XIV

When I dance, I try purposefully to use the wrong steps. If the music is swing, I try to tango; if the beat signifies a waltz, I attempt to rumba. This involves many sore toes and disgruntled glances on the part of my partner. But from the edges of the dance floor, in that shaded spot where those among us who do not dance gaze longingly upon the fluid forms gliding by, I like to think I bring a moment's reprise for some individual or another: one who, spotting my St. Vitus-like lurching, thinks for a moment that he is not alone.

And yet the spirit of the dance lives on, deified and pure in my mind.