A Gift of Chance
by Jonathan Ferrini
Loneliness and the need for companionship “drive” me to an evening dance class held in a storefront studio in a dingy strip mall.
Dreadful fluorescent lighting, water-stained ceiling, mirrored walls begging for cleaning highlighting my wrinkled, off the rack, business suit, all suggest a futile trek.
Women outnumber the men.
Numbers are drawn from a hat; odd numbers face even in numerical order assembling a firing squad.
I’m facing a fellow with the same predicament: we came to dance with a woman and find romance.
Maybe it was a twitch of my eye, and my quivering lip signaling “SOS,” but a woman standing next to him, took his place, and was now facing me.
She is beautiful, athletic, and wearing stylish dance gear. I’m out of my “league.”
Her beautiful smile, one delicate hand holding mine, the other hand displaying a wedding ring, placed upon my shoulder, calm my fear of dancing.
No “bullets” but a bark begins the class.
“One, two, three. One two, three.”
It feels like a military cadence as I struggle to keep step, hampering her desire to dance effortlessly, like a feather carried on the wind.
Minutes seemed like hours until a break is called. She’d certainly “ditch” me for another partner.
“Take five, class!”
An elderly couple continue to dance about the room, oblivious to everyone, as if former members of the chorus in an MGM musical of the thirties.
“I apologize for my two ‘left feet.’ I won’t be offended if you find another partner.”
“You looked anxious walking into class. I surmised you might be a novice and admire your determination to take a chance. See you after the break.”
I take refuge in the corner of the studio, hoping yoga movements will “jump start” some rhythm, and demonstrate a semblance of adroitness. I finish with “Downward Dog,” rise graciously, feeling confidant, and pivot to see my dance partner watching me from across the studio.
I lay on my back, close my eyes, and breathe deeply.
Lips gently touch mine. I resist pulling her close and escalating the kiss, choosing instead to savor the sublime moment.
She raised her lips from mine, and I ask, “What does this mean?”
“I don’t know. It just felt right at the moment.”
Our romantic interlude transcended our desire to finish the class.
I walk her to a convertible sports car. Before I have an opportunity to say, “See you next week,” she pulls me close, whispering,
“We traverse life like a block attempting to roll smoothly along time’s highway. The potholes we encounter mold us into circles, continuing our journey on high performance tires.”
“What about your ring?”
“My ‘block’ is still becoming circular.”
The high-performance engine raced like my emotions.
“I don’t know your name!”
“Don’t overthink a beautiful meeting of souls. We rode a vibe without steering. Our tires were circular, gripping the road as unspoken emotions raced by us like STOP signs. Goodbye, and thank you.”
All week my heart ached with anticipation to see her again.
She wasn’t in class.
A “meeting of souls,” like witnessing a double rainbow, occurs in a split second. Time has its own rhythm.
I was skeptical of finding a double rainbow and debated leaving class. I chose not to “overthink” it, stay, and hope to meet even a single rainbow, “a gift of chance.”
Dreadful fluorescent lighting, water-stained ceiling, mirrored walls begging for cleaning highlighting my wrinkled, off the rack, business suit, all suggest a futile trek.
Women outnumber the men.
Numbers are drawn from a hat; odd numbers face even in numerical order assembling a firing squad.
I’m facing a fellow with the same predicament: we came to dance with a woman and find romance.
Maybe it was a twitch of my eye, and my quivering lip signaling “SOS,” but a woman standing next to him, took his place, and was now facing me.
She is beautiful, athletic, and wearing stylish dance gear. I’m out of my “league.”
Her beautiful smile, one delicate hand holding mine, the other hand displaying a wedding ring, placed upon my shoulder, calm my fear of dancing.
No “bullets” but a bark begins the class.
“One, two, three. One two, three.”
It feels like a military cadence as I struggle to keep step, hampering her desire to dance effortlessly, like a feather carried on the wind.
Minutes seemed like hours until a break is called. She’d certainly “ditch” me for another partner.
“Take five, class!”
An elderly couple continue to dance about the room, oblivious to everyone, as if former members of the chorus in an MGM musical of the thirties.
“I apologize for my two ‘left feet.’ I won’t be offended if you find another partner.”
“You looked anxious walking into class. I surmised you might be a novice and admire your determination to take a chance. See you after the break.”
I take refuge in the corner of the studio, hoping yoga movements will “jump start” some rhythm, and demonstrate a semblance of adroitness. I finish with “Downward Dog,” rise graciously, feeling confidant, and pivot to see my dance partner watching me from across the studio.
I lay on my back, close my eyes, and breathe deeply.
Lips gently touch mine. I resist pulling her close and escalating the kiss, choosing instead to savor the sublime moment.
She raised her lips from mine, and I ask, “What does this mean?”
“I don’t know. It just felt right at the moment.”
Our romantic interlude transcended our desire to finish the class.
I walk her to a convertible sports car. Before I have an opportunity to say, “See you next week,” she pulls me close, whispering,
“We traverse life like a block attempting to roll smoothly along time’s highway. The potholes we encounter mold us into circles, continuing our journey on high performance tires.”
“What about your ring?”
“My ‘block’ is still becoming circular.”
The high-performance engine raced like my emotions.
“I don’t know your name!”
“Don’t overthink a beautiful meeting of souls. We rode a vibe without steering. Our tires were circular, gripping the road as unspoken emotions raced by us like STOP signs. Goodbye, and thank you.”
All week my heart ached with anticipation to see her again.
She wasn’t in class.
A “meeting of souls,” like witnessing a double rainbow, occurs in a split second. Time has its own rhythm.
I was skeptical of finding a double rainbow and debated leaving class. I chose not to “overthink” it, stay, and hope to meet even a single rainbow, “a gift of chance.”