Listening

Paul Downey

We were returning from a milonga where the the music, floor and food had been good but the sound quality and dancing not.  Being much newer, she hadn't known the guys.  I had tried them all years before.  Not even the women had tempted me and I had been bored.  I asked her how she had found the guys. 

Two of the guys "danced for both of us" she said but at least one of them was kind of fun. I knew the guys and knew what she meant but "fun" doesn't counter "dancing for both of us", for me.  Then she made that genius turn of phrase, the carpet remark:  she had felt like a carpet dancing with them.  Another guy had not exactly tested her (there are those types) but observed her as though she was under a microscope. 

- God, I don't "dance for two" do I? I asked, fearfully.  Women often have so much less self-belief than guys.

She laughed.  

- No, you're the opposite. 

I felt a surge of relief, followed by worry.

- What does that mean?

- Well, you're there, waiting. 

- What do you mean?

It's as though you're saying.  I'm here. I'm listening. What do you want to say?

I laughed, because she doesn't move on her own.  In fact, she stands there, waiting, eyes closed, alert, her head slightly to one side, clear to any observer that she is listening, body and soul. And I always wonder semi-subconsciously I suppose, if today she might want to "say" something. So I wait.  And she waits.  So two people wait, listening, to see what the other wants to say. Then I move, and wait, just to see if...but no, she's still waiting.   And it's nice and we find the dance between us. 

But there are some women who want to say things and so we go with that and that's nice too.  Or we take it in turns, or something simultaneous happens, which is what I like best.