The Unlikely Salsero
Be advised: the title is stolen, but the content—as usually—my own creation. I took it from a blog from which I have bookmarked one entry. I haven’t read it yet, but I like these two words together. Gosh, there’s so many of those bookmarks in my web browser, most of them (including this one) coming from HackerNews. That forever growing pile of crap is unlikely to ever be uncovered. Or maybe it is more likely now? I finally got that ebook reader :) I can’t wait to load them on the device along with some books from the other lengthy list of mine.
Anyway, back to the salsa thing. Yeah, that’s right. As incredible as it may seem, I eventually did sign up for dance classes. Boy, a big grin is showing on my face right now as I am writing this down, even though the classes are no more. Goddamn you, coronavirus! Everything is being taken away from me; first billiards, then kirtan, and eventually this shiny new hobby of mine…
The Need for Touch
Why did I go for it? I often wonder about that. To meet somebody new? Some beautiful girl that I could connect with? Or anyone for that matter? To acquire another socially usable skill in my life? What if I wasn’t going to use it anyway? Because, the hell, it’s not like I’m going to parties all the time, is it? Maybe I needed some structure in my routines. Yeah, perhaps that was one of the biggest reasons. I liked how it made me organise my time more effectively. It was pretty similar with karate trainings: both of these activities were a constant, that helped me keep the equilibrium. I even asked for day-shifts only in my work schedule, only for the fact that I could attend every class (I hate missing out). Well, for this, and because I can’t stand seeing her so often…
It wasn’t a huge surprise for me, but it certainly did feel good. I was nailing salsa! All the girls complimented me on my moves, they said it was so natural to dance with me, that they didn’t even have to think about it. They were asking in amazement: “What did you dance previously?” Every one of them wanted me as a partner and felt awarded when I was choosing them for the next exercise. The teacher also praised me a bit. OK, the competition from the other guys were not that high, but I really did dig it from day one, which, I think, is pretty remarkable as for someone who never danced seriously.
Again, similar to karate trainings, there were times that I could barely get up from bed and go for the classes. “What’s the point?”, I thought so many times. But every time I stepped into the dancing room (or the dojo), all those thoughts were gone. That moment of thrill when the instructor put the music on; the moment when I take my first partner by the hand, hold the other hand on her back, and after a couple of minutes thank her for the dance with an elegant nod… Those are the moments worth living for, are they not?
Uno-dos-tres, cinco-seis-siete, I was counting it all the time in my head, sometimes even out loud, especially when we were practising new moves. Sometimes I would do it completely outside the playing music, when I noticed the girl was having struggles. Shit, I could be a salsa teacher myself, I thought not only once! As much as I love teaching itself, there were a couple of moments where it was even more intense, due to the physical contact. Something like that thing with this beautiful blonde: she missed a class or two, so I show her the moves in the manner described above. One try, good; second one, even better. We keep laughing and looking each other into the eye. Now we do this with music. Her skirt is showing some more of her well shaped legs as I turn her around. Still smiling. Her pony tail is skimmingly brushing my nose. A little bit of the perfume she’s wearing will stay on me even after the classes to remind me of that wonderful moment. We nailed it. The teacher calls a change, but we are having a blast and aren’t even noticing that. We move our heads closer to each other during that, still keeping the salsa hold. We almost hug each other as I feel that she wants to rest her cheek on my shoulder… If this was in another setting, like in a club or something, or if I was drunk, I would have kissed her for sure.
Mint Nails
I have to admit that, I miss the warmth of the other body. Sometimes the feeling is very strong. It seems that I basically repeat what I already talked about earlier, when my dearest friend said I was gonna lack it. She knew, right? She always knew me better than I know myself. Where could she be now? Such a pity that we no longer keep in touch.
Oh, touch. Ha, ha, I read in an article about the human need for touch, that this very saying, to keep in touch, is coming from this primal urge of physical contact. There’s something magical about it, when it’s unconditional and natural, like when a child (or even a cat) sits on your lap and wants nothing else but to feel safe in your arms. It’s amazing to me, that even holding somebody by the hand can bring calm and peace. I now remember one of those drunken nights, when I held hands with B. It was so peaceful. I didn’t even give a fuck about the fact, that she was [not quite] just my colleague and I was in a relationship.
Right, I’m an expert on office romances, remember that? Shit, this thing is so bad, but at the same time those are one of the best memories of my life. So why the hell do I provoke something like this for yet another time? Why did I do what I did? Why did she do that?!
