Unlearning to Dance
I. Fog In the Sunset
August 2009
Anyone who lives in San Francisco knows summer is the absolute worst season of the year. During summer the cold ocean air rushes through the Golden Gate. Cold wet gusts of fog howl across the City and her streets.
Sebastian’s apartment was in the Outer Sunset district, a few miles from the Bridge. He shared an apartment with two other men, strangers really, and he worked from home. He didn’t particularly like his job, or his life for that matter. The drab gray rows of houses in his neighborhood were mostly faded, bleak survivors of the salt, sand, and ocean air.
The summer fog and wind blew through the Sunset relentlessly this time of year. He made a habit of forcing himself out onto the windy streets once a day to wake himself from the computer fog that would overcome him by midday.
He took a different route for variety’s sake. During those cold gray summers even a tiny variation was essential to his sanity. He had to escape his little world if only for a brief moment. It was the only way he could go back to his computer.
One day he found himself in front of a glass storefront on a quiet street. He studied his features in the glass. “ Not much to look at,” he thought to himself. In the glass he saw a “mestizo” - one more Native American than hispanic. His schoolmates nicknamed him ‘Indio’. He had long, black straight hair which he kept off his shoulders by tying it in a ponytail. He showed hints of gray around his temples and eyebrows. His skin was dark in spite of being indoors all summer, and was likely to remain that way.
Darker than his skin were the thick frames of his glasses. Sebastian fiddled with his glasses as he looked at himself, adjusting them first higher, then lower on his nose. Neither position added much, so he gave up and let his glasses fall to their default resting spot. His older sister Imelda felt it her duty to advise her younger brother to lose the glasses and cut his hair. Both their father and mother passed years ago, so Imelda was all that was left of his family. It was surprising, he thought to himself, that they weren’t closer given the circumstances.
He noticed activity on the other side of the glass. As Sebastian watched, a group of people began stretching. At first he thought it was an exercise class. The people, mostly women, a few men - did not notice him. He felt invisible, an anonymous observer in a movie theater. He stayed, and watched.
He heard music. He squinted, and peered through the window. The people paired up - some women with women, other women with men. They began to dance.
Sebastian noticed a particular man who he guessed was the teacher. He was tall, handsome and moved with confidence. The man’s posture set him apart from the others; he stood, taller and straighter than the students. Chin up, shoulders back, a definite exaggerated curve of the spine which was beyond normal human anatomy.
Sebastian watched for half an hour.
* * *
The rest of the summer Sebastian searched out dozens, then hundreds of YouTube ballroom dance videos. He studied everything - tango, foxtrot, waltz, quick step, bolero, rumba. He discovered a new world. He was intrigued by the grace and sensuality of the dancers. Sebastian felt an energy, a life force new to him. One day he dared to imagine himself dancing. Sebastian, the Indio with thick rimmed glasses, graying hair, no skill, no friends, and not much of a family.
* * *
Ballroom dance classes were a huge failure; a complete bust. He resigned himself to his old life of comfortably safe anonymity. He knew he was hopeless. He proved what he had suspected all along: he was dance disabled.
* * *
II. The Mission
October 2011
In early October two years later, Sebastian received a phone call from his older sister Imelda. She had a business conference in town and she offered to meet with him. He accepted. It had been a decade of few phone calls since the last time they met. She lived in New York so they had few opportunities to see each other. Sebastian was anxious about meeting her. He felt it was his duty, that it was necessary. It felt like going to a dental appointment. It stressed him to be in an unfamiliar family situation.
She stayed at a hotel downtown. Her last conference was Sunday midday, and Sebastian promised to meet her for lunch.
The N Judah streetcar jolted and rattled along. He found it soothing. Sebastian preferred the streetcar to ride share. It often took three times as long, but he enjoyed seeing the neighborhoods change outside his window. The N Judah also spared him the discomfort of having to deal with a driver. He avoided even the simplest interaction with another anonymous face. The energy cost was too great.
He stepped off the streetcar on Market Street not far from the Moscone convention center. A short walk and he arrived at the meeting place. He waited, off to one side of the main entrance, melting into the camouflage of the building facade. Motionless and unnoticed, he felt safe amidst the crowds. He observed from his vantage the tide of affluent, well-dressed people flowing out the main door. Good-natured and joking with one another, the mood was of that of school children on the last day of school heading off to summer vacation.
