Unvictorious Red

I waited in the parking lot until there were five minutes left. Before leaving the house, I had put on my brightest and most vibrant red strappy dress. I did my best to match the lipstick color to the dress. Victory red seemed to work best. I reapplied it to my lips, checking in the mirror for clean teeth and smearing. I shot two sprays of perfume above me and allowed it to fall on me gently. I stepped out of the flats I drove in, tossing them into the back seat, and into my black dancing heels. 

The instructor and my now friend, Santiago, stood in the middle of the room saying goodbye to his currently ending class. He was wearing a black dress shirt, slacks, and his dance shoes. His dark hair was pulled back to a small ponytail. When it was down, it would brush his shoulders gently, a wavy and thick mane. I didn’t quite know if it was the popular look of Argentinian men, but it suited him well. 

I stood by the doorway, waiting as he started wrapping up by elaborating on technique. The class consisted mostly of couples usually trying to learn how to dance for their weddings. It was always interesting to see them. The ones that danced well radiated pride. The others that didn't were frustrated. And the ones that were most in love always seemed to shine. 

Santiago always seemed quite happy when he taught. He was right where he wanted to be, and I liked to think that every night, as he looked around the room at each person he taught, he considered himself a rich man. 

Our eyes met for a second and a smirk crossed his lips. 

He looked back at his class. "I will see you next time." 

The couples filed out of the dance room until we were the only ones in there, the chatter blurred in my ears. I couldn't see them nor hear them. I simply stood by the door, waiting as I always did. 

Santiago walked towards the stereo and started the music again. Slowly, he stepped towards me, without saying a word, and extended his hand. I took it and began taking steps as he led, dropping my purse on the floor. He spun me in, towards his body, until we were both pressed against each other. 

“Hola, Santi” I said, a bit breathless, our lips close to each other's.

“Hola, Bella,” he replied, and I thought I heard his heart pound as hard as mine. He must've had quite the workout today. “Ready to get started?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

He took a step forward, smoothly, and another. I slid my feet past each other as I walked backwards. And we began to dance. We usually started with a warm up dance without any specific steps to the tango. Something easy and simple that allowed us to reintroduce ourselves to the comfort of each other. I was usually a very tense dancer and starting any routine with that wouldn't lead to anything good. Today, the same tension seemed to exist. 

"It is okay, Bella, trust me," he whispered, his hand on my back rubbing in a soft motion in comfort. "Just close your eyes."

I did as he said, allowing him to guide me blindly. I did trust him. I just seemed to get stuck in my own head. He was a great guide who didn't allow me to make mistakes. His intentions to spin me or move me were always clear. His grip of me and my hands were always gentle but secure. If I were to trip on my own two feet, he would do his best to catch me.

I wasn't always so lucky.

I kept my eyes closed after the song came to an end and his chin rested on my head. He didn't move immediately either. We simply stood for a second. 

“I heard you’re going back to Argentina for the summer,” I said as nonchalant as I could when we separated.

“Well, my mother told me that either I went to her or she, my sister, and my father would come to me. I figure it’s easier if I go to her.” His tone matched mine.

“Ah. Well, it sounds like fun.”

“It should be...fun.”

"How long will you be there for?"

"Three months. Entire summer."

"Oh. Who’s covering your classes?" 

“All of the current instructions are taking an extra class.”

“Oh,” I repeated and looked away. 

We stood in silence for a second.

"Are you ready to keep going?" he asked. 

I nodded. 

We started the routine that we had been working on. It went fast and there were a couple of lifts and drops. It went along to a Spanish song, El Dia Que Me Quieras by Carlos Gardel. It was beautiful and sweet and romantic. Judges really corresponded to a love story in dance contests. The story we were creating was about a guy longing for the love of the woman. This was far from our first practice, so we were beginning to simply go from muscle memory. I didn't have to think about the steps, so my mind was free to wander and think. 

Santi was leaving for three months, which would coincide right with our last planned contest. He would pretty much be leaving me right after. Free nights for a summer...a knot reached my throat. I didn’t even know what I would do with that time. Santi and I had spent every weeknight together all year. The whole thought of not getting to see him for three months...it made me feel sick. 

Then I realized what part of the song we were on, and I realized it too late. 

He lifted me. 

My legs trembled while my body was super unstable. The nausea rose from my throat. We started tumbling and he tried to grab me. I still fell on the ground because I lost my footing. 

"Are you okay?!" he asked, a worried look crossing his face. “What happened?”

I nodded and swallowed the knot back down before standing up and walking around. My knee sometimes got finicky, so I tried to keep it in motion in front of the mirror.

"Do you need help with that?" he asked, approaching me.

I shook my head and looked down, refusing to look at him. “Is there anyone I could...I dunno...keep practicing with? Since you’ll be gone.”

From my periphery, I noticed his face faltered for a second, but then a smile came that wouldn’t reach his eyes. “Gustavo is good. You can likely try with him...if you like him that is.”

“Well, there’s a contest at the end of July so...I should probably still try to go for it.”

“With Gustavo?” His tone sounded incredulous.

“I thought you said he was good.” 

“He is. I am sure you will have a fantastic time dancing with him.” 

“Well, then why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

I flexed my knee and then looked at him. His eyes were narrowed. 

“Never mind!” I said and started going towards my purse, past him. 

He gripped my upper arm and pulled me to face him. “No, tell me.” 

I met his eyes. “I just don’t get you, Santiago. Don’t you want me to compete?”

“You should compete.”

“Just not with Gustavo.”

He dropped his hand. “You can compete with Gustavo.”

“I know I CAN. I just want to know why you don’t want me to.”

“There is nothing to say.”

“You’re not going to be here to train with me. I can’t just sit around waiting for you to come back.”

“I don’t want you to just sit around while I’m gone. Of course not. We are friends.”

“Yeah. So I can’t just sit around, Santiago. I won’t. I’ll need to move on with my life.”

“For the summer?”

I looked down. “...Maybe for longer than that.”

“You don’t want to be partners anymore.”

“I didn’t say that.” 

“Then what did you say?”

“Just that maybe I’d rather be with someone that wants to be my tango partner long term.”

“You think that’s not me?”

“You’ve never indicated it to be you. And you’re leaving.”

“And you know everything!”

I looked up at him. "Well, I think I've been exclusively yours for a long time. I'm not complaining. You're great and I like...working...you. With you, I mean!" I ran my fingers through my hair. "But it'd be hard to just stop dancing." I exhaled. "I'd rather it be you. I'd rather you stayed. But I can't ask you to stay just so I can dance with you."

He looked at me, analyzing what I was saying. He seemed very confused. "But I'm coming back."

I sighed and kissed his cheek. "I think it's best if we call it an early night." 

I began to walk away, picking up my purse on my way out. 

He ran after me. “Isabella, I don’t understand what’s going on!” He pulled me to his chest and wrapped his arms around me. “Are you upset with me?”

“No.” I sighed and hugged him. “I’m upset with myself.”

“Why? What is wrong, Isabella?”

I just shook my head and hugged me. “Just tired is all.”

“Is that really all it is?”

I nodded.

“Okay,” he said and let me go. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

I gave him a weary smile. “Maybe.” 

I turned around with tears poking my eyes. I got in my car and drove off, frustrated with the realization that my feelings for him were no longer innocent.