Before leaving, every woman made sure to mark her territory with a giant smooch on David's cheek.  Thank goodness they were gone.  Now that we were alone, David smiled at me.  However, before speaking, he pulled out a tissue and went over to the mirror to wipe the lipstick off.  He readjusted his shirt and made sure his purple waist sash was intact.  Then he reached into his pocket and produced a comb.  After fixing his hair, David stared at himself to make sure he was still pretty. 

Despite my tension, I managed a small grin.  Give it a rest, guy, you're beautiful enough.  David had won my Citizen of the Year award for smiling when I first entered the room.  I was grateful he had chosen to be nice.  He could just as easily have won major points with the Snob Sister Sorority by frowning instead.  This simple act of kindness could not have come at a more important time.   If David had sided with the women, I would have thrown in the towel for sure.  David was my hero for giving me a reason to stick around. 

David's dancing had been impressive.  I had never seen anyone move like he did.  What I wouldn't give to dance like him!  If I could learn to dance like David, I believed I could get rid of this awful Rejection Phobia.  I would let my feet do the talking and the women were sure to respond.  I might add that if I looked like David, I wouldn't even need to dance.  He may be a small, delicate sort of guy, but he was unusually handsome.  His blonde hair and deeply tanned face gave him an exotic pretty boy look.  Considering how preoccupied I was with my sense of ugliness, what I wouldn't give to look like he did.  Well, take that back.  I would definitely lose the purple sash.

David came over and stared up at me in awe.  "Oh my god, look how tall you are!"  Then he remembered his manners.   David stuck out his hand and said, "Welcome to my class.  We haven't met.  I'm David, but everyone calls me Disco Dave.  What is your name?"

Responding with a hand shake, I replied, "My name is Rick.  I want to learn to dance, but obviously I need some help."

David nodded.  "Yes, I saw that you were struggling.  Maybe I can take a look."

I smiled hopefully.  How should I put this?  I had David pegged as my last hope to rescue what seemed to be an ill-fated Dance Project. 

"David, if you can help, that would be great.  I stayed behind in hopes you might be able to help show me what I am doing wrong with that move you call Step Ball-Change.  However, before we start, can I ask you a question?  Who are those women?  They didn't seem very friendly."

"Oh, them?" 

David hesitated and looked over his shoulder.  He went over and peeked out the door just to be sure some of them weren't hanging around outside.  In a conspiratorial whisper, David confided in me. 

"Those women are my Ballroom dance students.  The ladies all know each other from their exclusive country club that holds a private dance event once a month."

"Are you their only teacher?"

"Yes, I think so.  It started with Madelyn.  She referred two of her friends to me, then they turned around and persuaded their friends to come see me as well.  They take private lessons from me every week unless they are out of town.  Sometimes they bring their husbands, sometimes they come alone.  These women typically go to one, sometimes two dance events each month.   The River Oaks Country Club holds periodic galas complete with a live band that plays Ballroom music.  That event is the highlight of the year for these woman.  They insist that their husbands join them.  They wear their most expensive gowns to each event and compete to see who is best dressed, most beautiful, and best dancer.  It is a serious game to these women.  In addition, sometimes they come here for the Dance City monthly party.  They leave their husbands at home because they prefer dancing with me.  I make them look good and I make it fun for them.  I make them laugh and feel like Ginger Rogers.  They love to argue with each other.  They are accustomed to be the best at everything.  They are so competitive they accuse me of making one look better than the other.  One lady even asked if I take bribes."

I laughed.  "Do you take bribes?"

Now David laughed too.  "I haven't so far, but that's only because no one has offered.  I am too poor to have morals."

David did not spell it out, but I got the feeling that deep down he had issues of his own towards these women.  In their own way, they made it clear David was not their equal.  However, Dave was better at disguising his feelings than me.  Maybe that is because his living depended on it.  David paused for a moment to frown, then regained his smile. 

"I am sorry they were rude towards you, but these ladies think this class belongs to them.  In a way, I suppose it does."

"How so?  Why do they think that?"

"One night last month, Dance City had a Ballroom function that several of these ladies attended.  As usual not one husband came along.  Apparently the men were on a hunting trip at a big ranch.  Since these ladies are my students, I sit with them and keep them entertained.  I took turns dancing with the women all night long... Waltz, Tango, Cha-Cha, and so on.  Towards the end of the party, Madelyn told the others about the time I showed her some of my Disco moves.  Immediately the other women demanded to see me dance.  I said not at this party, this was for Ballroom dancing only.  But the whole table ganged up on me and begged me to show off."

"What did you do?

"I looked around and realized it was late and the place had emptied out.  The boss was in his office, so I put on a little show."