He saw his sister emerge. Imelda was seven years older than Sebastian. Like many women she dressed seven years younger than her age; he thought perhaps even seventeen years younger. He suspected that one of them had been switched at birth because they were so opposite to each other in every way - except their dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin.
Imelda was now a blatant red head. She had a skillful and expensive stylist in Manhattan who did an excellent job, making her fiery colored mane look convincingly authentic. But for Sebastian - who had known her since childhood - her new look seemed obviously and glaringly affected; as were her latest round of botox and fillers. Sebastian thought that if her intention was to look stunning, she succeeded. He was stunned… but it wasn’t the good stun.
She laughed and joked with a couple of younger men, both dressed in sharp, well-cut suits. Sebastian waited out the effusive goodbyes and hugs. When they were done and gone, he called out to her. “Imelda!”
* * *
She asked him for a restaurant suggestion. He muttered something about a taqueria nearby in the Mission district. He had been caught of guard. He should have known better, he told himself ruefully. Imelda would have none of that. She whipped out her phone, and in no time they were dining in a plush restaurant on the 57th floor with a stunning view of the Bay.
* * *
Two hours later Imelda was in a taxi heading for the airport, and Sebastian was on the streets. He had learned that in the previous decade the only thing that had changed was his sister’s hair color.
It was a warm October day, one of the rare days one could comfortably stroll the streets in shirt sleeves. He wandered towards the Mission to escape the bustling crowds of the convention center. But as he got closer to the old Mission church there were more and more people. He turned a corner and came upon the sound of music and the smell of spices, tortillas and carne asada. He found himself in the midst of a street fair, right in front of Mission Dolores.
The day was October 4th - the feast of St. Francis of Assisi - patron saint of the City. The old Dolores church, built in 1776, is the oldest building in the City. Sebastian navigated through the crowd. He never did well in crowds. Seeking sanctuary he entered the chapel, dim with the scent of flickering candles. There were only a few older ladies in the musty darkness. He knelt before the statue of San Francisco. Sebastian thought how strange it was to find himself at that place on that day. Stranger still was the feeling that his long passed parents, Francisco and Francisca, shared this moment with him.
Sebastian had few memories of his parents. His aunts, Tia Lupe and Tia Micaela, raised Imelda and Sebastian as best they could. His tias told him his mother died of cancer. The story was that her husband, Francisco smoked himself to death out of sadness for having lost his Pancha, the nickname of his wife Francisca. Sebastian later found out that his dad died, stabbed to death in a bar fight.
The sweet scent of the votive candles brought back memories. From the earliest times his aunts made sure to take him to church The smell of incense, and the chanting of benediction were memories woven into those of his earliest childhood. When he drifted from childhood to adulthood, he left behind those memories. But something stirred within him this day. He hadn’t prayed in years; but on this day he whispered a prayer for his parents, Pancho and Pancha. He lit a votive candle before their saint and dropped a few crumpled bills into the donations box.
The bright afternoon sun blinded him when he stepped out of the dim recesses of the chapel. The sound of music coming from down the street guided him onwards. He stumbled through the crowd, eyes still trying to adjust to the brilliant daylight. He arrive at an outdoor stage.
* * *
The man on stage with a microphone invited any and all dancers who wished to join the competition to come to the stage. A rustle and murmuring spread through the crowd, and sure enough, more than a dozen people took the challenge and mounted the stage.
The man explained. “This will be a Jack and Jill competition. Well, actually in honor of our beloved Saint Francis - it will be a ‘Pancho y Pancha’ competition.” . ‘Pancho’ was a common nickname for the more formal ‘Francisco’.
The host asked the ladies to line up across the stage. Then, while music played, the men marched in a line around the women. The music abruptly stopped. The nearest woman became the man’s partner for the competition. Each person introduced themself to their new partner. There were a lot of smiles, excitement, and laughs.
What happened next changed Sebastian’s life. He discovered street dancing. He tried to dance ballroom once. He learned you don’t need a ballroom… all you need is a street.
He stood and watched their faces, their smiles, as they danced to the song Sin Salsa No Hay Paraiso - Without Salsa there is No Paradise.
Salsa is a street dance. Dancers are free to improvise as the music moves them. Sebastian saw the fluency and confidence of the eight couples dancing with total strangers. Every couple danced a completely unique dance. They created each moment on the spur of the moment. The dance partners share an intimate conversation. The words are movement and the story is the music.
