An expat Californian building a new life via the tango in Buenos Aires since 2003, including information on learning the tango and where to dance it in Buenos Aires.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Not Tango...But Could Be!
From an old diary:
It's been a long time since I wrote to you. I guess it was many years ago when I was a teenager, and before I got married. My husband died, and for the last three years I haven't felt like writing, haven't felt like anything. But now i have something to tell you. I can't tell anyone else.
I've met someone. Well, not met exactly, but there's someone where I work.
There's absolutely nothing that he and I have in common, but all of that isn't worth a hill of beans. All that stuff about how tall a person is, what color their eyes are, what TV shows they watch, what they do for a living. It's meaningless. More importantly, there is inexplicably a connection from my heart to his.
What is that mysterious invisible thing that connects people?
All I know is that even without hardly looking at me or spending time with me, he knows me. I feel we understand each other, that it doesn't matter that I'm so much older than he is, in a body no longer firm and smooth, because he can see the real me, unlike all of the men my own age who are so superficial in their judgements of my physical and intellectual self. The ones who peek under the table to get a look at my legs.
He doesn't care about my legs. I know that without a word being spoken. He cares about ME. He stands at one end of the room, and I stand thirty yards away doing my work, and we look at each other and know. Then we look away and go about our business.
I love the way he moves, acts, his style and manner, the way about him, his way.
If I were a teenager people would say these feelings I have for a man who is much, much younger, married, from a different culture, are just sexual attraction and a crush, an infatuation. But because of my experience I can say that for me, this is the beginning of love. Without that cosmic knowing the unknowable and desire to know all, inside and out, of a person, there can be no love.
This has happened to me only once before, and I know the truth for myself. I can never fall in love with someone without that magnetism, even at my age. Passionate love is one thing, friendly companionship is another. At least I know which is which. And which one I want, if I can't have both.
But he has a wife. I just don't dare flirt too much. I don't want to hurt anyone, and I don't want to be cheap. In fact, I would probably flirt with him if I were not so attracted to him.
I truly just want him to be happy and I don't want to cause him any sorrow. So I try to stay away from him.
But I want to tell someone, just tell, how his being in my life and simply on the planet makes everything good. Someone like him in the world makes me feel better. He brings me joy, and we hardly talk. I'm happy I know him and I don't need to possess him.
But at night I imagine what it would be like, and that brings me joy too.
Banal how I want to tell him. But I don't because I don't want to change anything. I would like him to know of his charm and sexual power as a compliment, not as a come-on. Maybe one day I'll say something, or leave a note. But that seems stupid and adolescent. Too bad all wild sexual passion and obsession are seen as immature and adolescent.
But it means a lot to me that I can still feel like a teenager. For the right man, who doesn't happen often in a lifetime, at least in mine. That this man is so different from me is just a miracle. Our connection is invisible, spiritual, like the best sex, and once again proof of the divine in life.
I'm amazed that the office hasn't gone up in flames with the sparks, heat, lightening scorching us. Surely innocent bystanders must feel us burn!
I had a party and invited the entire work force of the office plus all my friends, just so he would come to my house. It didn't matter if he brought his wife, but she had to work, he said. We danced all night, and just as I already knew, he's a graceful, rhythmic dancer.
It was hot and airless in my living room with so many people, and soon we were dripping with sweat. His green silk shirt was completely soaked and maybe that embarrassed him but I thought it was sexy. I was a mistress of self control, and he could have been feeling me up and touching me, taking advantage, but he didn't, just danced.
As for me, it was heaven to be in his arms, to smell his hair, to touch the back of his neck. I could so picture me just wrapped around him, trusting and loving him, relaxed.
He was a perfect gentleman, perfect husband, perfect date. What a man. I hope his wife is proud of him. I hope we will stay friends forever.
Do you think we can?
...from The Church of Tango.