The nerves seemed to startle his soul, but he kept the anxiety from overwhelming him. This was his first dance in a long time: he was a beginner again. It was new and old, yet a new beginning. It was the genesis of his creation. I guess he was trying to settle the feeling that he was not good enough—being an older man with a young heart. He sipped his pop and ate a delicious taco before the lesson: it was all the food he had time for before he let go in dance. He got out of his car with the courage of a warrior as he strolled toward some stairs that led to two gray doors that opened toward the future.
He came into an empty ball room with elegant tables and chairs and a newly waxed, graceful dance floor. He heard laughter in the background of women talking—hopefully not about his less-than-perfect appearance. He noticed pink ballet shoes on a nearby table in front of him as a man greeted him from the dark, transforming room.
“Can I help you?” the man asked,
“I have an appointment.”
The greeter went to a flat screen computer to confirm the name and time of this test-run dance class.’
“Mr. Nichols?” the greeter asked,
“That is me.”
Nichols asked the greeter about the shoes trying to clear up any confusion about the style of dance they offered. The greeter directed Nichols’ attention to a black man who may be related to lord Byron, but you never know. Bryon was teaching a lady the dance moves, so the greeter allowed Nichols to sit at a nearby chair. The confusion of thought that this dance studio only applied to ballet dancers, and the thought plagued Nichols. His heart’s desire was a manly dance with an elegant woman. That was the adventure he hoped for, so he waited.
The blonde lady and Byron had just finished their lesson with style, and before Nichols could realize what happened, another younger lady sat at the same table as him waiting to dance. Was it the love of his life? No, just a dance trainee. Byron dismissed his student and as she left, he walked toward Nichols to introduce himself. He was tall and fit, and seemed to have the confidence Nichols needed of his abilities. Byron cleared any confusion about the dancing at the studio==which relieved Nichols’ mind., The trainee, Byron, and Nichols strolled out onto the floor—Nichols less confident in appearance than the others. He showed his head down, shoulders forward, and body as stiff as a rock. These were all drear signs of a man in need to believe in himself.
Nichols introduced himself to his female dance partner: Bri was her name. I guess the British loved to share the dance experience. After the formalities, the adventure began with Byron in the middle of the floor, Bri on his right, and Nichols on his left. One, two, three, two, two. Three, three, two, three: this was the rhythm of the heart beating on the dance floor. Left foot, two, three, right foot, two, three, left foot, two, three, right foot, two, three, and now something new: forward, two, three, back, two, three, forward, two, three, back, two, three: this was the musicless rhythm of the dancing heart. Our feet doing our best to stay in rhythm while Nichols stared down, uncomfortable with himself, yet the wise and gentle instructors reassured him to be comfortable in his own skin: to be human. Shoulders back, chest up, eyes straight, and head forward dancing the whole body to the beat of the graceful music.
Byron made room for Bri to dance with their student. Imagine a nervous young lady with a lively smile, and a nervous middle-aged man always having his head down and stepping awkwardly out of body rhythm: that was the first practice together. Left, two, three, right, two, three, left, two, three, right, two, three: Bri took the lead. Forward, two, three, back, two, three, forward, two, three, back, two, three, and we were both failing miserably. Imagine if you would a man dancing like a zombie and a lady missing some steps to try and lead. Now, time for real instructions in dance: be tall, be confident in who you are, and embrace yourself. Byron instructed in so many nice words. “Alright, alright.” Nichols thought, “A lot to remember. Time to loosen up, loosen the shoulders, chest up, face forward, and chin up. Bri’s shorter than me, so let her be short and me be tall. Be myself.” Nichols breathed anew.
Byron stepped to the side with the command of the music, and to the love of all, he started Luther Vandross—a favorite of Nichols. Nichols stepped back and Bri followed to make sure they didn’t collide at the back wall of mirrors. So, the song began: at first, he stared at Bri and after a while, she looked away, but the focus wasn’t on her but on dancing. Nichols leered straight at the mirror behind Bri, and occasionally glancing at Bri’s fingers directing him to move. Left, two, three, right, two, three, or forward, two, three, back, two, three: the more they danced, the more confident he felt in his abilities. As they danced, small conversations arose: talks of failures, successes, compliments, and words of affirmation. All Nichols needed to believe in himself. Before long the practice dance was over, Bryon was impressed with a compliment of his own.
Now, a new instruction: to start an open position according to Byron—which was both arms out, arms to elbows, and elbows and arms leveled with Bri and Nichols body. A non-erotic position, I know; I guess it was used to avoid unwanted contact—understandable. They locked arms. The music played again, and they both danced like the wind. Something was different this time: before the song started, both parties loosened up, chest up, moving body all around, and relaxing. Then the song started its magic, but Nichols hesitated but knew Bri was counting. She let him lead: he did. Left, two, three, right, two, three, forward, two, three, back. Two, three, and their hearts and bodies were in rhythm. Bri moved her hips in rhythmic magic while in oneness in music and body. Before long, the music ended.
This time a new dance must be introduced: the box step. Forward, right, three, back, left, six, and we were ready. The longer the practice, the more relaxed the party was– even another dance couple danced more elegantly behind them with more elaborate moves: moves Nichols hoped to learn next time. So, Bri and Nichols began the box step. Nichols let his imagination run wild dancing with Bri in a Disney ball or in a Ball room at a fancy party or with his future bride, and this brightened his heart smiling as he danced—even telling Bri what move he wanted next. She followed along creating their own little world moving as one magical body: student and trainer. It was beauty in motion.
After the practice dance, one last dance remained and Byron encouraged Nichols to take the lead—even though he already was. Now, the awkwardness died, and a new song made alive a new dance. One, two, three, four, five, six: different move. Left, two, three, right, two, three, forward, two, three, back, two, three, forward, right, three, back, left, six, and it all repeated. No words, just motion, heart rhythm, and body language as one. Hips and body moving to the song with smiles on our faces. Nichols imagined himself a groom, and Bri imagined herself a bride. Before long and too soon, the song was over and so was the lesson. Byron and Bri complimented how well Nichols did giving a new brighter future.