Manuela is 35. Annemarie is 17. We are from Spain, Canada, Japan, France, Italy, America, Holland. We, the women, in our skirts and heels. We look awkward sometimes, while dancing. And sometimes we can look good.
The teacher, Felipe, asks “you got it?” He asks in Spanish. I answer in English, “sometimes yes, sometimes no.” He looks concerned. Think about it a little this evening, he tells us all.
And what will Felipe be thinking about tonight? Surely, he will have forgotten all about us. He’ll be performing somewhere. Besides, new faces come in every single week, then leave again as soon as they came. Yet he seems truly concerned about us. And when we laugh he laughs with us. How does he manage this? Doesn’t it ever bore him?
Apparently it doesn’t. The reason being: he loves to dance. The moment he so much as points a toe to the floor, his entire body becomes, speaks, breathes Flamenco. It is his purpose, it is why he is here. Even though his feet hurt. I know this because he keeps taking his shoes off and massaging them. But he keeps going, unaffected and entirely focused on teaching us.