EXCHANGES
Govinda walks me out of class.
“Akka asked how you were doing.
I said you’re doing so well
we need to start working one-on-one.”
We. Govinda said we.
And he not only thinks of me outside class,
he wants to give me private lessons!
“But—” I hesitate. “It would take up so much of your time.”
“I learn when I teach.
You’d be doing me a favor.”
He looks sincere.
“Or am I not a good enough teacher?”
He sounds hurt.
“You’re an amazing teacher!
The best.”
In the dark pools of Govinda’s eyes
gold flecks shimmer like fish scales. “Is that a yes?”
I stop short,
feeling suddenly shy. “Yes.”
“Akka has a carpeted study
she sometimes lets older students use.
If we met there, we wouldn’t have to worry
about you falling on a hard floor.
I’ll ask her if we can use it
and call to schedule a lesson, okay?”
Govinda actually worries about me hurting myself.
I wish my leg would let me twirl with joy.
“Your parents don’t have a problem with boys calling,
do they?”
“No,” I say, though I don’t actually know.
I’ve never given a boy my number before.
He couldn’t like me.
Could he?
A PARTIAL VICTORY
Alone in akka’s carpeted study with me, Govinda chants aloud,
“Thath thai thaam, dhith thai thaam,”
and I try to lunge,
lurch like a drunkard but manage to hold my ground.
“Almost!” Govinda says.
I stamp my foot in frustration.
“Almost means nothing.
A partial victory is a complete defeat.”
“Are you dancing or fighting a war?”
Govinda gives me one of his rare smiles.
If he’s trying to be funny, he’s failing.
“I’m used to winning over my body.
Now I’m always losing to it.”
My tone wipes the grin off Govinda’s face.
“Dance isn’t about winning or losing,” he says,
“it’s about enjoying how your body moves.”
I kick my right leg out so ferociously I almost lose balance.
“This
isn’t
my
body.”
“We all choreograph to our strengths, Veda.
The audience won’t see
what you don’t show them.”
“I don’t want to be a good
handicapped
dancer.
I want to be a good dancer,” I shout.