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“Joanna was awesome!” Joyelle declared. “What a great first class! She is a born dancer.”
“Thank you,” Sandra managed, feeling shy all of a sudden. Joyelle’s personality was so big and dazzling, it left Sandra a little star-struck.
“Are you a dancer?” Her smile was wide and charismatic.
“Who me? Uh ... no.”
“Never?”
Sandra shook her head.
“I find that hard to believe. She’s such a natural. I figured it was in her genes.”
An image of Joanna’s father trying to “boogie” in the kitchen flashed through Sandra’s mind, and she bit back a smile. If it was in Joanna’s genes, then maybe her mother could dance after all.
“Do you know about our mother daughter special?” Joyelle asked.
Sandra nodded quickly. “Yes, that sounds like a great offer, but I don’t think it’s for me.” She forced a smile. “Two left feet, you know.” Her cheeks got hot. Why was she acting like such a dork? She had no idea.
Joyelle laughed, and it sounded like music. “You wouldn’t be the first student to enter my studio lacking in confidence.” She gave Sandra’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “But I assure you, you are a fantastic dancer. You just don’t know it yet. Let me know if you change your mind.” She smiled down at Joanna. “Great job today, sweetie. Can’t wait to see you next week!”
Joanna smiled. “Thank you,” she said shyly.
The small lobby was filling up with women, and suddenly Sandra felt a little claustrophobic. She grabbed her purse, took Joanna’s small hand, and gently tugged her toward the door. This wasn’t easy, given the horde of women stretching their legs, changing their shoes, and chitchatting. And what a variety of women they were! All shapes, sizes, and styles.
There was the beautiful woman she’d seen on the video, though her face was no longer bejeweled. She looked a bit like a Barbie doll, but her sincere smile made her seem warm and real and not plastic.
Then there was a thoroughly tattooed woman with spiked black hair chatting with a very pregnant woman dressed in what looked like burlap. She was eagerly drinking green juice out of a mason jar. Sandra was certain that the juice didn’t taste good, but the woman made it seem otherwise.
A woman wearing harem pants and a bindi was doing impressive stretches that took up a lot of room, visibly irritating an angry woman in a pantsuit, who was taking her frustration out on someone over a Bluetooth earpiece. Sandra wondered if she was a lawyer and then felt guilty for judging her. And judging lawyers.
Trying to avoid the pantsuit woman, Sandra pushed through the diverse crowd and was glad to reach the sidewalk, where she stopped to dig through her purse for her keys.
Once she’d found them, she unlocked the van and opened her door, which wasn’t easy as someone had tucked a motorcycle between her vehicle and the one beside her. She assumed the bike belonged to the tattooed, spike-haired woman, but then silently scolded herself for such an assumption. It could just as easily belong to the pregnant woman. She almost laughed at the image as she closed the van’s door behind her.
“Look!” Joanna cried, pointing through the windshield.
Sandra looked, and there she was: the tornado. Still wearing the Easter-egg-purple leggings. She now carried a giant bling-bling purse over one shoulder. And in her other hand, she held a large, half-full plastic cup from Starbucks. Sandra deduced that the beverage featured soy milk. The woman ripped open the dance studio door and nearly smashed into the tattooed woman.
“You’re late,” the tattooed woman said.
The tornado swore. “It’s not like you can start without me.”
The tattooed woman rolled her eyes and headed for the motorcycle. Sandra gave her a smile and then put her van in reverse. It was time to get out of Dodge. “Are you buckled up, honey?”
“Yes. You don’t always have to ask me that. I always buckle up. The soy milk lady’s a dancer?” Joanna sounded horrified.
That’s probably a good thing, Sandra thought. She had read that dancing was good for mental health.
“You should dance too, Mom.”
Sandra laughed so suddenly that she snorted. “Why do you say that, honey?”
“I think you’d be good at it.”
“That’s sweet of you. But I have no idea how to dance.”
“You dance in church!” she chirped.
This was not true. She swayed back and forth in church. This wasn’t dancing. “Maybe,” she said, thinking about the tornado woman. She felt bad for Joyelle. She had to teach that woman? Sandra hoped she charged more to teach her than she did to teach Joanna. Did the tornado woman throw things at Joyelle too? She realized Joanna was still talking. “What did you say, honey?”
“I said that when you say maybe, it means no. You think we don’t know that, but we do.”
It was true. Sandra often said no to her children, but sometimes, maybe was easier.
