Waltzing in the Clouds

     One two-three, one two-three I moved my feet in rhythm to the loud waltz music which was swallowed by the well-lit auditorium. It was a basic waltz square, but as a follower (that is, the dancer who follows) without a partner I wasn’t sure if I was stepping correctly. After several fruitless glances at the surrounding couples (most of whom were in more trouble than I) I subtly studied the graceful movements of the couple to my left. The young man was pale with crisp black hair and clothes, and he expertly led his current partner, an older woman with long gray hair and a friendly face, in a perfect waltz square. Their motions were fluid and beautiful -- this was the type of dancer I wanted to be.
     Abruptly, I noticed that my steps were incorrect -- right foot then left. I sighed internally. Me, with two left feet, a graceful dancer? Well, a girl can dream.
    “All right, I think it’s about time for a partner change,” our instructor’s voice announced through the speaker system. Leaders and followers exchanged thanks for the pleasant dance, then leaders shifted to their right. I now had a partner -- the dancer whose movements I’d just been admiring.
    His features were sharp, his dark eyes framed by long black lashes, but the touch which he used to guide me was surprisingly light. We began with the basic square, and despite the occasional toe collision, we danced rather well. Our movement improved as I became accustomed to the feel of him, until it took only a nudge to send me gliding in the right direction. Our progress -- or, rather, his incredible skills as a leader -- delighted me.
    “This is great!” I murmured exuberantly as he flawlessly transitioned us into another step we’d learned. Though momentarily distracted by my feet, I still heard his reply.
    “I’m glad you think so,” he agreed with a mild grin. The frame of his arms straightened and relaxed as the teacher passed by. Then he grimaced.
    “Ugh,” he muttered, “I’d be so much better if I was more awake. I’m barely alive,” he added, his eyelids drooping. I shook him playfully.
    “So I’m dancing with a zombie? Psh, that’s okay. I have enough energy for both of us!” I added with an emphasizing grin. An answering smile tugged at his lips and finally escaped in a chuckle.
      We danced impeccably for a quiet span. “You should try it with your eyes closed,” he suggested as he turned me into another position and we continued dipping across the floor.
    “It feels wonderful, like you’re flying in the clouds,” he urged. Never before had I trusted my feet enough to lose sight of my surroundings, but I felt fairly safe with him. Obediently, my lids descended.
    Though I could no longer see it, my body continued its swirling motion with a grace I couldn’t have accomplished on my own. He changed my position, and though I’d done the step a hundred times, this time I ran into his foot, and my eyes shot open.
    “Sorry,” I mumbled, blushing.
    “Don’t apologize,” he lightly replied, shrugging off my incompetency. I was grateful for that. The instructor’s voice interrupted our discourse.
    “There’s another part of waltz...” she began, and proceeded to demonstrate the new step. She divided the class into leaders and followers, and after a few individual practices told us to pair up again. Grinning, I went immediately to my previous partner. He looked amused at my obvious preference for his company.
    “This time,” he murmured as we moved into position, “don’t open your eyes for anything. Anything. No matter what happens.” I couldn’t imagine what he thought might happen, but something about the proposition thrilled me. Eyes closed, I let the words enter my heart, and we began to dance.
    We stepped and a sweet serenity washed into me. We seemed to glide like ice on oiled glass, and the movement was so silky my mind soon drifted until it disappeared, sunk into a sea of cloud. It was like forgetting, losing who I was, but at the same time something made me whole. He was right -- it was like being in the clouds, though not quite flying. It was too slow, to smooth for flying. This felt like swimming, floating on a sea of cloud, a sea of color, pastel pink and blue and green. Gravity and friction forgotten, all I could feel was the gentle pressure of his hands, and the peculiarly delightful way which air seemed to flow through me rather than around me.
    “Dancing is like breathing,” I hummed, cocooned in a lullaby of cloud.
      It seemed strange when we halted, and it took me a second to realize the song was over. Still, I did not open my eyes -- this moment was too sweet to end. Yet, as with all good dreams of color and cloud, it did finish; but that was okay because I had not lost something wonderful -- I’d gained something beautiful.
    I smiled up at my partner, the man who’d shared a taste of grace, that illustrious wine which I so rarely sipped. “Thank you,” I whispered, and finding no ready adjective to completely describe the experience, I contented myself with smiling joyfully.
    “Yes, well, I am amazing...” he replied with a smug smile.
    “Don’t flatter yourself,” I teased. “Though you are amazing,” I added.
    “Have we switched recently? Switch partners!” the teacher instructed.
    We bowed our heads to each other. “Thank you for the dance,” his formal words were belied by his charmed tone.
    “Thank you,” I answered with a flourish in his direction.