My First Private Lesson, Part 4: Gancho!

I would never do a gancho. They look cheesy. And lethal. In the wrong hands (that is, on the wrong feet), stilettos could cripple a man.

I am the wrong feet.

I have no spatial awareness, no ability to calibrate expenditure of energy to desired effect.

Once I meant to kick a girl lightly with my knee, and she ended up in the nurse’s office.

Do you want to gancho with me?

Grisha is fearless.

He throws one in without warning. He explains the technique. We try a few more.

I am working very hard on not sending him to the nurse’s office.

He senses my hesitation and stops.

“I’m afraid I’m going to kick you in the butt!” I say. “Sorry,” I add. (One does not say butt in polite company.)

Grisha looks puzzled. “My butt is not there,” he replies.

I think I should know. I’m the one wrapping my leg around his. But I don’t correct him. I only make a face.

We move on.

At home, I am practicing. I decide to try a gancho on The Man on the Wall. What’s the worst that can happen? I’ll learn to patch drywall.

We stand in an open embrace, allowing ourselves plenty of room.

Ready? I ask.

The Man on the Wall smiles trustingly. Fool.

I step, feel the pressure of Grisha’s thigh against mine. Shift my weight—gancho!

I freeze.

This is how I get a sense of where things are in the world. I freeze. I examine. I take my time. I have been known to get out a ruler and measure.

I examine my leg as it hangs in the air.

Ah. Now I see why Grisha said his butt is not in danger of my heel.

The foot-bone is connected to the ankle-bone.

Not the knee-bone.

Gancho-men, rest assured. Your butts are safe from my heels.

(But you might want to keep an eye on my knees.)