Hold Me Tight and Tango Me Home Read Free

to the other. We ambled forward, balancing first on one leg, then the other. Once we’d dead-ended at the mirror, fully facing ourselves in ways perhaps more difficult than learningsteps, we returned, walking backward, switching weight, pressing down as we stepped.
    “Enter the ground,” Dario shouted out at us. “Push into the ground. Let your hips fall as you walk.” We followed his movements, stepping side to side, back and forth, feet brushing the ground.
    He then instructed us to find a partner and form a large circle. We practiced the very basic element of reading our partner’s shift in weight and trying to synchronize with it — not embracing yet, but holding each other at arm’s length in what’s known as a practice hold.
    “Men, use the follower’s energy. You are not dancing alone. This is not about the ego, it is about your partner,” Dario said, standing in the center of our circle. “And followers, don’t be passive. He needs to feel your energy to lead.”
    Between the large windows that opened onto Lafayette Street in Lower Manhattan and the mirrors that flanked us on the other side, the room felt too bright, too exposed for such closeness to another person. This kind of proximity needed the cover of night, but we were revealed in positions of strange intimacy: Our fumbling was just as visible to any bemused passersby as if we’d been dogs caught coupling on the street.
    Dario explained that the basic step is the
salida
, which literally means “exit,” or “way out,” but also has a lesser-known meaning of opening an activity to someone; it can mean an opportunity. He put on a slow tango for us and clapped out the steady four-count beat as we stepped around in a circle,the men walking forward, the women backward. Every few minutes we rotated and changed partners. Each leader had a different feel. The easiest to follow had an unwavering stride, others moved with a slight bounce, and some hesitated, questioning themselves, an insecurity that made it difficult to match their pace. The gaze of my partners made me uneasy. I noted the color of their eyes with a searching usually reserved for the very beginning of a romance: watery blue with charcoal flecks, bark brown around black pupils, murky green with gold irises.
    One man held my gaze with an intensity that felt like a challenge, so I stared back into his unflinching amber eyes. Because he looked so much younger than I was — I guessed his age at early or mid-twenties — I interpreted his stare to mean that he was learning not to fear women, rather than as anything that involved me personally. His curly hair was just a shade or two shy of auburn, and he had the complexion of a redhead, with smooth, almost pale peach skin. He was turning out to be the class whiz kid.
    “Who knows why we push the ground?” Dario asked the class. “Allen knows the answer.”
    “To use gravity in assisting our balance.”
    “
Eso es
,” Dario yelled. “Very good, Allen.” Dario started the music again, scrutinizing and correcting us as we walked: “No, push your energy out. Feel it in your center and have it radiate out from you. Push down with your feet. Stretch your head up. Relax your shoulders.”
    He tapped out the beat as he tried to explain the salida to us. “Feet together. Everybody inhale — always remember to breathe — now, leaders right foot backward. Left foot to the side,” he instructed. “Okay, followers stay with them.”
    The salida followed a basic eight count. Tango music evolved from the 4/4 upbeat, cheerful milonga, which is not only the name of a social dance where people tango but is also a lively type of music and dance related to tango. While some scholars claim the milonga beat is derived from music of the African Congo, others say it is from an ancient Spanish song with Arabic influence, from the Moorish stretch in Andalusia. The Cuban sailors disembarked in Buenos Aires with another dance and music, the
habanera
,