The best part for Sebastian - the smiles. Everyone enjoyed the dance. It was very different than the starched posture and severe, passionless faces he had seen in many ballroom performance videos. He imagined his own face blanching in sheer terror during his failed attempt at ballroom dancing. What a difference, he thought.
Sebastian could not choose any one couple as his favorite - they were all equally poised, confident, and brilliant. When the music stopped, the host had the crowd judge the top four couples by the volume of their applause. The other couples left the stage. The host repeated the process to randomize the remaining eight dancers.
The four remaining couples were even better - now dancing to a new song with a faster tempo. Not a single couple faltered. Sebastian stood wordlessly, and watched. There was no connection between what he saw and the ballroom classes that he failed. For the first time he wondered whether he failed the classes or whether the classes failed him.
* * *
On the way back to the streetcar stop he took a back street, through a quiet neighborhood. He passed in front of an old school. The old school outlived its original purpose, but found a new one. It now served as a community arts center. Curious, Sebastian studied the list of classes. His eyes came to rest, then widened. He took off his glasses and cleaned the lens. Replacing them, he could see the sheet.
UNLEARN TO DANCE
A Six Week Journey
Starts Saturday 1 - 2 :30 p.m October 15
Dolores Community Arts Center
Instructor Juan Ruiz Izquierda
* * *
III. Old School
October 15, 2011
Two weeks later Sebastian was sitting in the Dolores Community Arts Center gym. The atmosphere in the small group buzzed with an energy of nervous anticipation. There were about twenty students, of all ages, sizes, and descriptions. Sebastian could make no sense of his classmates; there seemed to be no rhyme or reason. Shortly before 1 pm a man entered, wheeling a speaker to the middle of the room. Without words, he summoned his students, motioning with his hands. Their teacher now motioned for them to be seated on the floor. He sat cross legged in the center. Silence. He pushed a button on a device.
The room was filled with the sound of running water, a stream. In the distance birds sang, chattering and chirping contentedly. Other than those sounds, the room was silent. The group sat cross legged in a circle around Juan Ruiz Izquierda, watching him silently. Juan sat perfectly still.
No words were spoken. Juan was taking slow, deep breaths. He motioned for the others to join him. A tranquil unity spread from one to another. Their rhythmic slow breaths blended into the sounds of the running water and the song of the birds. Juan motioned for them to close their eyes.
After a long while the sounds of nature faded to silence. Now the room was filled only with many breathes in unison. Finally Juan spoke:
“Remain breathing with your eyes closed. You have all done very well. Keep your eyes closed, and imagine yourself inside your mother’s womb, waiting to be born. Imagine the warmth and the security and the love of your mother: surrounding you, embracing you. Now imagine that when you are born, you will be seeing light for the very first time.
“Now… slowly… gradually… open your eyes. Linger on the very first light for a few moments. Then continue to slowly open your eyes all the way. Look upon your new world. Look at each other, your people, your tribe.”
Sebastian followed his teacher’s words. When his eyes were finally open he felt a rush of exhilaration. He saw a beautiful sea of faces surrounding him. His people. His tribe. There was laughter, smiles. Yes, tears as well. Sebastian could feel his heart welling. He lingered at the very edge of a distant memory barely remembered after most of a lifetime.
Sebastian never forgot this first experience with Juan Ruiz Izquierda. Juan was of slight build; however, his body was incredibly powerful and limber. No one could guess his age - some thought 40, some estimated up to 70 years old. It didn’t really matter. Sebastian felt that Juan was a reincarnation of Merlin, the wizard who ages backwards. Juan just kept getting younger. Sebastian also noticed he and his classmates were also aging backwards as the class proceeded week after week.
His students lovingly called him Don Juan. It fit him perfectly: at the same time a title of respect for their maestro, but also an allusion to the Don Juans who charmed ladies, and to Don Juan the ageless Yaqui sorcerer of Carlos Castaneda’s books.
After their rebirth experience Don Juan spoke :
“Thank you my friends, mi gente, mi familia, for beginning. It is important to start at the beginning - even before you were born. Even long, long before you were born. The beginning of beginnings.
“You see, the earth is your First Mother. Your First Mother sang her songs of water, and birds long before you were born of your human mother. Just now you experienced the song she has been singing for you for all time.
“There is music everywhere in Her world - the blowing breeze, the rolling surf, the breathing of men and women. The sounds of nature are the notes of Her music. It is your heritage, your gift from your First Mother. Look around how your First Mother has surrounded you with brothers and sisters, your gente, your tribe. Always cherish and respect this great gift.
