thing…
Of course, leaving the house in the evening, at that time I’m tired and lazy, then in winter it rains and it’s cold; and what about my back pain and knees that are starting to protest?
Then, as if that weren’t enough, the hardest test… being with strangers.
Yes, let’s talk about that… meeting men you’ve never seen before, with whom, in addition to having to make small talk, you also have to dance!!!
Oh well, I’ll sleep on it… maybe I’ll call and there won’t be any places left, and then I’ll be justified.
But what am I telling myself… just get it over with…
So this is what I’ll do… I’ll sign up for a trial lesson and see how it goes.
And here I am, climbing on top of the wardrobe looking for my old shoes; they hurt a little, but I can put up with it for one evening.
I arrive at the lesson an hour early; the official excuse is to see how to get there, find a decent parking spot, and take a peek.
I like it! The atmosphere and the people seem nice; I sit down, look around, and take a deep breath. Someone tries to ask me if I want to dance, but I’m still wearing sneakers… great excuse!!!
Sooooo… SHOULD I CHANGE MY SHOES?…go with the “12 cm heels.”
Here I am, ready for the lesson, and the wheel starts turning; as is customary in school, there is a change of partner with each piece of music.
I return home HAPPY; I declare myself ready to face the challenge.
And here I am on a Saturday afternoon, after accepting the invitation of the teachers, ready to go and take part in an afternoon of dancing.
This time I arrive late on purpose.
The gym is dark and crowded, I look for a corner and put on my shoes.
I WAIT
In a milonga you have to know how to wait, you have to be patient; it is the gentleman who invites the lady.
This stresses me out and makes me feel insecure… I take a square of pizza with Nutella from the buffet and feel guilty about the extra pounds I’m gaining.
I listen to the persuasive music of times gone by.
I am seduced by the people, their pirouettes, the background chatter.
I watch the masters… how talented they are.
I tell myself that I must not give up… that I CAN DO IT TOO!!!
I glimpse a man in a blue blazer coming towards me and smiling… he wants to ask me to dance.
These are the gestures in milonga… a man smiles at you and you decide whether to get up and dance or politely decline.
OH MY GOD… what do I do? For a split second I panic… then I get up.
They play a milonga, which unlike the tango, is a less passionate but more rhythmic dance.
It’s been a long time since I danced a milonga, but I pluck up my courage.
How wonderful… the dancer is very good and makes me twirl.
Every now and then I stumble, I apologize… but he smiles at me and helps me get back into the rhythm.
By the evening, my old shoes are ruined, but I happily make my way to the car.
White, blue… maybe red.
I think I’ll buy myself a new pair of shoes.
Annafull
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