A young woman who had been dancing for seven weeks came to her first social dance, a new milonga in the country which had had limited advertising.
- Did you hear about this milonga on Facebook?
- No, I'm not Facebook
- So how did you know about it?
- By talking to people.
She had good instincts.
When I caught up with her, it was her second trip to the city milonga. She had already danced with one of the better, choosier guys.
Well, there you go, dance with him and you can dance with anyone.
There was live music that day but the ronda was a mess even during the recorded music. It was a struggle to get behind someone who danced socially, who didn't weave or crowd their neighbour or dance distractingly. At these moments the search for peace can force you into the middle yet you are stuck between another rock and a hard place, for now you worry about bashing couples on your right or the other ronda refugees in the middle with the beginners, the wild dancers and the people who can't stick to the line of dance.
There was one guy who danced quietly, taking just enough space for himself and his partner. I looked for his distinctive shirt. He was right behind me. I moved into the middle to let him pass, but the guy, perhaps politely, thought I had momentarily lost the line of dance and waited and waited for me to continue. Maybe he just didn't want to be next to my neighbour in front but I think his was the type able to keep their composure wherever. Eventually we circled back, took our place behind him and all was well.
Later, I chatted with the young woman, mentioning the ronda and this guy with whom I had also danced recently. With me he had been safe, correct, no sparks but then no trouble either.
Oh, yes, he gave me a kind of backhanded compliment. When I told him I had only been dancing for two months...
My heart sank.
.... he said "maybe tell people you've been dancing for three".
The disconcertion and shock I registered no doubt she had also experienced. Perhaps he meant it as a compliment but it was a deeply patronising comment. Such is the power of someone outwardly correct; one can be inclined to give them the benefit of the doubt.
And he told me I was stiff.
My face reflected the same disbelief and dismay I had seen on the faces of my friends when they heard a guy (outside the milonga) had called me "cuadriculada" - but said it wasn't a bad thing.
Don't take that crap, I said. Just walk away. And yet, when the guy had made the cuadriculada comment to me, I hadn't walked away but rather puzzled over it, wondered what he'd meant and so on, back and forth.
The guy in the shirt may not have been, strictly speaking, a wolf, because these types are conscious of what they are doing and I am not sure he was, but that is really no better.
We couldn't continue this horrifying, fascinating conversation because a guy who couldn't dance, walked up, stuck his head into our conversation and suggested, verbally that they dance milonga. And off she went...
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