Page 45 of Forbidden Dance
I turn around and prop myself against him. One of his hands steadies me at my rib cage and the other goes beneath my thigh.
With a powerful movement, he moves to standing. I’m high in the air, trying to keep myself from gripping his head.
“Now act as though you are going to lie facedown, straightening your body while letting your head fall in front of me.”
It’s hard to do, sort of like choosing to fall off a shelf, but I follow his instructions.
The hand on my ribs slides forward to encircle me and the other grasps my leg. I tumble down in a roll, but when I’m facing out again, Blitz has caught me with a hand on my thigh. I’m head down, legs angled up and away, like a swan dive. We’re facing the mirror, and it’s beautiful. I quickly arrange my arms so that they are not just hanging there.
“Nice,” he says. With a quick shift of my weight, I’m back on my feet. “The whole concept is that when I go low, you go high.”
He stands directly beside me and bends over at the waist. “Now lean over me but keep your body straight as a board.”
I do as he says, and soon I’m lying across his back. He stands up partway. “Arms down,” he says. “To the floor and cartwheel out of it.”
I drop my hands and bring my legs around. When I’m upright, he says, “See? Easy!”
We do that move a few more times.
“Now we’ll combine,” he says, back on one knee. “On my shoulder, roll across my back, and come out with the cartwheel.”
I’m panicked about trying this, but I turn my back to him.
His hand pushes me as we go up. I lie flat on my back as he stands, and cartwheel out.
“Wow!” I say. “This is fun!”
“It is when it works,” he says. “And nobody lands on their head.”
“Does that happen?” I ask.
“Yes, when a pair isn’t a good fit.” He places his hands on my waist. “Jump when I squeeze.”
We move across the room, me jumping with his guidance. To the mirror, it appears that he is lifting me across the room, but really it is a coordinated effort.
“Now spin in my hands,” he says, his hands lightly around my waist.
I turn, feeling his touch telling me when to go faster and when to stop, communicating just as we had in the waltz.
When we finish the turn, I ask, “What makes a couple a bad fit?”
“Height, body style, strengths and weaknesses,” he says. “But more than that, it’s the power struggle. Some dancers want to be in control no matter what. It can be hard for some people to trust their partner.”
I spin again, paying attention to the pressure, then jump, and suddenly I’m up on his shoulder, rolling across his back, and cartwheeling down.
“Oh!” I say. “You just told me how to do that without talking!”
He grins at me. “That’s what good partners are made of.”
The door to the room opens. Suze pops her head in. “I hate to be the dance police, but this room is about to be for hip-hop.” She looks at the two of us, and I can see her biting her lip. She wants to say more, but she doesn’t.
“Thanks,” Blitz says.
Suze nods. She backs out, but leaves the door open.
“We should have a couple minutes,” Blitz says. He bends down and snatches up my string bag. “Come with me.”
I don’t ask questions, just follow him out. The hall is starting to get busy for the afternoon classes. We’ve been dancing for over an hour. I should feel tired, but I’m exhilarated, like I could do anything.
