Dance partner
Charmian Chen
I was born and grew up in a small town in Central Taiwan. When I turned 18, I was all set to go to Taipei to attend the college. And that was when my elder brother got all anxious.
He cautioned me, “Now that you are going to leave home and live in the big city, no one will be around to take care of you anymore. You have to open your eyes wide and do not go out on a date just because someone asks you. Most of all, don’t even think of going to a dance with boys. Those guys have all sorts of mischiefs in their sleeves; they are eager to take advantage of naive girls like you.”
My brother was a junior in college at that time, I knew he had countless girlfriends and his advice was based on his own experiences. So, how could I afford to ignore it?
As a result, in my four years in college, I never learned how to dance and I never went on the dance floor.
Then I left Taiwan and came to America, to New York City.
When a person leaves home and moves to a foreign country, the feeling of loneliness is crushingly overwhelming. Then the year came to an end. I was told that Taiwanese Students Association in New York was going to host a dinner /dance to celebrate, and all the Taiwanese students were invited. I figured, this party wasn’t for me, as I didn’t know how to dance. But on the other hand, all my friends would be going, I would be the only one left in the dormitory; what was I going to do, on New Year’s Eve?
After wavering for a few days, I decided to go to the party with my roommates after all. Of course I would not be dancing, but at least I would enjoy the festive atmosphere and sample all those delicious foods.
Finally, the day came. As I was entering the dance hall, I came upon a young man who was a new acquaintance.
“Hi,” I greeted him.
“Want to dance?” He asked.
“I don’t know how.”
“Then why bother to show up tonight?”
I stared at him, not knowing how to respond to such a rude comment. Then, without saying another word, he dragged me onto the dance floor.
As far as I know, in order to engage in a social dance, the man and the woman are supposed to face each other and stand close together. But, to my surprise, my partner did not hold my hand, nor did he put his hand on my waist, he just stood in front of me and started waving his hands and twitching his feet, as if he was stepping on a slippery floor that was spilled with oil. He kept twisting his hips and feet, and I kept watching his moves, dazed. Then I realized that I had to do something, to act in concert with him. But what should I do? How was I supposed to move?
“Hey, how do you do this dance?” I asked.
He just laughed. Finally he said, “This dance is called ‘Twist’, all you need to do is follow my move, twist your body every which way you want.”
But how does one twist one’s body? I tried to swing my legs to the rhythm of the music, but I felt so awkward and clumsy. My face started to burn.
What a disaster. In my first adventure onto the dance floor, I had experienced such an embarrassment. Luckily, that night he was kind enough to invite me to a few more dances and taught me a few nifty dance moves.
Half a year later, he asked me to be his lifelong partner and I saw no reason to reject him; so I nodded my head.
Now that I was married to an excellent dancer, it was a given that my dance skill would improve by leaps and bounds. Alas, that wasn’t the case at all. It turned out that he did not want to dance anymore.
I felt cheated.
“How come you don’t want to teach me how to dance anymore?”
“Forget it. It is such a chore to dance with you. It’s like moving furniture.”
What an insult! How come, before we got married, he never mentioned that I was like a piece of furniture on the dance floor? But now that I was his wife, what could I say? Where could I go to register my complaint?
My dance career, before it really got started, had ended prematurely.
There is an old Chinese saying, “Months and years go by like water flowing under the bridge.” How true. How many months, how many years had passed since we got married? We were so preoccupied with child rearing, with studying, and with work that we had completely forgotten the good old days when we were carefree enough to dance the night away.
But, I was destined to enjoy dancing after all. Five years ago, we finally became empty nesters. A couple of our old friends came up with an idea of hiring an instructor to teach us how to do ballroom dancing. They wanted to know if we were interested in joining them. My husband said “yes” without a moment’s hesitation.
What a strange man, this husband of mine! After all these years, now that our bones had become stiff, and our joints had started creaking, he wanted to recapture the old dream? But what did I care? If the dance lessons could bring some fun, some laughter, what was there to lose?
Thus, we joined three other couples to begin our dance lessons.
We hired a woman instructor, she was very serious minded, her instructions were very methodical and organized. The only problem was her appearance. She was young, she was beautiful and she was so slim that I could have encircled her waist with my two hands. But most of all, she was so supple, so soft that when she danced, she seemed to float like a swallow. No wonder, all the guys in our dance class became so enchanted that, when asked to be her partner, they all trembled. That was why, for the first few lessons, we were in total chaos. As for me, I was even worse than those guys. Although I hang on her every word, although I concentrated on watching her every move, yet the more I tried, the more I was confused. She instructed us to step to the left, I stepped to the right instead. She wanted us to step back, I would step forward by mistake. What to do? What to do? I kept asking myself. I was so frustrated that I perspired profusely, just like the guys.
Luckily, she had infinite patience. And gradually, our class had begun to get into grooves. We began by posing our stance. The guy’s posture should be quite rigid, he was not allowed to slouch or slump, in other words, he should not change his stance. But most important of all, he was not supposed to pull or drag his partner around as to cause her to lose her balance. As for the girl, she was supposed to tilt her body slightly to the left, her eyes focused to the right. She was absolutely forbidden to glance around.
To tell the truth, I felt so awkward that I almost had anxiety attack every time we had a dance class. First of all, I was a straight up and down kind of person, I never knew how to be coquettish, how to flirt with a man. But now, when I stepped onto the dance floor, I had to be soft and sweet, and I had to look at my partner with tender glance. How was it possible for me to act as if I were enthralled by my partner? As for my posture, I had to be soft and yielding; when I stretched my hand out, the gesture should be soft and alluring, just like a Chinese opera actress. When I lifted my head to look at my partner, I was supposed to give him a loving, soulful look. Good heavens! How was it possible for me to fake such emotions?
Although I still cannot manage to act like an enchanted woman, captivated by my partner, at least I have learned most of the basic dance steps. No matter if it is cha-cha, tango, waltz, rumba, or fox trot, I can handle them all now!
I have also learned a very important lesson, and that is, when a woman steps onto the dance floor, she is not allowed to think, she should just imagine herself to be a lamb, to be led meekly by her partner. There is no choice. Otherwise, she and her partner would be fighting like dog and cat, right there on the dance floor.
Nowadays, we don’t take dance lessons any more, but we regularly attend our teacher’s monthly dance. We enjoy it immensely, and we dance until we perspire profusely, all tired out.
One night, after the dance, I ask my husband, “So, what do you say? Haven’t I improved quite a lot? Or, do you still think you are moving the furniture around on the dance floor?”
He laughs. “Sorry to disappoint you. But I don’t see much improvement.”
I really don’t care what he says. I look at his silhouette, his protruding belly, his greying head, and I have to laugh. The way he looks now, there is no chance for him to find a better dance partner.
Source from Mrs. Charmian Cheng
Posted in 03/2019
