I glanced furtively at my wristwatch. I was early again. Well, I might as well get my pirouettes straight. I was very distressed about them lately, unable to manage even a single turn properly. It was a nightmare; my instructor seemed to be losing patience too.
I entered the studio. No one, as usual.
I was wrong.
From the shadows I heard someone whisper a feeble “hello”. I turned around. There he was managing three pirouettes at one go. My face flushed, I wasn’t about to unveil my incompetence in front of this guy. He might be a new student at this level for all I knew. I had been stuck in here for what seemed like eternity. And personally I felt I had no right to be here, my instructor swore by my raw, wild dance skills and felt I was ready for this. She appeared equally surprised when I failed to adjust, still struggling and fumbling with basic technique.
Deciding to crush my ego and trying not to be conscious, I warmed up and had a go at those dreadful turns. We’re doing jazz here, for god’s sake! I cried.
My frustration was quite apparent. He walked up to me, both managing slight smiles. I still wonder what his was about. Taking no notice of any audience, I continued. I looked up at the mirror, he had joined me. My mouth opened wide, wishing I was as good. He wasn’t trying to impress as I would come to know later.
“Hey guys!” the instructor broke my reverie. That class I managed two and a half pirouettes! And that was how I found a friend and my salsa partner, in the fifteen minutes before class.
I entered the studio. No one, as usual.
I was wrong.
From the shadows I heard someone whisper a feeble “hello”. I turned around. There he was managing three pirouettes at one go. My face flushed, I wasn’t about to unveil my incompetence in front of this guy. He might be a new student at this level for all I knew. I had been stuck in here for what seemed like eternity. And personally I felt I had no right to be here, my instructor swore by my raw, wild dance skills and felt I was ready for this. She appeared equally surprised when I failed to adjust, still struggling and fumbling with basic technique.
Deciding to crush my ego and trying not to be conscious, I warmed up and had a go at those dreadful turns. We’re doing jazz here, for god’s sake! I cried.
My frustration was quite apparent. He walked up to me, both managing slight smiles. I still wonder what his was about. Taking no notice of any audience, I continued. I looked up at the mirror, he had joined me. My mouth opened wide, wishing I was as good. He wasn’t trying to impress as I would come to know later.
“Hey guys!” the instructor broke my reverie. That class I managed two and a half pirouettes! And that was how I found a friend and my salsa partner, in the fifteen minutes before class.
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