Tuesday, June 10, 2008
A car winds its way through the dark streets of a sleepy residential neighborhood, tucked in for the night at the respectable hour of 10 o'clock. Like in postcards, the skyscrapers and bright lights of the city are visible at a distance, taunting the bedroom community of clock-watchers. On nearby hills, the fog rolls in. Here it's clear and the stars are competing with the skyline for center stage.
After circling around several times, he teases the car into a tight parking spot on the steep incline. She can hardly get out of the car because of the pitch of the hill causes the car door to close on her. He runs around to her side of the car and helps her out. Arm in arm, they trudge up the hill. A half-block away, they hear the faint sounds of an unusual instrument they know is a bandoneon. They quicken their pace. The music has them. Invisible tendrils of wispy arms encircle them and push them upward into the embrace of this delicious sound. They look up at the open windows and see the dancers in the dim light, a media luz. They reach the top of the hill now, and the entire city shines in front of them. They are on top of their world. One last look, and in they go, up the dark and winding stairway. Quick hellos, kisses, and hugs; they hurry to change shoes. Their eyes meet and lock onto each other's. He walks to her. She blends into his arms. They breathe deeply, and whoosh, they are on the dance floor, where they will remain for hours and hours, transported, transformed, renewed. They have lived another day to dance the tango.
We're waiting. Surgery today at 2 PM.
Our heartfelt thanks for all your prayers and good wishes.
Above excerpt is from our book Gotta Tango (by Alberto Paz and Valorie Hart)