The Private Lesson

(Another writing prompt. I hope you enjoy)

I was turning 50. It was no longer a distant number, and 49 seemed like a huge clusterfuck with so much happening. I was finally at a point to breathe, and my mind couldn’t stop showing me signs that the big 5-0 was coming fast.

Family members were already trying to coopt the day and make a big deal, but I wanted to do something for myself. All year was about family and taking care of them. It was time to do something for me.

I had this idea in my head that I wanted dance lessons. I even mentioned it to a few people I dated, but it just hadn’t happened yet. Maybe this was something special for me, something I needed.

I called the dance school, and the receptionists assured me there were plenty of women who came solo, and it wouldn’t be a problem.

Walking in. I could tell she might be right about the other two young single ladies not having a problem, but I was still not so sure I would get partnered up with anyone. As long as I didn’t have to take the lead like I did in my college dancing class, I would be happy.

As the class started and we warmed up, I looked around at my classmates. I was pleased to see that most of them were older than I expected, likely in their late 30s and 40s at least. Taking a closer look, I could tell how everyone was going to match up. I saw a partner for everyone but me. We were an odd-numbered group.

I was overthinking this, of course. By the time we got into a few basic steps and some simple choreography, the dance instructor had made us rotate partners a number of times. None of my dance partners stood out, but we all seemed to have fun which was the important part. I decided it was worth another lesson.

The second class was much more fun, knowing what to expect, and I tried remembering how my body used to move gracefully in college. It is funny, I was more chubby back then but seemed to flow more. Now that I have lost some weight, arthritis has set in, and my arms and back are a bit more sensitive to the twists and turns. Still, I loved the movement, and my feet loved to move me through the steps, mostly gracefully.

At the end of the class, the instructor gave a smile and word of hope for my return. It was nice to hear even though I knew he was not picking me out purposely for his sweet message. I am sure he said that randomly to all the participants. It did put a smile on my face non the less.

I may or may not have dressed a bit nicer and added some skin tint and a bit of gloss for the next class. And again, at the end of the class, the instructor complimented my dancing and looked forward to seeing me again. I was beginning to really look forward to every interaction. I never missed a class and was always very attentive and doing my best to keep up with the steps. I was rewarded for my good behavior at the fifth class. The instructor chose me to help demonstrate a new move to the rumba choreography. I had my own little Strictly Ballroom moment thinking of the rumba as the dance of loooooove. It was nice being in position with him and gliding across the floor at least for a little bit.

“I love the way you have progressed in class. You are doing great. Have you thought about taking your lessons further? I know we only have a few more beginner classes left, but I could see you doing well at a more intermediate level.”

As he pulls me closer, I struggle to think clearly. I guess he expected some answer from me, but I needed to remember how to breathe first. I am not sure why this man is affecting me this way.

“I am not sure if I want to do more than just have fun with this for a short time. My kids are probably annoyed with me enough already for being gone so much. I can’t continue the evening classes for too long.”

“Talk to me after class. Let’s see what we can do with our schedules.”

My nod was all I could do to show my agreement. We switched partners and I was finally able to get my heart racing at a more normal level. By the time the class ended, I had mostly got myself under control and was ready to say no to whatever he was offering.

I was trying not to stare too intently as he said goodnight to everyone else. I still need to give myself one more pep talk and gear myself up to say it won’t work.

I just don’t think it is a good idea with the level of attraction I am feeling for the instructor, a man who is likely closer to my daughter’s age than mine. I don’t know for sure, and I am not going to ask because it just doesn’t matter. Nothing will happen.

“Ready to talk about scheduling something more?” His voice came from behind me, making me jump.

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t think—”

“I have morning on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Nine to ten-thirty free. That should be after school drop-off if that is a problem.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. The look on his face was so cocky and sure. I couldn’t help but be drawn to him. It was so hard to say no. I didn’t really want to say no, but it seemed silly to draw this out.

“That should work.”

“Good, let’s start next week. Let me give you my number, though. The studio is not open at that time, so I will need to let you in.”

Um, I was supposed to say no. What just happened? Not only did I sign up for more time with him, but he somehow got me to share my number, too.

That first Tuesday came too soon, and I headed to the studio a bit early, anxious about the private lesson to come. A nice cup of coffee at the cafe next door will help. I need to settle into what is coming.

I was completely oblivious to my surroundings as I sipped my latte. Suddenly, someone came into my personal space.

“What has you here so early? Excited about the lesson?”

I nearly spill my coffee. He’s standing there, smiling down at me. He looks different in the light of day. The sun mixed with his smile makes him seem brighter and a bit younger, to be honest. I am feeling more uneasy.

“I was just…” I fumble for words. “Wondering if this is a good idea.”

At my words and my worried look, his face fell, and he moved to sit close, very close. His face leaned into mine as he whispered.

“I know I have come on kind of strong, but I really think you are a good dancer, and I will be honest. My intentions are not just to further your education in the rumba or chacha. I feel that same chemistry I think you are feeling. It has been hard to ignore. I know that you are just as affected as I am.”

His hand touches mine, and I feel burned by the connection. He is not wrong.

“Please don’t run without giving us a chance.”

I move my hands and fortify myself with one last sip of my latte before standing up.

“I am not a runner in any sense of the word, I promise. I am ready for that private lesson, ready for you to help me see what our bodies can do together.”

“We are talking about more than just dancing, right?”

We both laugh as we walk hand in hand, entering the studio to start our first lesson.