“I am watching your chest rise and fall
like the tides of my life,
and the rest of it all
and your bones have been my bedframe
and your flesh has been my pillow
I am waiting for sleep
to offer up the deep
with both hands”
--Ani Difranco (Both Hands)
"Wait" used to ring in my ears. My teachers (all three of them) constantly telling me, "wait." I was always taking off too soon. So eager to follow correctly that I was anticipating the next step - not waiting for the lead, not waiting for the music, not waiting to feel it.
Now I wait. Maybe sometimes I wait too long. I think I must feel stubborn, unmovable, occasionally. I'm only listening. Sometimes I'm thinking. So I wait until I'm sure. I wait until I know if you mean here or there, this way, or that way.
I've gotten maybe too enamored of waiting.
A tanguero asks me to dance. I still practically jump from my seat - I'm still excited over every dance. The tanguero raises his hand and I give him mine. As soon as I feel his chest against mine (sometimes even before that) he's moving.
I don't know where he is yet. I haven't connected to him - let alone connected to the music through him. I spend the first dance chasing him.
We pause for a moment between songs and now, after three minutes of being his shadow - with him, but always a little behind - we connect. I feel him. I hear the music start and feel it move through him, to me. No more chasing.
By the third dance, we're there. Four legs, one heart.