Argentinian Tango course for beginners was coming to an end. Next week we would begin with advance course. Advanced, after just two months? I didn't think so. I was definitely in my infant phase, learning how to walk and all. That Friday's evening we had a class in musicality. Something changed in me. I was no longer in my head, controlling my feet and the rest of my body. I was with music and with Barbara, my dancing partner. Taking away the ambition to master a new move has freed me. I was rejoined with an old friend, the music. Funny enough, I had never particularly liked tango music. It bothered me with it's rustic sound design. It bothered me even more that I could not distinguish between songs, nor could I remember and recognize any of them. To me it was all the same, tango music. As the common belief has it, it supposedly induces dancers with passion. And we all know what Buddha's thoughts on that were... But that Friday the music spoke to me, moving me and my partner, effortlessly. After the class was over, I was happy and free. For the first time in two months a light of hope shone: maybe I would live to see the day when I would be dancing tango, not just struggling to move without too much faultiness in my lead, steps and posture.
At the same venue, Tabor hall in Ljubljana, a milonga was being prepared immediately after our class. This happened every Friday. Thank god, otherwise I would not had the courage to go to a milonga for at least two more months. Slowly more advanced dancers were coming in. The dancefloor was still mostly empty, occupied only by beginners. And we didn't grasp the milonga spirit yet: for us it was just some practice overtime. I danced with another lady from our group, Teja. After the first few steps I thanked fate for coupling me with Barbara; we both apreciated to had clicked together so well. I kept with the music and listened to my partner closely. It's all I did. My dancing moves were basic. But I was playing around with the structures of quadrat, the small and big one. We synced with Teja. Before I knew it, the song was over. I thanked her for the dance, feeling satisfied with our dance and mostly with my performance as a leader. Upon exiting the dancefloor, she made a remark to Barbara: »He's good. You're lucky.« I said to Barbara: »She's worse than you. I'm lucky.« Barbara's face twisted: she knew Teja probably heard me and wanted to prevent any unpleasant consequences of my rudeness, while at te same time not being able to conceal a big smile now adorning her face. I ran up to DJ booth. Marko T was having one of his first DJ gigs. I told him I had just heard tango music for the first time. He seemed moved and thanked me for the feedback. An hour or so later, milonga was in full swing. I didn't dance that much after the tanda with Teja. I was still rather shy about asking more advanced dancers to dance with me, while most of beginner ladies already fleed. So I just sat and observed the dancefloor, letting myself be mesmerized by other couple's dancing feet. Some time later I decided to change my shoes and leave. And it's what I did. On my way out, performing my »eskimo exit,« which is one where I don't say goodby to anyone, I met Marta. We were happy to see each other and we hugged long and warm. Dissolving the hug, she took a step back, looked straight into my eyes and shot me with her index finger: »I want a tanda with you.« Well, my dancing shoes already in my backpack, I was inclined to politely refuse the invitation. But when Marta asks for a dance, one doesn't say no. She's been dancing and teaching for the past 10 years or so. I agreed and said I'd be happy to. I proceeded to change my shoes . A tanda later, we were on the dancefloor. She wore a light dress and generally looked beautiful. I wore jeans and generally looked a complete beginner. Music played slowly and gently. Being a good student of musicality, I took my steps long, slow and with added depth and intensity to every movement. I danced with Marta before at her classes, but never at a milonga. She went all in, doing adornos and immersing herself fully in my simple choreography. Whenever I made a mistake, she would make something nice out of it. I commented: »Thank you for making me look good.« She smiled and gave even more quality to her gentle, yet firm embrace. I felt a promise on her part: »As long as you are music, I am yours.« Or at least she would be until we hear the cortina play. As the second song came to an end, we broke the embrace for a short breather. She turned her head away from me, then took the back of her hand and used it to attend to her eyes. »Marta, did you just shed a tear for this dance,« I heard myself asking. Honestly, I would never ask this. It sounded way too cocky. But I did, because it also seemed that it was indeed a tear she attended. She let a short sigh out her nose, would not look at me and closed the embrace again. I was puzzled. And then, we were dancing again. I couldn't help but to observe some heavenly quality about her. So light, yet so present. Compared to Marta, my Barbara was... The song ended. I hugged Marta, feeling grateful as hell, and thanked her. She gave me a 'no you don't' look and said: »One more song. Four songs in a tanda, remember? You're not getting rid of me yet.« One more song! No! I had more than my fair share of heaven. And surely enough, I displayed all my tango moves. I had nothing left to offer her. But then again, a new song was playing and she was waiting. So we danced one more song. The chemistry in my body was peaking. I have no recollection of anything that could be mentioned about the fourth song's dance. Cortina made her way through the speakers. I gave Marta the long deserved 'thank you thank you thank you!' hug and escorted her back to her spot at the venue. On our way from the dancefloor, I could hear myself talking. I don't know what about, though. Excited beginners, that's the worst. I was hoping there was at least some cuteness in my babbling, but I wouldn't bet on it. I found my way to the bar and had a glass of red wine. I met Mateo, Marta's boyfriend and one of my best and oldest friends. »Mateo – I just danced with Marta!« I exclaimed. He nodded his head and replied knowingly: »Softness, huh?« Softness. Yes, that was it. Softness mixed with presence and physical skill. I went home shortly after that. The next couple of days I found myself often replaying the moments and feeling from that tanda with Marta. I'll admit it: my mind even created some 'deleted scenes' and 'sequels.' The imaginary material was basically about me being magically elevated to some master-level tango, dancing again with Marta. And the material was about Marta, basically totally dying in my arms from a mix of pleasure and surprise. Knowing some tango vocabulary, I guess I had my first tango crush. With a best friend's girlfriend. Embarrasingly beautiful. I knew however, that the embaressment belonged to my mind, and the beauty belonged to tango.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorBlaz B, social tango dancer since February 2015. I'm sharing these posts to inspire future tango beginners, to encourage today's beginners and to possibly entertain those dancers, who have already become regulars at tango heaven.
Archives
November 2015
Categories
All
|