the Tango that Never Happened

Life's full of tough choices, my friends. Luckily, the toughest choices we have to make as tangueras & tangueros is who to dance with.

In a small community where everyone knows everyone, there isn't much choice. You just have to dance with everyone or else be considered a snob. You may have your favourites of course, but still. In a larger community or a festival, you can get away with a "list". Please allow me to relate how a "list" came about and how to compile one.

I arrive at a festival or say... a tango community where I happen to be visiting for whatever reasons. The first thing I do is put on my tango shoes. This signals to everyone I am ready to dance. Also this is a great way for making conversations with the ladies, which is of the utmost importance, at least in my esteem. The ladies present at tango festivals have vast amounts of knowledge that is not to be ignored. First things first, compliments are called for. We ladies greatly enjoy receiving compliments and I adore giving compliments as well.

"Great shoes! Are those Comme Il Fauts/Neo Tangos/etc?" Hence the importance of putting on your shoes. This allows other ladies to compliment each other on their shoes and create conversation. Besides, checking out someone's shoes is great fun as well as having them check out yours.

After the great shoes conversation we make more conversation with more personal questions. Then comes the biggie.

"So... please do tell, who are the gentlemen here I should/shouldn't dance with?" Each of us have danced with people who are divine and those less than divine, or even downright scary. Girls like to talk. As for the guys, please do not deny. You guys talk too, just in different ways and not always in the powder room together. Each person has their list of should/shouldn't-dance-with-people. I believe it's important when at a festival or unknown place to find someone who does know and get their intake.

For instance, this has saved me from dancing with a certain gentleman who has a tendency of rendering followers into sacks of potatoes. The girls had warned me and I took their warning to heart. Then later I saw a hapless woman with a pinched face being bandied about the floor like she was the newest bag of cous-cous. I felt bad for her and glad for myself and the girls who warned me. Most important is the Do Not list.

Then there is the must dance with list. This list is generally longer than the Do Not list. Most girls are not mean or evil and do not put a gentleman's name on the Do Not list unless she had a thoroughly miserable time. Also, I firmly believe that the tango world is overall a positive and outwardly looking society and we like to focus on the positives. Sometimes the Must Dance With list is long (a rather wonderful thing) and we can't dance with them all in one night/festival/event. Which presents a dilemma.

And then here's the iffy and tough part. Those on the Must Dance With list we try to get their attention, get introductions, etc. After that, we angle for dances. Sometimes those dances never happen. There have been instances when two incredible dancers, being apprised of each other's talents, become like ships passing in the night. A few women have come up to me and told me of gentlemen, who have been introduced, known and chatted with, who never asks them for dances. Even more bizarre is when these gentlemen turn down the lady when asked.

"I don't understand it. I don't think I'm a bad dancer. Yet he never dances with me."

It begs the question, why won't he dance with me? My answer... who knows? Thinking back upon my experiences, there is this one gentleman whom I see and chat with at all the festivals we see each other, which is several times a year. We seem to have the same schedule and like the same festivals. He is gentlemanly and has good manners and is a great dancer. He's one of those die hard tangueros that will dance until the dawn. He dances with all my friends and we have mutual friends in common. But he has yet to ask me to dance. When I catch his eye, he smiles and leads another lady to the floor. He has never been rude in any way, but he has never indicated he would ever be interested in dancing with me. So why won't he dance with me? Am I not good enough? Maybe he just doesn't like my style. Maybe I'm too short/tall/skinny/fat/etc.

Ladies, please don't do this to yourself. Who knows why he won't dance with you/me and in the end, who cares? There's so many other dancers out there, so many possibilities and so much enjoyment to be had. I spared this gentleman perhaps 15 minutes of my mental space, wondering why. Then a another dancer asks me for a tanda and he's out of my thoughts. Who cares why he won't dance with me? All that matters is that I'm dancing, I'm having a wonderful time - that you are having a wonderful time, meeting people, and hailing to the gods of tango.

Your Close Embrace With Victoria and Sappho

I want to take a moment between tandas to thank all of you who keep coming back to our tango Confessions. To be honest with you, I'm surprised how quickly our community is growing here. But from the emails you've sent me, it's clear that you're embracing Victoria's poems and Sappho's openness as if they're the last tango of the night.

I hear La Cumparsita* in the background, but that's ok--we'll meet again at tomorrow's milonga.

Break My Heart

I adored him because he held me in his arms as if he would love me forever. During his favourite songs he would hum them as he danced, lending his aire of musicality another dimension. And I danced with him as if he were apart of me, an extension of my heart come to life in milonga form. This was his draw to the followers, he would hold all of them as if he'd love them forever. Young or old, no matter, they all felt like reincarnations of Grace Kelly and Ginger Rogers when embraced by him. And I fell, though at the very least pride would not let me become the proverbial ton of bricks. I fell the way Rome fell, slowly and with some cajoling and a whole lot of decadence.

