Tango Fabrika

It was sometime last week that I stopped into a small, over-stocked depanneur (from the French verb dépanner, meaning "to help out of difficulty"; often shortened to "dep", is a convenience store) to surely pick up a pack of cigarettes on my way to meet a new friend (how sweet). As I hurried out the door, probably getting my bag caught on something as I normally do when in any kind of minor rush, I saw a small orange bookmark with a small picture of a couple dancing on it. Let me clarify, the photograph screamed of sex and sensuality and more importantly screamed to me, 'You need to dance like this.' I picked up a few and scurried out the door.


As my new friend and I sauntered through this park and that, I mentioned this small advert I found about a free drop-in tango lesson that is offered every Friday night at Tango Fabrika. Her eyes beamed and her smile said, 'Of course.' What I learned about her that night was that she was a professional violinist from Poland (I knew this going into the night) that dreamed of composing her own versions of the tango and hoped to one day start an artists collective based solely on the tango. Imagine that! How beautiful and totally serendipitous!

And so, we went. Last night after another lovely chat in the park and a cup of tea in her cozy home, we ran for the bus that dropped us in the general area of this dance studio we knew nothing about. We walked for a few blocks, determined to tango before the night's end and finally, darting across the street, we found ourselves right in front of this little studio.

When we nervously walked in, there were two couples fluently moving around the dance floor. Bodies in perfect rhythm, eyes soft, sultry, and legs pulling, sliding, grabbing. I looked at the woman beside me, both of us with wide eyes and smiling. We didn't need to exchange words to know what we were both thinking. As we continued admiring the dancers I asked the raven haired woman if this was her first lesson and she responded by sharing with me that no, not her first but she had wanted to do this since she was a girl and so here she was. When she returned the question, I looked at the lovers on the dance floor and said, 'My first time but I want to dance like that.' We signed our names, gave them our email addresses and were shown the stairs that led down to class.

Now, there isn't too much to say about the actual class itself. It was what one should expect from a free drop-in class. A good size group of interested people, mostly women, a knowledgeable instructor and some good basic understanding of dance and its relationship to the tango. I felt like a door was opened to this sensuous world, just a crack. I can see the colours bouncing around just on the other side of the door. They're enticing me. Calling me. Begging me to come in.

Tango. The Tango. El Tango. elll TAN-go. No matter how often I say it, my heart still reacts the same. It feels sexually frustrated because it still can't dance the tango and it wants to. Needs to. Will do anything to know the tango. And the music!!! How could I describe what the music does to me? It starts with a gentle kiss, just behind my ear. I can feel the smooth, strong touch of the rhythm sweep down my spine. My breath is shorter, deeper as my heart is reacting to the sound, the touch. It's exotic and foreign but resonates in my memory from another life. My skin remembers the way the soft movements of sound lick the small of my back, brush just behind my knees and the inside of my thighs. It moves me, pushes and pulls me across the floor. It's intrinsic, natural, I know where to go because the music leads me. Firm and forceful but with gentleness and grace. The music and the movement are a perfect kiss.

So I registered for the beginner class. Obviously. When I went to chat with the instructor about upcoming classes and to put my name and deposit down, the raven woman came up to register as well. She asked which of the two days I would go (Tuesday or Thursday nights). I offered Tuesday but, alas, she has dragonboat on Tuesday's (I hate that shit). So we giggled and decided we would take the Thursday class together. A new friend I'm sure. Rebecca? Stephanie? I'll find out soon enough.

As my friend and I were in post-coital bliss walking back to the bus stop I declared that even if it means I only eat one meal a day for the next month, the cost of this class will surely prove its worth (not that it's expensive but when you're unemployed, $3 is expensive).

I haven't stopped smiling since I left that class last night. It's that feeling. That reminiscent feeling of one good night. And I barely even know him...