The couples shuffle into place, their postures ranging from eager and upright to hesitant and unsure. I weave through the lines, adjusting a shoulder here, tilting a chin there.
“Remember,” I say, pausing near a younger couple who are giggling nervously. “Grace starts with the frame. Your connection with your partner begins here.” I gently adjust the man’s hand on his partner’s back, nodding in approval as they fall into a smoother hold. “Now, let’s talk about the rise and fall,” I continue, stepping to the front of the room. My heels click softly against the floor as I demonstrate, my movements fluid despite the undercurrent of discomfort. “In the Waltz, it’s all about seamless transitions. You rise on the one, glide through the two and three. Let’s try it together.”
I hit play on the sound system and the music cues up, the soft, lilting melody of a classic Waltz filling the studio. I count aloud as the couples move, stepping in time to the rhythm. Some falter, their feet tangled in hesitant missteps, while others glide with an ease that comes from practice.
“Good! Keep your shoulders down,” I guide them, nodding toward an older gentleman whose focus is etched into every line of his face. “Yes, that’s it. Beautiful frame.”
I move among the dancers, offering encouragement and corrections, my focus sharpening as I immerse myself in their progress. For a moment, the ache in my heel fades into the background, replaced by the satisfaction of seeing my students improve.
“Excuse me, Ms. Lewis?”
I turn to see a middle-aged woman with dark brunette hair tied back in a neat bun. Her partner stands beside her, fidgeting with his tie. “Yes?”
“We’re struggling with the spin. I keep losing balance,” she admits, her voice tinged with embarrassment.
“That’s all right,” I assure her with a warm smile. “Let me show you.” Taking her place beside her partner, I guide him through the spin, emphasizing the subtle weight shift needed to keep the balance.
“It’s about trusting each other,” I explain, stepping back to observe as they try again. “Your partner supports your momentum, and you follow through. Yes, that’s it! Much better.”
As I move away, I stop by a couple who seem to be struggling with footwork. The woman’s toes have been stepped on twice, and she’s grimacing while trying to keep her composure.
“Let’s break it down,” I suggest, stepping between them. I demonstrate the steps slowly, exaggerating the glide and pivot. “The Waltz is like a conversation. You listen to your partner asmuch as you speak with your movements. Try to feel the rhythm, not fight it.”
They nod, trying again with renewed focus. Their improvement is small but visible, and I clap lightly in encouragement. “There you go. Keep practicing, and it’ll become second nature.”
The hour slips by in a blur of music and movement. By the time the class winds down, the couples are flushed and smiling, their initial hesitations replaced by a newfound confidence.
“Wonderful work today, everyone,” I say as I gather them near the front of the studio. “The Waltz is a dance of elegance and connection, and you’re all well on your way to mastering it. Keep practicing, and we’ll build on this next week.”
Applause ripples through the room, and I watch as they file out, their conversations buzzing with excitement. Some will use the shower rooms we had installed as a perk of a membership, and others will head home to soak in their own tubs.
The studio falls silent again, the serenity of it lost as reality tumbles back in. I lean against the mirrored wall, pressing a hand to my Achilles as the dull throb returns.
“You okay?” Greyson’s voice startles me, and I glance up to see him standing in the doorway, a coffee cup in hand.
“Fine,” I reply, straightening. “Just a little stiff today.”
He walks over, his eyes narrowing as he looks at my heel. “You’ve been pushing it again, haven’t you?”
“I’m fine, Grey,” I insist, brushing past him to gather my things. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“You don’t have to prove anything, Vae,” he huffs, his tone soft but firm. “Not to me, not to anyone.”
His words hit a nerve, and I pause, clutching the strap of my bag. “It’s not about proving anything. It’s about not giving up.”
He doesn’t respond, but his silence isn’t filled with frustration. We have an understanding that only comes from years of friendship.
“I’ll see you tonight,” I say, glancing at the clock. “The Advanced Class is on the schedule, and I want to watch how they do.”
Greyson smiles faintly. “Just don’t scare Mateo off with your perfectionism.”
“No promises,” I reply with a smirk, heading for the door.
Instead of heading home for a few hours’ break, I make my way to a small bistro down the block. The air is filled with the smell of fresh bread and roasted garlic as I step inside. It’s one of my favorite spots, a place where the noise of the city fades and the pulse of quiet conversation takes over.
“Table for one?” the hostess asks, and I nod. She leads me to my usual cozy corner table near the window, where I can watch the world go by.
I order a simple meal of spinach and goat cheese salad with a side of tomato bisque and let myself relax for the first time today. As I eat, I replay the morning’s class in my mind, analyzing each interaction and wondering how I can help my students improve even further.
