My neural pathways are becoming accustomed to the sensory input patterns of tango*

Something has happened.

People call me by name. I recognize their faces and ways.

I have become a fixture at the door of the Turn, taking money and greeting people. Every week, a certain lead walks out the door at the beginning of the community dance. He averts his face as if that renders him invisible. I couldn’t pick him out of a crowd, but in that moment I know him.

I eat even on days I have tango.

A tanguera whom I admire told me my dance is coming along.

Leads have begun to invite me to dance. I accept dances with those who attend the same classes I do ...

… and with one who doesn’t.

I can make my presence felt in the embrace.

The girlie-quotient is rising. Still, I never do faux, flash, skin. Except when I wear the biker-bitch cropped-and-zippered vest that Andrea insisted I buy, along with an earring made from a real saw blade. It’s a pretty cool outfit. What with the cigarette-leg pants and stilettos and all.

I wear it once a year, at the Denver festival alternative milonga, Well, yes, there are two festivals each year. So that’s twice.

And on Halloween.

But that’s all.

I make eye contact. Every few weeks I try the cabaceo.

I changed the time I work at the door of the Turn so I am free during the community dance. Normally I go home. Twice I followed The Man with the Averted Face outside. (I pretend I don’t see him; he pretends he doesn’t see me.) Once I joined in the dance.

I let some people do the tango greeting thing on me—hugs, cheek-kisses, whatever. Not everyone. Some.

I once kissed a lead on the cheek. Voluntarily.

I have gained five pounds.

I engage in social contact outside of tango venues: I send email. I returned a call from a classmate.

When I walk into a milonga, I look to see who is there.

I recognize shoes.


I am no longer around tango but of it.

I am becoming visible. So are you.

This is the prelude and the conclusion.

___________
(*The title is a quote from Data, Star Trek Generations. With a few changes. He didn't dance tango. Too bad.)