Waltz of Her Life

She assumed she would learn to dance at a dance studio. She'd only set foot inside a ballet dance studio, when she was seven and her mother felt some lessons would help her gain grace and poise. Instead, all she remembered was jumping around the stage in a frog costume. Her only other knowledge about dance studios came from television. Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble stole away to a dance studio to learn some steps to impress Wilma and Betty. Herman Munster signed a long contract with a dance studio including a lucrative insurance policy that made the dance studio the beneficiary. She knew the lessons would be expensive. But she could pay as she went along, couldn't she?

On Sunday nights she ritually dressed in her pajamas and watched Sixty Minutes on television, reading the Sunday paper at the same time. Though Linda liked to skim over all the current events and check the coupon pages for upcoming bargains, her favorite section was called "Your Life." It contained all the movie listings and reviews along with human- interest stories and exposes. The horoscopes were in there, too, and even though Linda didn't believe in that, she still found them entertaining.

At the bottom of one of the back pages, where the horoscopes would normally be, an ad jumped out at her. "Learn to Dance!" The finer print of the ad told of The Next Step dance studio at the "convenient downtown location." They offered an introductory program for nineteen dollars and ninety-five cents.

When Linda called the next day, during her break at work, a chirpy young woman's voice answered the phone. "I've always wanted to dance," Linda told her. "And I've seen your ad in the Sunday paper, so I would like to take the introductory program."

"That's great!" the receptionist said, working out a convenient time for her (Linda chose Wednesday early evening, her next day off). When she gave directions, Linda realized she could walk there, over the wooden steps and the fenced concrete walkway skirting above the interstate.

Wednesday when the sun hung low in the sky, Linda put on one of the A-line floral dresses she owned and her hard soled Mary Jane flats. There was a chilly drizzle, which made her worry about her hair fluffing out. She wore more makeup than usual and secretly hoped that "The Next Step" would be situated in a glorious, marble pillared building like the one in her dream. When she arrived at the address, though, she saw a four story, drab brick building with the fading paint of a 1920's era cigar advertisement plastered along one blank side. Maybe it would be nicer inside, she supposed.