“There are many different stories and paths which brought you here today. Know that this is a miracle. It is a gift given to you from your First Mother. Your First Mother called you here, and you came. It is good that you are here.”
The room was silent, except for the people’s breathing. Sebastian noticed that somehow they were still in synchrony. “ My purpose is to share one of your First Mother’s most wonderful gifts, the Sister of Music which we call Dance. Dance is simply the body singing to music.
“As a child you were wise enough to know this - but you forgot. So my first task is to help you remember. This is why you are here - to first unlearn, to then be able to dance.”
* * *
Sebastian unlearned to dance. Over the six weeks he aged backwards, like Merlin and Don Juan.
He came to realize how the little kid within him who wanted to dance, and knew how dance, had been lied to all these years. “You’re not good enough.” “Leave it to the experts.” “You will make a fool of yourself.” “It’s beyond your abilities.” “Some people are born with it - you weren’t one of them.”
He realized his ballroom disaster was the result of feeling incompetent to perform at a random and ever rising level of expertise. And that, he knew, was the heart of it. He learned that he didn’t need to be an expert in order to dance. That was the myth that burst. When it did, it changed everything; most notably himself.
He realized his sister was not the most expert sister, nor was he the most expert brother in the world, but it didn’t matter. They called each other more often, and actually became good friends.
In his heart he knew the turning point - his turning point - was before meeting Don Juan. It was meeting his parents in the chapel. He kept that memory sacred, always close to his heart.
Every year on October 4th he celebrated the day as his parents’ birthday. He called it Dia de Los Panchos. He honored Francisco, Francisca, and St. Francis all at once. He had no idea of his parents’ actual birthdays. He imagined that it could have been October 4th. It was the custom in his culture to name a child after the Saint on whose feast day the child was born. Who knew? He believed it, whether it was true or not.
* * *
IV. El Agave
October 4, 2015
Years later, he drove into the City from Walnut Creek to dance. He had moved out of the City. He missed San Francisco in many ways, however he now had a well-paying tech job, his own home, a dog, and sunshine. He kept up with his dance friends and danced whenever he could. It was Salsa Thursday at El Agave. El Agave was the best club in the best city for Salsa this side of New York. It was also Dia de Los Panchos, his parents’ birthday.
The week before, Imelda called and told Sebastian that she sent a package for Dia de Los Panchos. He received the package, but did not open it. He had a lot to do in preparation for his night out.
He arrived at El Agave at 10 pm. It was a good night - almost all of them were now. He survived what dancers call ‘Beginner’s Hell’ better than most. Beginner’s Hell was the period of time a dancer - particularly a novice male leader - would suffer through not knowing what he was doing and still going out and dancing in spite of it. The average Beginner’s Hell lasts about six months, sometimes a year. Some people never escape it. But Sebastian thrived . He learned to laugh at himself. No matter what happened, whatever dance disaster befell him, he considered it supremely funny.
He collected memories of his many misfires and listed them in a book in his head. He consulted his dance disaster ledger frequently - especially when he needed a good laugh or was beginning to take himself too seriously. One time he discovered he was wearing his shirt inside out all night long. No one told him. Another time he asked every girl sitting at a table to dance. He was rejected by all four, one after the other. The kicker was that by the time he asked the last two it was obvious they felt slighted for being at the bottom of his list even though they had no desire to dance with him. How could he not see that one coming? One time he took his first bachata class, thought he had learned a couple steps, and then was asked by the prettiest woman in the room if he he knew how to dance bachata. Of course he did, he had just finished the lesson. The predictable result was a four alarm dance disaster. A disaster he still laughs about. It was solid gold, all of it; solid gold that made him bulletproof.
He was not such a great dancer that he still didn’t have embarrassing moments. He just added them to his album. In spite of his shortcomings, he had more fun than anyone on the dance floor. His level of proficiency meant nothing to him - even during Beginner’s Hell - which for him was Beginner’s Heaven.
A night at El Agave was always an adventure. There was no telling who would show up. He had many dance friends, some stretching back to his classes with Don Juan. Sebastian had partners with whom he danced hundreds of times Yet the magic was that it was always different, usually wonderful, occasionally a lifetime memory. Beside his disaster list he added to other lists in his head - dance of the night; dance of the month; top ten dances he’d ever witnessed; top ten dances he had ever danced. And best moment of the night - which usually coincided with the best smile of the night.
