Tango

Tormented by Passion, every thought revolves around this dance they call Tango. It has been over 10 years since something like this has gripped me and shaken me so.

Actually it’s making me quite miserable. I am a rank beginner and as I take to the floor I step on my partners feet and he on mine since I can’t seem to get out of the way. I’m told to relax and loosen up. My upper body then becomes disjointed with my lower body. I’m told to keep my body aligned. I do so only to be reminded to loosen up again. Ah!

Someone finally takes me on the dance floor and there’s a connection. I perceive to be dancing well. I want this feeling not to end. After 3 songs it does with a new partner. Good grief and with a change of partners my dancing has turned to crap once more. Several more partner changes and the men lead me off the floor after one or two dances.

The men can’t bear to take me through a third dance, which is usually expected if both partners are having a good time. Again I find myself walked off the floor after the first dance. I don’t rightly know what all my fuss is over, needing to dance this dance anyway. I hurt like hell. Every part of my body screams at me.

I sit back down licking my wounded pride – thinking I might have had enough – when I hear the music. My chin juts out, my eyes brighten, my feet tap the floor. I must have another dance! Perhaps the next will be different. I have to try again. This is crazy why do I put myself (and others) through this torture?

At the end of the night I am flattered and given attention, walked to my truck by hopeful would be suitors. This could be anyone’s idea of a successful end to a dance. Why then am I so agitated? So irritated. So dissatisfied?

It’s this damnedable passion come over me and nothing I do is going to seem right. The last time I felt this way it took me 10 years to actually find some proficiency in my most grave and incurable passion, working with herding dogs. A lifetime of mysteries to be pondered and solved, changes and considerations, life on the most improvisational scale and magnitude, a rich array of outcomes to choose from.

That too to some extent is Tango. I know now I will suffer in its clutches for the rest of my life. Really, how dramatic can I be?

Yes, it’s true, I’ve been dancing my whole life in one form or another. I even consider moving with my dogs on livestock a sort of dance, so why ever should I be surprised Tango has taken a hold of me?