Heart, Lung and Blood She cast an appraising glance over me. In my mind’s eye, I’m in my prime, a consummate professional, a man who has endured many loves, and whose shoes are always well polished. My fantasy life, fed by the ebb and flow of reality, is robust. But I couldn’t tell if she saw me or my alter ego. “You’re like me,” she said, “we Googled tango and here we are.” I told her my name and said I was in town for a heart, lung and blood conference. I felt the familiar shiver of excitement and potential that heralds a tango embrace. “My name is Fairouz,” she said. “Is this normal?” I wondered if she meant the shiver or the dark locked studio. I gestured across the strip mall to the Bull and Eagle Grill. “Let’s have a glass of wine and find out.” Fairouz fetched a crimson pashmina stole from her car and we hurried across the parking lot as dense raindrops began dancing on the asphalt. Distant lightning strikes lit the sky amid renewed rumbles of thunder. In the grill, by the window, Fairouz kept an eye on the studio while I marvelled at her composure in this unscripted encounter. I called the iDanze and a man with a marbled Argentine accent told me class was at seven, then dancing till midnight. As the last colors drained from the sky, I proposed a stroll to kill time. We came to a sliver of salt marsh the developers had missed. A wood stork flew in from the south, in profile no different from a pterodactyl in a child’s encyclopedia, leisurely wingbeats giving way to a precise glide onto a tidal creek bordered by cattails. She preened her feathers, and began foraging for bullfrogs and fiddler crabs. When we came back to the iDanze, raindrops had moistened Fairouz’s satin dress, and my shoes were flecked with mud. The lights were on, and the silken notes of “El Cielo en Tus Ojos” accompanied us onto the dance floor. (to be continued)
Posted on: Mon, 20 Jan 2014 02:12:09 +0000
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