12. No one beats Jimi. At the alternative milonga, at the end of a particularly screechy tune, Stan steps back. He is nearly limp; his grin is huge. I believe he has just experienced the Tango Trace. “That was the dance of the festival,” he sighs. I preen. “Jimi Hendrix,” he marvels. “I love Jimi Hendrix.”
11. Campy and hot. Dancing in fedora and shades. Today, suave-and-sweet is dark and dangerous, too. Excuse me now, I need to go swoon.
10. Getting a clue. Barbara Durr’s hilarious pantomime of a cabaceo-clueless woman, who will never get a dance at a milonga. Hey, wait a minute! She looks like me!
9. Tango music trance. A woman openly weeping at the deep, holy beauty of the last song of Grisha’s musicality class. As we applaud she hurries to the back of the room, wiping her face with both hands.
8. A new adornment. After two months of tweaking and practicing a new adornment that one of my teachers doubted I could pull off, slipping it into a dance with Stan and then Jane—and they like it!
7. Being Cinderella. Kathleen and Mary Alice fussing over me like Cinderella, altering my dress, poring over an extensive collection of jewelry, choosing the earrings, bickering over the necklace, advising on hairdo, teasing, and assuring me that yes, the outfit looks as beautiful as it makes me feel.
6. A quiet moment. Glenlivet at Jim’s funeral, sharing a moment as meditative music plays.
5. My right foot. The doctor says to keep dancing, if the pain lets me. Andrea advises leather soles for this floor. I have been wearing the suede-soled Delies, because they have lower heels--even though they crunch my toes and stick to the floor, twisting my foot with every pivot. The leather-soled Comme il Fauts don’t do that. A blessing! I can take classes and dance!
4. Fabulous DJ’ing at the alternative and all-night milongas. We talk about connecting with partner, music, floor, room. Little do we know, while we’re doing all that, the DJ is connecting with us.
3. Girlfriends. Getting ready for the alternative milonga together; sharing our nervousness, chewing gum to settle down, entering the milonga in solidarity; huddling under a shared pashmina for warmth; noshing between tandas; joshingly competing for the same lead; mocking the sluttiness of one another’s outfits; admiring shoes and makeup and hair; comparing notes on the out-of-town leads; commiserating over failed cabaceos. … The women who come only to dance miss half the fun of milongas.
2. Watching people, people watching. Working the door, looking in. This is the best seat in the house. No pressure, you can settle into the moment and let it flow. Far back from the floor, you can stare unabashedly at your favorites. The dancers look like exotic fish floating and flowing along. … Encouraging passers-by to stick their heads in, to step into the ballroom and watch. The only thing better than watching tango is introducing others to it.
1. One World, One Tango
In Denver’s Doubletree Hotel, a woman in split sole jazz shoes absently runs through variations on the cross as the elevator ascends.
Crossing the lobby, a man moves with counterbody motion.
At the registration desk, a woman tries to hold her place in line, loses control and glides off in a series of complicated steps.
A man taking an outdoor smoking break practices balanced moves forward and back along a parking curb.
Today, in office hallways and copier rooms, in airport security lines, on sidewalks and at streetcorners, in grocery store aisles, at the bank, in kitchens and bathrooms and hardwood-floored living rooms ...
... in BuenosAiresAmsterdamIstanbulTokyoSanFranciscoAnchorageParis ... in CentralParkUnionSquaretheCheesman Pavilion and, God and love willing, on the Temple Mount once again....
... tangueros and tangeuras are doing the same.
Consciously, absently, intently, carelessly.
Tango runs like thread through the world. Alone or together, in class or practica or milonga, every step weaves a web of connection.
One world. One love. One tango.
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