In fact, she does it all the times, and not only to me. Physical contact, I mean, she likes to incidentally touch men. I certainly didn’t oppose to that when she stood next to me as we both looked at the notice board. She was finishing her shift, I was about to start mine. Our arms, from shoulder to elbow pressed together firmly and gently at the same time. What a lovely feeling, I thought, and remembered a similar thing she did to me a couple of days before, by the table, when I was showing off my card trick. On one hand, I wanted this moment to last as long as possible, but on the other, fuck, the rest of the girls from my shift were also there, preparing to clock in. We stare into the board awkwardly. She’s pointing at something. Without thinking about it, not even imagining it beforehand, I put my finger on her mint nail in an instinctive reaction.
It only lasts for a brief moment, but every time I’m thinking about it now, I wish I moved my finger down her palm to feel the softness of her skin. A slow, prolonged stroke would make that memory even more intense. But no! For Christ’s sake, it’s too dangerous.
Normal People
OK, enough is enough, I thought as I broke our point of contact, feeling all eyes on us from people behind. We exchanged a couple more sentences about whatever was on the board and then turned faces to each other. I knew it was almost time to go and start my shift, but wanted to keep the conversation on. So I told her with a little smile, that I really liked the surprise from her. Her whole face filled with an expression unseen by me before. It was a smile, but this time a real one; a winning smile, as if she wanted to tell me: “I knew you were gonna like it!” Not that the other times she smiles to me are fake, but that one was something special; it was unconstrained.
Few laughs about it later, I hear from upstairs: “OK you, stop flirting there, time to go!” Shit, was this so obvious? I like to think it’s just the way I am with women, but maybe with her it’s different. Anyway, do I care about what others think? Sigh…
The surprise I liked that much was a book she lent me. I have just finished reading it, and I’m still uneasy about it. It got me in that melancholic state again already after the first couple of paragraphs. I couldn’t focus at work afterwards. I would just spin the cutting card staring at its empty blackness. I visibly became less talkative; luckily (or maybe not?), the opportunities to talk during work have been taken away by a great deal now. Guess I needed that little break from being social all the time.
What the hell was I thinking about whole this time? Perhaps I was trying to see me in Connell, and see her in Marianne. But we barely know each other. I certainly don’t know her. I was rather seeing B. and our fling, especially towards the end of the book, as I got to know the characters better. So why on earth did she choose this very book? I bet she likes it, otherwise she wouldn’t recommend it. Another guess then would be, that she identified with Marianne a lot (according to my hypothesis of liking). If so, then what? I don’t know, man, I don’t know…
One thing I know for sure is that I am hating this book right now. And myself. And her, for giving it to me. For making me write these words and think about things that I think of. For reminding me about B., with whom I had a lot of adventures similar to those in the book. As Marianne did to Connell, she helped me survive a very rough time. She was the only one that could stop me from drinking. For a year, but that’s something. It’s not nothing. She just came to my apartment one day and took all the booze she could find. It filled the whole trunk. When she thought it was all, she noticed a 5L barrel of beer high on the shelf, the one which even I had forgotten about. Of course she grabbed that one as well. She missed one little bottle though, but I returned it to her the next day, like a good puppy would.
Suddenly all the memories with her come to my mind. She had power over me, just like Connell had power over Marianne and she had it over him. She was the only person that understood me. Her company was so natural, we behaved like, I don’t know, good friends? But you know, really good. Maybe sometimes even too good. Do friends kiss each other? Or sleep with each other? Hold your horses, we were actually just sleeping together, nothing more that night. Well, in that novel they did all of these and even more. Was it good for them? How did it turn out eventually? How it turned out for me? It’s ironic how fast a relationship can end.
On Suicide Again
Connell wrote about his Marianne in a journal. That reminded me of my secret diary most of which is filled with stories about my crush (yeah, you guessed it, that was another office affair). There’s some crazy shit there, goodness me. I remember I once gave it to D.; it was near the end of our relationship. It was supposed to… Ah, fuck, who am I kidding. I’m not sure what I wanted to achieve by that. But she didn’t like it, she deleted it afterwards. Not sure if it was because of the style or the content. Yesterday I looked through it. Sometimes I like to do it; it’s pretty funny to see what I was thinking back then, how much my thinking changed. It’s a comforting and validating feeling when I notice that in parts I’m still the same person. In other parts, I grew and refined my beliefs. Oh, and there was this sentence: “I hope no one is going to read this!” And yet, there she was reading it. I wonder how’s it gonna be with this crap here?
What else do I have in common with Connell? Oh, that depression shit. In the chapter when he seeks counselling and answers the questions in a form, I recall from memory the exact same interview I was giving. Even before it was mentioned in the book, I very well knew he was doing Beck’s Depression Inventory. He beat me on the score however, but mine was pretty high as well. And his talk with the counselor? It seems shrinks say all the same shit all the time to their clients. And they like to prescribe magical pills. As if it solved anything…
Alright, I gotta get my priorities straight. I don’t want to find myself in a hospital again, do I?
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