The Waltz

My thanks to Monica Rose and Portia Bennet for proofreading and helpful suggestions.

Once in a while our school would hold a winter dance. It didn’t happen every year, and I didn’t know why, but this year was a special one and the dance was would be held on Saturday between Christmas and New Years. It would be a formal affair, more formal than a senior prom. It’s purpose was mostly not for entertainment but rather for the development of some social skills: such as for girls and boys being polite with each other, those little smiles with ‘thanks’ and little bows or maybe even some curtsies, I hoped.

Anyway, it was dance and consequently I wasn’t going to attend for the simple reason I had no girlfriend. Actually there were some girls that could be called friends, but none of them was that specific person who could be called a girlfriend. On the other hand, I was just a freshman and I was sure I had still a plenty of time to learn these sorts of social skills such as a formal ball and the waltz. The waltz itself wasn’t a problem. I’d attended dance classes since kindergarten because my granny was giving dance lessons and my opinion wasn’t asked for. I’d learned the basics of the most of ball dances and the waltz was in first place. Actually I loved dance and music and everything related. Although I loved music more, I guess. Just I wanted it melodic not in a boom-boom way. Sure I’d nothing against John Lee Hooker’s “Boom boom” I just didn’t like the music one single booooom way.

So I wasn’t involved in this event this year and could ignore everything that was related to it. But there was Willy, my best (and the only) friend William R. Grood. We got to know each other almost ten years ago when his family moved to our neighborhood and there were no other kids nearby. He was one year older and almost two times bigger, or to be more precise, two times heavier than me. Willy wanted and actually was almost forced by his parents to attend this formal dance. There was a problem though – Willy and dancing were mutually exclusive alternatives ’cause he’s like a gawky tree. To say both his feet were left was to say there was a hope. When he asked me help him and teach him I could see no hope since his both feet were rakes. But Willy was my friend (the best and the only) and I was the only who could help him.

There were six weeks and a will (his and mine), a place (the garage which had a floor I needed to paint and was Granny’s classroom), the music (my personal CD collection, some of them really rare) and no hope I feared. I wasn’t foreshadowing, though. I simply was a realistic guy.

First things first: I showed him the basic waltz steps and expected him to repeat them. What did he do? He lost the direction after the second step and his steps were twice longer than mine too so my idea to draw steps on the floor was appropriate. I’d used different colors to draw different steps’ sets. “Let’s try without music first: ONE-two-three and again ONE-two-three and once more ONE-two-three.” He was trying, I could see he was trying hard, his face was red and he was sweating but he was stepping or rather hammering as a soldier. We couldn’t spend more than one day for the first step so again “Keep the rhythm: ONE-two-three and ONE-two-three and again ONE-two-three.”

“What do you want from me?” he asked sweating hard. “I do exactly what you say.”

“No no no no. I see only one-two-three and not ONE-two-three.”

“Don’t be such a carper Kurt!” (I am Kurt, by the way.)

“I’ll be a carper, niggler, knocker, nagger or anybody else to teach you. So try to put an accent on your first step: ONE-two-three and ONE-two-three and again ONE-two-three and once more ONE-two-three.” It’s such simple “ONE-two-three” but there was no progress.

“Let’s try the same with music ‘Oh, du lieber Augustin!’. This song is a base for every waltz so you can repeat in your head ‘Oh, du lieber Augustin, Augustin, Augustin’ (Note that the meter there is ONE, two three, ONE, two, three…) anytime you have to dance the waltz. Just remember that ‘Oh, du lieber’ Augustin is ONE while ‘Augustin, Augustin’ is two-three. Let’s go…”

Great! It was really great. Who could believe the music will make such an improvement in Willy’s training. Another hour and the first day was over. Willy had planned those lessons once a week what I guessed was an excessive optimism. I wasn’t sure every next day would be enough but on the other hand he said there was homework to do and football workouts three times a week and he promised to train at home, too. So maybe he really wasn’t so hopeless. By the end of the next lesson Willy’s steps were almost perfect and it was a time for him to dance with a partner.

“What partner? I have no one,” he stated.

“But you need one!” It seemed completely obvious to me, I had gotten so involved in watching his steps that I had forgotten that Willy was not one of my granny's students. ”You have to feel her, her steps, her height, and her hand on your shoulder.”

“Why don't I dance with you, Kurt?” Willy suggested.

“Me?” His comment seemed to come out of nowhere.

“Why not? Your height and complexion is the same as other girls.”

“I have no shoes and no gown…” (Why I’d said this instead that I wasn’t a girl?)

“Ask your Granny, she’s a seamstress, after all.”

“So simply? Just ask for an evening gown and shoes and earrings and make-up.…”

“Listen Kurt. I know it’s not ‘so simply’ but rather complicated. I really don’t have a partner and I really need learn to dance.”

“Ok. I’ll talk with Granny. Maybe everything is unnecessary and there is some very simple way to help us.”

I bid Willy goodbye for the evening into the house where I found my grandmother in the living room. I found myself feeling rather nervous. I had to ask for something that was inappropriate but needed. Sure, there was a reason, a justifiable reason: teaching Willy, anyway… So there I was, trying to speak to my grandmother in a series of “Uhu… er… so… like… you see, we… er… ”

“So Kurt, how are your dance lessons?” Granny simply asked me.