I met him quite randomly, as we meet everyone quite randomly at tango festivals. He liked to wink at me, sometimes before and sometimes after he cabaceo'd me to the floor, my heart pitter-patter-ing for his gracefulness. When in close embrace I would be eager for his heartbeat and when in open embrace his dark eyes would light a fire inside mine the way Vesuvius lighted Pompeii. Sometimes he would purposely seek me out when his favourite songs appeared, saying "I feel like a cheeseball singing this song into anybody else's ear." And I would tease him, replying "oh? Probably because you're trying to impress everyone else!" And we would tease each other on and off the floor, with our words, our body parts, our ganchos and boleos. In his arms, ochos were not just ochos but a divine compilation of my body and his sweetness. He was always and of the utmost, a gentleman. It's not every man who considers a woman's height, weight and style to his own and adjusts accordingly... and then escorts her back to her seat at the end of the tanda. By the time the sun was rising through the windows, my head was laid upon his shoulders (I don't do this just for anyone, you know) and something just fit somewhere in the ether.

He asked me out for brunch with his surviving friends as the time drew close. I declined. I already had plans with friends, I said. Code of honour had it that I never blow off friends after making plans. But I would like to dance with him again soon, I said. And so we did the next night. And the next night. He asked me out again but again, I already had dinner plans with friends. Somehow it happened that his friends and my friends were at the same dinner table that night. He wouldn't sit next to me however, a preference for sitting across from me, all the better to look into my eyes easily, he later confessed. We connected on so many levels and of course, ultimately the dance floor. One time he even plucked a flower off one of the tables and placed it in my hair during a tanda.

I'm not quite sure where the beginning ended and the end began, but we didn't dance anymore. It's not easy to carry on a romance at a festival when everyone is so far from reality and then to maintain that romance ongoing. At a later festival I'd try to catch his eye, watching him catch someone else's eye. I'd watch him hold someone else in an embrace that spoke of eternity, swearing I could hear him hum. But it wasn't for my ears, as the arms holding him were no longer mine.

Tango is the dance of love, passion and sensuality. Having your heart broken is the price you pay for having too much of that passion and sensuality centered on any one person at any one time. For the ladies that journey to BA in singledom, beware. The proof can be seen with redden eyes in darken corners and the sniffling in the ladies' room. Though I don't mean to intend that this happens only in BA, mine was broken in Paris. So not only was I another statistic, I was also a cliché. However, it did prepare me for BA.

And this isn't just for the ladies alone - the gentlemen of my acquaintances have had their hearts broken as well. There are so many lovely ladies with passion and charm, all waiting to melt into a desirous connection. What surprises me is that it doesn't happen more often! Yet I will be glad for my own sanity anyhow, that it doesn't for me. Not only did I lose a wonderful lover, I lost a favourite dancer! I learned my lesson. Once bitten, twice shy and all that - dancers are dancers and lovers are lovers and ne'er the twain shall meet! Or at the very least, my heart and I will tread thrice carefully.

Foreward: Some time passed, and it happened that that same gentleman caught my eye in Denver. He cabaceo'd me and I stared back. I deliberated. Should I? Shouldn't I? If I did, would it still be the same? If I didn't would it convey I'm still smarting over trifles? I deliberated long enough to make him wonder. Then I smiled and nodded towards the floor. We danced. It was fabulous, but nowhere near the time when Rome fell.

Favourites

For the experienced festival goer, an obvious pattern exists among the dancers present. That ever elusive connection of all connections is of course duly sought after, but once found, by god and all that is holy shall not asunder. And the next best thing, the great, great connection, a dancer that fits into our arms and bodies like Linus' blanket, shall too become like Linus' blanket, always with us. This is fortunate for the dancers wrapped up in each other. This is not so fortunate for those who wish to dance with either of them.

The good news is that when we see these favourites of ours, we dance and we dance until someone else peels us apart. And then later in the night we find each other to dance some more. The bad news is that we don't dance with a whole lot of people due to the Linus Blanket monopoly.

At every festival you can see this happening, certain couples remain on the dance floor tanda, after tanda, after tanda. And should you ever see them leave the floor and catch their eye, they're on their way to the restroom! Of course, I may complain here, but I have been guilty of this upon occasion. Okay, more than upon occasion. Sometimes it's just not even the best of the best connections. It could be something else, someone we just enjoy dancing with so much. Maybe it's because you adore the way they hum the music in your ears, or the way your cheek rests against theirs so perfectly.

My personal favourite is a certain gentleman, who shall go unnamed otherwise I'm going to get phone calls, text messages and emails from all over the country, saying "You!". Anyhow, this special gentleman, who is bean pole tall, makes it ever so convenient for me to lay my head against his chest and strain to feel his heartbeat. He moves me effortlessly and I feel like I'm among the clouds. I don't have to strain my neck, or decide where to put my head, for his arms wrap about me as if he would love me forever. It's the perfect head rest I tell you. I haven't always connected perfectly with him, but that head rest is perfect and it's as if I'm dancing in my dreams. And when the tanda ends, he can hear my whisper in his ear, "more please...."

So my dear friends, this is an unsolvable dilemma and I dare you to join it. It is a bit selfish to monopolise someone's time like that, but darling, it's absolutely mutual. And do keep in mind that these favourites probably live far away and can only be met and danced with at festivals. Very often we call each other and say... " meet me in _________ for the festival." So please, do understand. We do dance with other people and I think it is acceptable to ask someone in the lobby to save you a dance. Heck, sometimes I request the dance days in advance! And really, we do try to dance with other people, we make an effort to dance with our mutual friends and those we haven't seen in so long. It's just that sometimes we get caught up in the moment and that moment turns into hours. And if you can't understand, then please accept our situation. And may you find your favourites too.