Saturday afternoon. Canaro is playing. I am packing. The Man on the Wall is looking on. We are not speaking. I am avoiding him, as much as I can in this small space.
He has to know what’s going on. Q has already gone into a box, nestled between Eudora and the nun who leans away in distaste. Too bad for her; for now she is pressed against Q in an embrace so close even TeacherTom would approve.
Now The Man on the Wall has no Q to lock eyes with. Now when the Man on the Wall looks down the length of the room, he sees only empty bookshelves.
He has to wonder about his own fate. I am not thinking about it. Until today that has been easy.
Things at work have been the kind of crazed that actually makes you crazy. I am house hunting. Pulpo was here. Tango is playing its usual mind games. I am practicing like a fiend. I had another private lesson with Grisha, another group class with Tom. Dueling techniques. Luiza says followers have to master them all. The festival is coming. My prettiest milonga dress, which was two sizes large at Christmas, is four sizes large right now. My mother wants to know if I’m anorexic. She grills me on how much I weigh, what I eat. I ask her if she knows a good tailor. The festival is coming. My car has developed a catastrophic oil leak. I have nowhere to live as of June 1. I cannot find a house that I like with a payment that will allow me unlimited tango. The festival is coming. And I still am 20 down on the waiting list!
The Man on the Wall has not been distracted at all.
2 comments:
I am certain you shall make it to the ball.
Tell your Mum about the Tango exercises you have been getting lately, that might put her mind at ease about you weight loss!
I can see you being a true Tango addict now. I am glad to know we share the small tango universe where the priorities begin and end with our tango ones!
MilongaCat.
Thank you for your confidence in getting the girl to the ball! I have called in a heavy hitter to help me. We will see ...
I recently received an email telling me not to bother with the festival milongas in part because "unskilled or unattractive" dancers end up sitting a lot anyway.
Hey!
Besides, I LIKE sitting a lot. It's like having a meal at my favorite restaurant, where the waiter takes your order for one course at a time, and the plates arrive every hour or so, and in the interval you savor the food and the wine and the company and the night.
Hmmm...nice thoughts to start the day. Thanks for your note!
OHD
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