Stepping Stone

Maybe it is the world weariness of Adriana Varela's Cambalache that makes the woman edgy. The lesson is going badly, the teacher has little experience, and people are just learning steps and not learning tango. The woman stands alone, watching the others who are partnered, and I offer to lead, apologizing for my red heels and the awkwardness of what I will do. She smiles, and I press into the open embrace.
I don't care that the song is half over, and I begin to move when Varela talks about how the world has flattened into sameness.

¡Ignorante, sabio o chorro,

generoso o estafador!

¡Todo es igual!

¡Nada es mejor!

I begin to feel the music and lead her to a bright cruzada, and she stops when I try to lead into a molinete. Her grip is tight, and she looks up at me with a grumpy face.
'You're not leading the steps,' she scolds.
I drop my arms and realize why she was standing alone, being ignored. There is nothing I can do.
'I need some water,' I say. 'Excuse me.' And I know she is watching me, puzzled, as I leave the dance floor.