I jumped off the couch, that’s that, in 5 minutes the lesson starts - I’m going to dance, to - - - - - > - - - - »»» dance!
Quick. Clothes for dancing? Erghhh…. The Jumbo Flying Bat T-shirt for sure! Bike. Lock for Bike! (sad story of a stolen bike pops-up). Raining outside. Where is the all-nature-bullshit proof red jacket of Giannis? It’s a jacket that looks like a small folded umbrella, before you unfold it. I look ridiculous in it, so far so good, as long as my hair is protected from this .
There is a dancing studio, just around the corner of our house. I just checked when they have lessons, and it turns out - it’s NOW. MOVE. MOVE YOUR… ART, right now. (it’s the name of the studio, actually)
The distance is ridiculously small but somehow in the panic, I did take my bike to cross these 10 meters. It rains. The seat will be soaked, no! I took the bike in, and started a fight with the lock and three tubes on the wall. The sound of music and laughter teases me to hurry up. I climb the dark staircase. On the 4th floor a very very tall and not less friendly blond guy stays at the door, gasping, all sweaty from dancing I guess. I am lucky. The lesson hasn’t started, and it’s all good, it’s Ouukay. Everybody smiling. I don’t even know the name of the class, or the technique… Do you prefer to watch or to participate? asks the teacher. She is Irini. Peace in Greek. I do, do want to dance, Irini. Thank you for your kindness. And everybody, thank you for the welcoming smiles. You don’t probably realize what it is for an over-analyzing introvert like me to be here. How proud I am already, happy, that I step on the fingers of crawling demons of self-consciousness. And there isn’t a way to know that I’m here for some other even more pathetic reasons. I am a foreigner in your city, and I don’t have life outside my brain, and I am dying to be among humans. There is a big stuff at stake in my head! But who cares now about all this. You dance and I dance with….errr after you.
The lesson is flowing, we learn movements, which we put together in a dance. The movements are simple, and Irini is a wonderful dancer. I often lose track of the order, what comes now? I remembered an old recurring dream. I am on stage and I don’t know what the next move is. Well, I have nightmares worse than this, just to know. The music is filling the space and climbs my limbs. So I let go. I don’t mind to be desynchronized. I find special joy in it. Just the mirror, this mirror. Look at your self, says Irini, pointing to her chin and the mirror on the wall in front of us. I can’t really look at my self while enjoying the silliness of my existence. It’s too much. First things first.
There are two quotes on the walls, one from Nietzsche, another from Bruce Lee. The quotes are very famous - the one about being like water, and about dancing every day the crazy dance of life. That’s awkward, though. Why the two men I adore wrote on the walls of this room? Is this a sign, and for what? Is it a room in my head, an invention of my own brain? Am I still on the couch, home? And who will be my friend here? Which one of the girls? Or maybe the two boys? Will we go to the beach together, get high and dance? Am I doing it again? What? - Thinking! Erghhh, yes!
I jump and splash on the wooden floor. My knee, my backbone, ouch. Δεν μπυραζει.You are splashing water, and you are chaos. That’s what Bruce and Friedrich meant, of course a tiny reflection of it.
The lesson finished. I left the studio all sweaty, and light, my muscles singing labor songs. Down the dark staircase. Unlocked the bike again with efforts. And went out.
It was a bit dark, and still raining. A different rain, though. The ten meters to home were different, the welcome-back-how-was-it-babe kiss of Giannis was different. And the couch was different.