Chapter 6: Pedacito de Cielo
It was our first group class after our hotel rendezvous. With butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I hurried toward the dance studio, eager to see her. As I walked down the familiar hallway, the strains of tango music—the soundtrack of our story—echoed from her studio. Entering the room, I was greeted by Mia, Colette’s 'collector'—the person who takes roll and payments for the group classes, allowing Colette to focus on teaching and welcoming students.
“How was your weekend?” Mia inquired with casual politeness. “Very relaxing, thank you,” I replied, mustering a composed demeanor, while internally, I was anything but. Gratefully, the arrival of other students behind me spared me from further small talk, and I excused myself to the back of the room to change into my tango shoes. I stole covert glances towards Colette, who was engaged in conversation with a student at the studio's far end.
As I finished changing, Colette’s voice rang out, “Okay, everyone, let’s get started.” The class formed a circle, and Colette asked us to divide into “leaders” and “followers.” I noticed how she had transitioned from using gendered terms to the more inclusive “leaders” and “followers” since I joined her classes. A small gesture that I appreciated. She began by demonstrating the steps for the followers, facing the leaders’ side. My gaze was fixed on her, struggling to maintain an appearance of being there solely to learn tango. Our eyes met for the first time that evening, sending a thrilling jolt through me.
After demonstrating the followers’ part, she switched to the leaders’ steps. The focus of the class was on the "gancho," a dynamic and intricate tango move where the follower, in this case, hooks their leg around the leader's in a swift and sharp motion. It's a move that requires clear intention and trust between partners, lest it result in a tangled heap on the dance floor.
Colette announced, “Okay, let’s see how it goes. I need a leader.” Without waiting for volunteers, she approached me directly. As she guided me to the center of the room, I wondered if the other students could sense the undercurrent between us – the stolen glances, the involuntary flushes of color. Embracing her for the first time since our night together, I struggled to focus on her instructions, memories of our time together flooding my mind.
