Dirty Dancing: A Diana Story

Wipe Out!

Diana:

I met Michael in one the vacant buildings on the staff headquarters early the next morning after breakfast.

I was so nervous about starting that I'd hardly eaten anything and I kept zoning out — a fact that my mother mentioned more than once.

I just smiled, telling her that my appetite wasn't there because of all of the activities I'd been doing at the resort lately, and she seemed to buy it.

After that I ran across campus and met Michael where Tito told me he'd be at 8:30am sharp, and as soon as I got there he didn't waste anytime teaching me the dance routine for De Todo Un Poco; our upbeat Mambo dance.

It was different being alone with Michael rather than around all of the other people we often found ourselves with, and in a way it was much better... as well as more intimidating.

I could still tell he wasn't happy about this, but neither was I, and we'd both made amends with that fact that we were stuck together for the next week.

He jumped right into telling me how to count the steps with the beat of the music, how to stand, and where to look. I was sure it was aggravating for him to have to start from scratch with a newbie, but Tatiana was right; he was good instructor.

He didn't baby me, but he was understanding when I needed a little more help or explanation as to how to do certain things as he gently pulled me into the beginning of the dance.

He was thoughtful but firm in his teachings.

He was patient but detail oriented, and set goals for when and how long he thought was a good time frame for me to get the hang of a move.

He was also understanding, but held very little space for none sense, which I didn't mind because this was his world, I was just trying to make it through the routine. It wasn't like I was paying him to teach me this for my own leisure, and he had to be quicker with his way of training since there was a deadline that dictated whether or not he'd keep his job.

To put it simply, there was a lot of weight riding on this one dance, and I didn't want to disappoint him. I'd made a pact with myself that I'd work harder on this than with any thing I'd ever done before.

I could feel the pressure as soon as we began.

I stood infront of him in an old flannel that I'd stolen from my dad as the music began.

One of my hands rested on his shoulder and he clasped my other in his large hand, both of us facing each other with straight backs and barely any distance between our feet.

His face was expressionless as he looked at me, and I hoped that mine matched his.

"Okay... Let's try this again," He said patiently, standing infront of me in his signature black slacks that were raised just enough to see his white socks, and a dark blue button up with a white shirt underneath.

I noticed that he wore a variation of those clothes alot, but I didn't ask why.

The more I got to know him, the more I realized that he kind of walked to the beat of his own drum... so to speak.

I stepped too soon, accidentally stepping on the tip of his black loafer for the fourth time this morning.

"I'm sorry!" I apologized quickly, jumping back as he shook his foot.

"That's fine." He repeated patiently for the fourth time, letting me go as he walked to the record player.

I was sure that he was getting sick of his foot being stepped on by now, and we'd only been into it for a couple hours. But, he didn't say much on the subject so I thought of that as a positive.