I met him at a salsa class last March. A class that I enrolled in for myself, as part of my 2010 New Year's resolution to get out and try something new. It was never about meeting a man, in fact I declined the advances of many before him. Apparently, there are a decent number of attractive, eligible bachelors with great careers, i.e. a J-O-B, in these classes. I don't know why any woman would try online dating or the club scene, when they could just sign up for a salsa class. However, I was there to learn to dance, to spin and twirl, and flash my salsa hands (jazz hands with Latin flare). It is sexy and beautiful and every evening after work, I lived the fantasy of becoming a sequin-clad salsa diva.
The class does not require a partner. Perfect, I thought. We begin with a warm-up routine which looks like a chorus line while we follow in step with the instructor in front of the class in Simon-says fashion. I loved to see myself dancing in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. My body, strong and healthy and sexy. I feel amazing when I am there. Another part of myself begins to appear. The part that is confident, beautiful, desired, but unattainable.
After the warm-up, the men choose a partner, we pair up and get into a large circle. After each part of the lesson, the teacher shouts, "Switch" and the women move on to the next partner in clock-wise direction. If only the teacher could yell "Switch" in my dating life and I could move on to a more suitable partner who knows how to lead and doesn't keep stepping on my feet.
That's how I met, the Manchild. My love, my weakness, and currently my vice. "Switch" and my hands were in his for the first time. His steps were awkward and clumsy. He is attractive, but only as tall as I am with my dancing shoes on. Dark hair. He has all of it at age thirty-nine. Not bad. Unassuming, really. There was something humble and gentle about him. Childlike, with a smile that still makes me weak in the knees. I wasn't immediately overcome by him. He caught my eye, but when the instructor yelled "Switch" I was on to the next partner. Spinning, laughing, and letting go, I forget about him until the next week when we find ourselves again in lock-step. He asked me to the Latin Film Festival Gala where we could practice our moves. He needed it more than I. It wouldn't be long before I would be needing him, more than I could ever imagine.
Flash forward, almost a year later. Our relationship broken and dysfunctional. I admit it, the man that I swore off. The Manchild who broke my heart by completely dissappearing for the two weeks encompassing the holidays, has been sleeping in my bed for the third night in a row. And when I say sleeping, I mean not doing anything even closely resembling sleep in my bed. It really is a strange expression that means pretty much the opposite of what it says. In any event, I am getting a healthy dose of oxytocin nightly and sometimes daily to keep my tethered to this very toxic man. He is sweet and I love his eyes and his smile, his touch...okay, I am under duress. It's the oxytocin talking.
So last night, in an attempt to reclaim some of my dignity and good sense, if any remains, I returned to my salsa dance class after three weeks of absense for the holidays. Time to return to something that is all my own, not about the Manchild.
Not long into the class, I start to see that confident and sexy salsa diva in the mirror again. Like an old friend, that I didn't know I missed so much. I have a feeling that part of my recovery will involve holding onto to my passions and seeing myself in a new way, not just a hard-working single mom, a daughter, a sister, a best-friend, or belonging to any man, but instead the untamable Latin dancing queen, in effect a salsa diva.
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