Corina and Julio Here. One Heart on Air.

That's what Mary Alice wrote on the calendar a month ago. She likes to keep track of the house's comings and goings.

There are too many classes for her to note all of my comings and goings. Instead she drew a fine purple line running straight through to Sunday.

That line has been running through my life since last spring.

* * *

Last spring, when Julio and Corina came, I was a wreck. Lousy balance. No technique. Shyness out of control. Insane hunger on a stomach that refused all offers of food …

This is an old story. Let’s just say there were many tears and many hot, soothing baths.

For a month after, I was a shipwreck. Think Titanic. Then I got tired of myself.

* * *

Six months in, six months out: The end of My Tango Year was well in sight.

A deadline! My life’s organizing principle.

I put the shy girl away. Gave the left brain the lead.

I am really good at strategic planning. Here’s my secret:

Focus.

If you had only six months to live, what would you do?

I would be kind every chance I get, and I would dance as beautifully as Corina de la Rosa.

I signed up for all of Nina’s follower’s classes. Joined the Grisha Groupies, traipsing from Blue Ice to Patricia’s house to the Mercury, wherever he was teaching.

You don’t have good posture, he said. Dancers should always have good posture in class, even when they are listening to the teacher talk. I started watching Glenlivet, started standing up straight.

By (foolish) choice, I found myself suddenly homeless. But there’s good news in that: Living like a vagabond frees up plenty of cash for tango!

I signed on for weekly private lessons with Grisha. When the follower’s classes ended, I signed on for privates with Nina, too.

I raided the Tango Colorado video library, watched Julio and Corina in performances and lessons.

Practiced like mad with all my inanimate partners: the piesafe, the Swiffer, the kitchen counter, one of Mary Alice’s shoes placed just so on the floor.

I worked like a dervish. Very determined. Loving it very much.

Finally it happened: One night in a private, Nina began to laugh wickedly, laughed and laughed as we swept around the floor.

“One Heart, you’ve got it, you’ve got it!” she whooped.

A few days later I went to my lesson with Grisha. (Heh-heh-heh. I am going to knock his socks off!)

Not so much.

He looked puzzled. He said I feel odd.

Inside my head I swore like a sailor. Inside my car on the drive home I cried.

Went into hiding. Avoided Blue Ice. Patricia’s. The Turn. The Merc.

Despaired.

How does a thing like this happen?

I can’t quit. There’s a challenge with a bright, pretty promise. I could never resist a challenge, nor a bright, pretty promise.

I am only despairing. This is no reason to quit. Weak-kneed and hopeless, I carry on.

.

.

.

Click!

.

.

.

Weak-kneed! Who knew?

Since the day it clicked, I have gone on a dancing binge. I am afraid if I don’t dance every single night, I will lose it.

The Rule of Five (the list of men I would dance with) went out the window. I have to keep trying out my dance on every body type, every size and shape and gender.

I rarely practice alone any more. My inanimate partners miss me. I miss The Man on the Wall.

* * *

Finally, it comes down to last Friday.

“Don’t try to impress them,” Grisha is saying. He is coaching me on the coming week. I am taking privates with both Julio and Corina, and seven classes.

As if.

More likely I will fall off a chair while putting on my shoes, as I did in my first private lesson.

Grisha talks a little bit more about what to expect, washing away the last bit of anxiety. I like to know what to expect.

During the last dance of the day, I give it one final grill. Am I doing this right?

Yes, he says.

Hips? Knees? Wings? Right? Right? Right?

It's OK, he says.

Well, then. That’s it. I'm prepared.

Now I turn it all off. Relax. Eat. Dance. Read a book.

Julio and Corina are coming.

I can feel myself growing lighter.

One Heart on air.