David did a couple impromptu dance moves for my benefit.  I got the picture.  Impressive.  Then he continued. 

"They asked for more, so I put on a Disco record and did a Freestyle exhibition for these ladies, advanced moves, not the stuff I teach in class.  When I moved my hips, they went nuts.  They liked my style and they liked the Disco music too.  In fact, they liked it so much they begged me to teach them some of my moves.  I said sure, why not.

So I showed them a couple easy moves and let them copy me.  One lady, Barbara, said this was so much fun, she wished they could have a regular class.  The others agreed, so I said I would check with my supervisor.  It was late, but he never left till the party ended.  My boss said the place was booked solid at night throughout the week, but what about Saturday morning?  So I went back and told them the only available time was Saturday morning.  I figured they would sniff and say forget it, but I was wrong.  Saturday morning was fine with them.  "Can we do it around 10?  That way we can get our hair done before class and go to lunch afterwards."  So that was that.  Today was our third meeting." 

I frowned at the thought that the women were dining together at this very minute.  No doubt Sasquatch was being discussed.  "Thank you, David.  That helps explain a lot.  It was just weird seeing them together and no one else." 

David smiled.  "You're welcome.  By the way, call me Dave.  That's what my friends call me."

"I am glad you explained everything.  Now their behavior makes more sense.  This class was their idea and they expected to keep you to themselves."

David lowered his voice even more.   

"I saw those dirty looks.  I'm sorry about that.  You're right, I think they expected to have this class all to themselves.  But I told them from the start the director insisted we had to open it up to the general public.  You are the first person to join and they didn't handle it very well." 

I appreciated David's candor.  In a sense, David and I had something in common.   Back in the days when Rome ruled the world, these women were the Patricians, the aristocrats.  David and I were Plebeians, the dirt poor working class.  David may be their pet, but he could tell that these women considered him a menial to their whims.  In a way, David straddled two worlds.  When the River Oaks Seven was present, he would cater to their airs and finery.  However, when we were alone, he recognized a kindred spirit.  We were both struggling to find our niche in the world.  I had a feeling he wanted us to be friends.  Fine, I could use a friend.

"It was awkward, but I guess I will survive.  Right now I am more worried about my dancing.  Do you mind if I show you the move that gave me trouble?"

"No, not at all.  Show me where you are getting stuck." 

With David watching, I danced my version of Step Ball-Change. 

David was kind enough to watch my hippo impersonation with a straight face.  He frowned mightily as he tried to figure out what I was doing wrong.  Then his face broke out in a smile.  He knew exactly what the problem was.

"Rick, you are putting your heel down in back.  Keep your heel up!"

Only one problem.  Although I sort of understood his explanation, I could not seem to stop doing it.  David was at a loss.  He could not figure out why I could not grasp his suggestion.  David was an unbelievable dancer, but he wasn't analytical like me.  David was more the 'Simon Says' type of dance teacher.  Sure enough, David began dancing and said, "Just copy me, Rick.  Watch my feet and do what I'm doing." 

Unfortunately, that trick didn't work for me.  I had to have it explained better than that.  Don't ask me why, but I could not seem to imitate his feet properly.  Although he tried mightily, David could not find the words to make me understand what I was doing wrong.  I got frustrated because the same thing had happened with Lynn last Saturday.  What was wrong with me that I could not understand what David or Lynn wanted me to do?  To David's credit, he tried several ways to show me how not to put so much weight on my heel, but none of his suggestions worked.  I still didn't get it.  Try as I might, I kept putting that heel down in back and losing my balance.

Seeing how frustrated I was, David made another suggestion.  "Hey, Rick, let's try something else.  Rather than try 'step ball-change', maybe you could switch to a different kind of triple step."   David demonstrated a move he referred to as 'step together step'.  ... slide three steps to the right and tap, slide three steps to the left and tap.  He repeated it several times. 

Note to Reader.  As I would come to realize down the road, 'step together step' is probably the simplest dance step in the book.  People use it in line dances like the Four Corners all the time.  When I watched David, he made it look easy.  Maybe I could do it too.  I tried as hard as I could, but this didn't work either.  I was too tense.  With David watching carefully, I was so worried about getting it wrong that I deliberately stopped after each step.  And when I stopped, I either forgot to transfer my weight or I couldn't remember which foot was supposed to move next.  It was pathetic.  Was it my right foot or the left foot that had moved last?  Which foot moved next?  Does it move to the right or left?  Confused, I had to start over.  'Step together step'.  What could be easier?  But for the life of me I couldn't get it.  Finally I got so frustrated I could not force myself to continue.  I felt an overwhelming sense of humiliation.  I'm a college graduate, I'm a really good basketball player, but for the life of me I could not seem to bring my feet together and remember which one to move next.  How is this possible?  How can I be so stupid?

