I'm not a dancer, though my mother was, and because of that I imagine that the ability should be lurking somewhere in my genes, just waiting to be released. That one day I will step out onto a dance floor and nothing but beauty and grace will flow from my limbs; they will work together with the music and I will be transformed. Someday....
Dancing with Carlos, I almost felt it was possible.
Have you ever danced with someone who really knows how to dance? It's like you're moving without even knowing how. Somehow he's leading and following, sort of, and then, despite yourself, suddenly you're dancing. It's something magical, possessed only by a really, truly good dancer. And I guess that's kind of rare.
Carlos taught me to dance: bachata, merengue, a little bit of salsa. He took me dancing and he gave lessons to a group of us on a couple of evenings in the Center for Young Adults in Alcalá. When the rest of us danced together we all fumbled with our feet and started on the wrong beat and struggled to maintain the rhythm. But when I danced with Carlos it all made sense--the music, the movement, the turns--it was natural. Light, free, smooth, flowing. And pretty. While the rest of are just awkward and overly self-aware, when Carlos dances he looks graceful and beautiful and poised. Effortless.
On Tuesday I danced with Carlos for the last time. Today he left for Manchester, England, where he will serve a 2 year mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I am happy for him. He will teach and serve and learn, and speak English! He will grow and do much good. But I have to confess that, selfishly, I'm a bit disappointed to have reached the end of our dancing days, few though they were to begin with.
I guess what I'm really saying is, I'm in the market for a new dance teacher. One who not only knows how to dance, but who can transform his partner into a dancer by the sheer grace of his movement.
And no, I wouldn't mind if he happens be very handsome.
And maybe a little bit tall.