The very best part of any dance, for him, was his partner’s smile. When he arrived at a venue, he first scanned the dance floor and noted the dancers who enjoyed themselves, their partner, and the music. This became his ask-to-dance list.
One night during his beginner’s heaven/hell days he asked a woman to dance. She was serious, straight-faced, and expressionless. She moved well, clearly a good dancer, but her lack of emotion bothered Sebastian through the entire dance. He assumed he was the problem. He tried his best to up his game, to elicit even the slightest glimmer of a smile from her. It was not working. He made it through the dance, just barely. He took a big gamble:
“Barbara: thanks for dancing with me. I can tell you’re a great dancer, but I felt that I was struggling. I wish I had given you a better dance.”
Barbara answered him; “Yes I felt something was off too. Your face was so serious the whole dance… I thought you were worried about something.”
“I guess I was worried that you were worried. I thought you were so serious!”
“Two ships… passing in the night!”
“Exactly!”
It turned out to be not the best dance, but the best laugh of the night. Lessons learned. They became good friends.
Sebastian made good use of Don Juan’s wisdom: “It’s all in your head….so work on your head!” It was a work in progress. Every adventure made him both more resilient and more humble.
Sebastian was generous with his dances. He danced with anxious beginners, with those on the sidelines, with the ladies too often passed over. He asked the ones who sat and watched and wished; the ones too shy to admit they were there, hoping to be asked to dance. They reminded him of himself.
* * *
Sebastian had nothing but great dances - from the best to the worst. Another three-shirt night. Not bad he thought. He always envied guys who could dance all night in a three piece suit and not raise a sweat. Not him, he could not have made it through a song. He chuckled at the idea of having to bring seven suits to change between songs. He sat at the bar, tired, happy, thirsty.
“How much is a beer?”
“Five dollars, Sebastian. You know that,” said Ernesto, the bar keeper, and his friend.
“Just checking to see if the prices went up Ernito… I’ll have a water.”
It was a running joke. Sebastian never ordered anything other than water and Ernesto knew it. Sebastian thought that a dance was too important to be diluted by alcohol.
Ernesto laughed, grabbed a bottled water and slid it across the bar. Sebastian gave him six dollars.
“Keep the change, Ernie.”
“Hey Sebastian…did you lose your glasses?”
“Yes I did. Forever. Lens correction surgery. I finally saw the light.”
“Felicidades mano. Dude, nobody’s gonna know who you are. You’re gonna need a name tag.”
“Maybe better no name tag Ernie. This is my big chance for a new improved reputation. I’ll probably get more dances.”
“Well it looked like you had plenty tonight, so maybe your plan is working. OK Sebastian, I’ll pretend I don’t know you. That will be $7 dollars, and we don’t take cards.” They laughed.
Sebastian drained the bottle, and settled back on the barstool. He knew he was done dancing for the night. He also knew that after midnight the stars would come out, and he had a front row seat. Shortly after midnight the very top dancers began to arrive. El Agave attracted the elite salsa dancers and their party started after midnight, sometimes lasting until 2 am. San Francisco was a salsa crossroads. Many internationals passed through the City and everyone knew about El Agave.
The DJ, nicknamed El Ojo, was prepared for them. He dug deep into his playlist of thousands of songs . The tempo, the volume, and the temperature was rising. Sebastian knew that it would be straight up Mambo, New York style, his favorite.
* * *
By 1 am Sebastian was ready to leave for home. It had been quite a show. The dancers were incredible. He was heading for the door when he noticed a couple just arriving. It was pretty late. Curious, he decided to linger a few minutes.
It was a man and a woman. The two were upper middle-aged, a generation older than the midnight crowd. The gentleman helped his lady with her coat. The man was in a suit and tie. Sharp. The woman wore a blue dress and heels. Classy. Sebastian could tell they were dancers by how they carried themselves. Intrigued, he took a seat by the door.
They must have been passing through. They did not seem to know anyone, however they politely acknowledged the other dancers with a nod of the head. The DJ, El Ojo noticed the couple. He caught their eye and gave them both a polite nod.
He chose his next song. El Ojo was on it: Mambo classic.
The gentleman led his lady on his arm to the dance floor. By now the crowd was thinning so the couple had plenty of space.
They started soft, comfortable, together in the music. Simple but intimate. Like any life, any story, a song has a beginning, a middle, and an end. They were dancing the prologue.