“Willy’s doing well. So I think it’s time to move from the garage to the classroom.”

“Who is his partner? Do I know her?”

I swallowed. There was no way I could avoid telling her what I needed.

“Willy wants me for his practice. He says he has no girlfriend at the moment.”

“Well then. I want you for the next lesson to dress in leotards and tights, this is usual attire for dance practice. He needs to see your legs while he has to learn to synchronize his steps with his partner. What else? You need shoes with some heel, two inches will be enough I think. Have you practiced on high heels?”

“Granny! I sure haven’t!” How could she ask me something like that? I was a fourteen-year-old boy and I would never do anything to offend her or make her think any less of me.

So there were my very first high heels. I’d read somewhere that a practice is needed to walk in them and like it’s no more than an hour to learn walking… Nonsense! I had six days and practiced four and more hours every day and wasn’t sure it was enough. It is one thing to practice in ballet flats and just another in casual shoes not to say high heels. They were slippery and it was hard to feel the floor with my feet. I couldn’t do all steps I wanted, I had to be more careful turning and bowing.

Anyway I was ready for the next week practice. Willy was wearing grey sweatpants and matching tee while I was in black leotard and black tights in black strappy sandals with two inch heel.

“Wow! You look something strange, like a girl…”

“I need to wear high heels, it’s for your practice.” I felt a little self-conscious at having Willy see me dressed this way.

“I’m talking not about heels. I can’t see… you know… that below…”

“Sure you can’t. I’m using a gaff to hide it. It’s nothing special just a common practice. OK. Let’s begin.”

First was first – the positioning. His hand on my waist and my hand on his shoulder while my right and his left hanging down straight for the first day of dancing what had prevent from swaying. For the first day I’d chosen “Keiser Walzer” by J. Strauss. It’s named imperial but actually it’s nothing special, probably emperor wasn’t a good dancer. A short intro and there we flow ONE-two-three and ONE-two-three.

“Repeat to yourself O-DU-LIEBER_AUGUSTIN_augustin_augustin” I whispered him. I guess it helped. A lot. “Lead me Willy. You can do it.” We danced, we turned and swirled, and we were looking into each other’s eyes.

“Wie geht’s?” Granny poked her head into the room.

“Very well, thank you. Just I think the view of my groin is disturbing Willy.”

“Every problem has its solution,” Granny said, “in this case it’s a wrap on ballet skirt. I’ll give you a shorter one.”

“What’s now?” I asked after Willy’s jaw dropped.

“I… er… You are like a real girl now.”

“I can put a tux on,” I said.

“No! No way!" Willy's answer was rather quick. "It’s ok. Just unusual, I wasn't expecting it.”

“If you say so.”

We danced another forty minutes and I think we both had “Keiser Walzer” in our heads. Next week was Strauss again; just Willy was already in his tux and I was wearing the long wrap on. The day’s primarily task was not only the dance, but the manners – some bow before and then asking for the dance while afterwards again thanks with a bow. I hadn’t planned, but I noticed, and it was a surprise for me, I curtseyed Willy after each dance. It was a light curtsey; not a deep one but anyway it was it.

I was sure Willy was ready for the dance after the fourth lesson. Actually the mission wasn’t impossible. He danced one waltz with my granny and she had said “Perfect! It’s time to learn not only to perform the steps but to feel the dance now.”

To feel the waltz Strauss alone wasn’t enough so my music collection was to the purpose. Willy again was in his tux while I the same as previous days just this time I was all in white. Granny said it will help Willy to feel a little better.

We started with a light one Shostakovich’s #2 waltz. It’s a simple one, very good for an intro dance. Next was Sviridov’s Snowstorm waltz, this one more expressive with some passion and higher tempo changing our dance into the vortex not allowing an escape, keeping our hands locked and stares lost in each other’s eyes. Then there was Khachaturian’s waltz – maximum of passion and maximum of expression. It was the one when you dance and you didn’t think anything else just feel him and see him no matter what while the music makes it’s miracle. In a couple of minutes our lives were changed completely. Willy wasn’t like he was before as well as I wasn’t the same boy then a day before. For the fire of passion to stifle the waltz by Petrov wasn’t enough. It just seemed like a light and a calm one.

The music was over, Willy bowed, I curtseyed and he said “Thanks” and kissed my cheek which made me blush.

“Not so bad, almost good” we heard Granny saying. ‘Oh shit, sorry, anyway, shit in uppercase!’

“When did you come?” I asked.

“After the music started,” Granny said. “I couldn’t allow myself to interrupt you, your dance was incomparable.”

We came closer to her and I curtseyed again, I couldn’t help it. I was dressed like a girl which was making me not only act but feel and kinda think like a girl. So I was blushing all shades of red and I was looking at the floor with my head lowered. And what was I thinking about? About the kiss. It was just a peck but it was deserved and I deserved it as a girl and not as a boy. And that made me to blush even more and keep my stare on my toes.

All I could think about was that the mission was completed. What else? Christmas will be in two weeks, then a New Year, then Willy will forget his kiss as well as I’ll forget it (will I?) but the waltz will live in us.