Love, Novela [Completed]

9/16/17

9/16/17 or rather 9/17/17

It's really late - or early - but I can't sleep anyway, and need to write.

Alex extended an open invitation to his Composition class, which he reiterated to the Latin Dance class, that he would treat anyone who showed up at Callejón de los Rumberos on Saturday to a mojito. Having nothing else to do, since I had opted out of the beach, and wanting to practice my dance moves, I went. I figured there would be a smallish group of us. I would politely decline the alcohol, order a Diet Coke, observe, and if I was lucky dance one or two songs with classmates.

I felt a little prompting like maybe I shouldn't go, but I analyzed the situation and couldn't see what was wrong with it. It wasn't like I had anything else to do. So I went.

I had a sort of shiny sleeveless blouse to wear this time, which I bought at the tianguis that pops up near my house on Fridays. I also stopped at the mall after school yesterday and got some inexpensive strappy heels. I wore my dark jeans again. This time I expected to be dressed more in line with what the other female students would be wearing.  

As it turned out, that wasn't a concern. I got there and found Alex sitting by himself at a table. I was excited to have him to myself for a few minutes before the silly girls showed up. Except... they were at the beach. He was already sipping a mojito and offered me one, which I declined. I ordered a soda. We chatted about the Independence festivities last night, although it was a little loud for much conversation. Having to lean in and shout every word makes you want to use less.

Then the band started a new song, and he asked me to dance. I shouldn't have been surprised, since 1) he is my dance teacher, and 2) that is what we were there for. But it was just starting to feel so much like a date, I felt awkward about it. And the most awkward part was that I sort of wanted it to feel like a date. Not that I really wanted - nor do I want - to be dating him. But I guess it's that desire for flattery that's always present, making us want to be liked, admired, and desired. I guess maybe I wanted him to think of me that way, but without it really meaning anything.

Once we were out on the dance floor, it felt normal. Well, at least it felt more like the last time. Again there were a lot of couples, so we had to dance closer than what we normally would. But once we had started actually dancing, I was more focused on the movement and forgot about the awkwardness. I really love the rhythm of the salsa, and dancing lets your whole body engage with the rhythm. I can't believe I've been missing out on it my whole life and almost continued to. It's a glorious mix of music, exercise, and interaction with another person.

We sat down when the song ended and Alex ordered two mojitos. When it arrived I asked for a bottle of water as well, since the room was hot and I was thirsty, and I didn't want to quench my thirst with an alcoholic drink.

Our chairs had been taken so now we were sitting a little to the right of where we'd been before, except now we were side by side. It made talking easier, but also closer.

Around this time I started feeling like I should leave. I'd danced and I'd hung out a bit. It wasn't quite like I had anticipated, and I had the excuse of needing to get up early for church in the morning. I kept gearing up to announce that I was leaving, but then I just didn't.

After a while they switched the music to bachata, which we've been working on lately. Alex said we had to dance. It is a style of music I don't think I've ever heard before, but I really like it. Maybe because the words are sung more slowly, so they're easier to understand. The dance steps are easy, but styling them is harder. All of Latin dancing seems to require a lot of swinging hips, which I'm still not entirely comfortable with.

When the song ended, I turned to head back to the table, but Alex didn't move, so I paused.A slower song came on. He hesitated for a minute, but then said, "This is bolero. We haven't done it yet. Follow my lead."

He pulled me even closer to him, wrapping his right arm tightly around my upper back. Then, by using pressing my back and moving the hand held by his other hand, he effectively moved me wherever he wanted to go. I couldn't even try to do the steps myself this time since I didn't know what they were, and had to rely completely on his leading me. If felt like I started to pick it up and anticipate his movements, which made it easier.

I was having fun, enjoying the challenge of learning something new, when I realized that the dance floor had emptied by about two-thirds, and the couples who were left were either older, drunk, or in the early-middle stages of dating. And here I was with my professor. We had all kinds of space now and we were still inches from each other's bodies. I realized I could smell his cologne, and feel his warm, minty-alcohol breath on my cheek.

The smells, mixed with the turns, and possibly the two drinks, started making me dizzy. I managed to finish out the song, and then headed to the bathroom. I found my breathing was a little shallow. I went into a stall and sat on the edge of the toilet, trying to breathe normally and compose my thoughts. I told myself everything was perfectly kosher, that I wasn't drunk, that I was in a relatively safe environment, and that I wasn't doing anything wrong.

But for everything my left brain said, my right brain had a ready retort. Maybe I wasn't falling down drunk, but I was certainly feeling the alcohol. I should be able to feel safe with my professor/chaperone, but this was a bar, and I saw the way he looked at my clothes when I walked up. And I may have come for an educational experience, but I was enjoying the fact that it felt like a date. I needed to leave.

I walked out to tell Alex this, but when I got to the table he seemed to know already. He had already paid for the drinks, and refused the money I offered him. He said he would take me home. I told him that this was absolutely not necessary, but he insisted it was. He called a cab, opened the door for me, got in beside me, and had me give the driver my address.

We didn't talk much on the way to my house. By now I officially felt foolish. I don't like putting people out and I don't like to need things from people. He wouldn't take my money when we got to my house, either. He told the taxi to wait and got out and walked to the gate with me. By this point I half expected him to try to kiss me, at least on the cheek. I still imagine he was thinking about it for a moment before he shook my hand, smiled, and said, "Buenas noches, Novela."

Now it's kind of surreal, like I can't believe it even happened. I want to email to Grace about this, but I am afraid of her response. She has been so down on me spending time with Alex anyway, she'll have a field day with this.

This can't be real. I'm not even attracted to him, and nothing unseemly happened here. Grace probably planted these ideas in my head with her silly little jibes. It will all be normal next week.