The story their bodies told was one of respect and admiration; an attraction governed by mutual esteem. As the music quickened - not in tempo so much as in power and energy, so did their story. A story of coming together, and then drifting apart. Of desire, of wanting, of waiting… for each other.
The gentleman was solid, dependable, understated in supporting his beautiful partner, the flower for whom he was the vase. She shone ever more brightly and passionately, a portrait of a woman surrounded and protected by the solid oak of her partner’s frame.
The other dancers on the floor drifted off to the side, leaving the floor to the couple. They also watched, motionless, clearly moved by the couple’s dancing.
The song was now more intense, insistent. The couple separated from their embrace, and now his lady danced apart from him. She was dancing solo, a furious wave of energy, spins, movement declaring not only her independence but also her need.
The music intensified even more, and they were back together, fulfilling the hunger of their brief absence, now more together than before.
The dance ended at the very moment the final note sounded The gentleman swept the lady off her feet. She rested in his arms , gazing up at her partner. He held her gently but securely.
For all the many times Sebastian had been to El Agave he had never seen the whole house applaud a pair of dancers. He stood up with everyone else and applauded enthusiastically. As beautiful as their dance together had been, it was clear the couple were not performers. They stood up a bit awkwardly, as if they had awakened from a dream. He pecked her cheek with a kiss, she blushed at all the attention they only now were aware of. Had they been performers they would have finished with a bow, and then strut purposefully off stage, her arm on his. No, they were truly and sweetly embarrassed.
Sebastian knew that the dance was the best he had ever seen. It would remain first on his list for years, perhaps forever. Classic song, classic partners. Old school.
* * *
A little before 2 a.m. Sebastian was home. His body was dead tired, but still buzzing. A good night dancing kept him buzzing for days after. He opened the refrigerator and a beer. It had been a great Dia de Los Panchos…it went straight to number one on his list. He noticed the package Imelda sent on his kitchen table.
He opened the manila envelope and found a card with Imelda’s writing.
Dear Sebastian,
Years ago when Tia Lupe passed away I went to the house and found these. I must have forgotten about them, but just last week I came across them. Just in time! I wanted to send them to you in time for Dia de los Panchos. I knew you would enjoy them. Definitely old school!
Happy DDLP hermanito!!
Abrazos,
Imelda.
He emptied the contents of the envelope onto the table. There were a dozen or so aged black and white photographs. One was of a young couple, a man in a suit, a lady in a dress. The two were posed at night under a huge sign which read “Palladium”. They were arm in arm, smiling at one another. There were other photos of a crowd dancing in front of a big band. There were several photos of the young couple dancing together, elegantly, exuberantly. Radiant smiles. On the back of one of the photos Sebastian read:
Francisco y Francisca Nuevo York 1956.
Sebastian felt his heart burning, the heat rising to his throat. They were old photographs of his parents. Photographs he had never seen and had never known existed. The photos were taken before Imelda and he were born. His parents were beautiful, so young, so in love. Sebastian could see how his dad seemed to be a younger version of himself. And Imelda looked much like Francisca, their mom.
He thought it so strange that this gift arrived when it had. Maybe it was the dancer in him which made him acutely aware of timing. Less than an hour ago he watched the couple at El Agave dance the greatest dance he had seen in his life. Then he arrives at home and finds his parents photos. Very strange. Strange and wonderful. Exhausted, he fell into bed and into a deep sleep.
In his dream he saw his parents, Francisco and Francisca, dancing at El Agave.
When he awoke the next morning he wondered if the dream was actually a dream. Or if the night at the club was merely dreamed, and didn’t actually happen. Or could it have actually been his parents dancing last night at El Agave?
His mind, still in the haze of waking, was not making any sense for a minute or two. He even checked the kitchen. There was only a single empty beer bottle, so he knew it wasn’t an overdose. He looked through his parents photos. They were real, so that was no dream. His three damp shirts were on the washer, proof of his night at El Agave. As to the couple who danced at El Agave he had no clues. Most likely they were a couple passing through.
A thought occurred to him - and he couldn’t shake it. Could the couple last night have been his parents dancing? The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to fit the series of events that began in the chapel kneeling in prayer for his parents. The the connection had grown from that moment to this one.
Don Juan Ruiz Izquierda once told him something he could not understand until now.
“You can see miracles only once you have seen one. Miracles occur every day. Open your eyes wide enough and you will begin to see them. Once you start seeing them, they are no longer miracles. They become your life.”
.
