Tango
I spent too many of my formative years at a bastion of snobbery college for young ladies of upper berth. A musty, brick and wood trimmed institution where hymns at morning prayers had to be sung in a British accent, where pleasure was a vile, repugnant word and youthful exuberance a sure fire ticket to Saturday detention.
Methodical stifling and a lot of Brontë novels. And ladies, well… think Lillian Hellman.
Among the many antiquated civilities we were taught, there was dancing. Waltzes mostly, square dancing for some reason, sometimes a quadrille or a Charleston. No slam dancing, bee bop, tango or swing: nothing that might come in handy.
Now, since this was an all girl affair, someone would have to be the boy and, for reasons unbeknownst to me, I was always elected to be the male partner. So, when we danced à deux, I always led. Always.
Then came the time, the wretched, assembly hall filled with streamers for school dances time, where boys from boarding schools in the country would be bussed in… and then the music started.
At first, all went as well as could be expected for someone who would have rather been anywhere else but there, being scrutinized and appraised by pimply youths hoping to cop a feel, then brag about it on the bus back home. Okay, that is, until a slow song came on. Probably Stairway to Heaven. And the ‘uh, you, uh, you wanna, uh, dance?’ I figured, ‘um (breathe wouldya), okay’ and I may be able to work in a fancy variation or two on the box step.
But, well, we all know what comes next. Me wanting to lead, it not going over very well, him saying ‘uh, what, uh, what are you doing?’, and finding myself incapable of following his step, basic 101 shifting side to side though it was. More awkward shuffling, sorry I ums, oops, did that hurts, that’s okays and me mortified praying, praying, as I’m sure he was too, for the song to end yesterday.
Many, many times over the years I tried to let go, give my body over to someone else’s rhythm, but had never been able to. Never fully. Battling always with the impulse to lead, exacerbated by the sense that no-one ever hears the music the same way I do.
I so long entertained the fantasy that some day, it would just happen. Someone would just take me in his arms and dance me.
Oh, thank you.
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