One does not need to understand my descriptions of the footwork to get the point.  Just accept that I was really struggling.  I believe the main reason was that I was in shock.  The assault on my shaky self-esteem by the women had overwhelmed me.  Their contempt had wounded my pride so severely that I shut down inside.  To say I was 'tense' does not adequately address how upset I was.  Rigid?  Frozen?  Petrified?  Paralyzed?  Yeah, 'Paralyzed'.  I was so paralyzed with frustration that I refused to move any longer.

To David's credit, he spent 10 long minutes helping me and giving encouragement.  He was nice about it too.  David never once lost patience with me.  I appreciated that he did not make fun of me although I am sure he was astonished at my ineptitude.  Despite my pathetic showing, I was grateful David had tried to help.  With the exception of the Clark family, this was the first real warmth anyone had shown me since I returned from Colorado in defeat two months ago. 

After I gave up, David could see there was no point in continuing.  The funniest look came over his face and I did a double-take.  I had seen that look before, but where?   Baffled by my curious sense of déjà vu, for a second I couldn't place it.  Then I got it.  That was the exact same look of pity Drag Queen Lynn had given me last week when he realized how hopeless I was at dancing.  I swear, it was uncanny how both men gave me the same look.  Then I recalled something else.  Right after that look, Lynn had moved in for a kiss. 

"No way," I thought.  This cannot be happening.  But my instinct was right.  The moment I saw the glint in David's eye, I guessed what was on his mind.  Was this guy out of his mind?  One would think my grotesque appearance would have acted as a natural deterrent, but apparently not.  Sure enough, David started his pitch innocently enough.  He teased me by saying that maybe my giant mountain boots must be the problem.  No argument from me.  Those things weighed a ton.

David put a hand on one of my arms to squeeze a muscle, then looked up.  "I can't believe how tall you are!"

What a keen observation.  Good grief, I towered over him. 

"You're so big!  How tall are you, Rick?"

"A little over six feet."

David paused to appreciate my height a bit longer, then continued. 

"Gosh, I wish I could be tall like you."

Now David lowered his voice to a conspiratorial hush.   "Rick, can I ask you a personal question?" 

Uh oh, here it comes.  I shrugged.  "Sure, Dave.  What do you want to know?"

"Is it true that tall men like you are well-endowed?"

Oh please.  Having just confirmed my hunch, it didn't take much imagination to guess where this was headed.   What was this, 'Pick on Freaks Day' at Dance City?  First the Gay Gauntlet, then the River Oaks Seven, now Disco Dave.  Disheartened, I numbly replied I wouldn't know.  I should have been outraged, but I was too beaten down to put David in his place.  I wasn't so much angry at David as I was depressed.  Why was this happening?   My arms were crossed and I wasn't smiling, but perhaps David did not understand body language.  Actually, I think he understood it just fine, but didn't care.  Ignoring my signals, David pounced.  After another crack about my colossal body proportions, he went in for the kill. 

"You know what, Rick, I have an idea.  I think with just a little more help, you could get the hang of this Freestyle dancing.  But we can't stay here at the studio because someone needs this room in a couple minutes for a private lesson.  Why don't you come over to my apartment?  I live over in the Montrose area which isn't too far from here."

David had his pitch down pat.  Staring at him impassively, I feared a repeat of last week's debacle with Lynn.  Was I ready to trade a blow job for a dance lesson?  I was desperate, but not that desperate.  So I said nothing.  Undeterred by my silence, David continued. 

"I like you, Rick.  I like the fact that you didn't let those women run you off.  They can be very pushy, so I enjoyed watching you stand your ground.  I would really like to help you fix your dancing, so I'll tell you what.  Let me fix some lunch and we can get to know each other better.  Then I will help you with your dancing.  What do you think?"

What did I think?  I thought this was a very bad idea.  Yes, no doubt fixing lunch was a courtesy David extended to all his students.   Hey, let's have a tea party.  Drag Queen Lynn lived nearby.  Maybe we could invite him too, have a three-way.  Perhaps Yolanda could join us too and play Alice.  I could be the Mad Hatter.  David could be the Cheshire Cat.  Would the River Oaks Seven be joining us?  No doubt one of the regal women would recommend cutting my head off.

As I stared at David, I was struck by the surrealistic quality of the moment.  This was one of those moments when 'Weird' is an understatement.  At a moment in my life when I was hanging on to sanity by the slimmest of margins, David had pretended to be my friend as a way to set me up for seduction.  He had to know I was not gay, so why would he do this? 

The irony was incredible.  David had his seduction lines down so pat I had to assume he had done this before.  I winced as David recited the Mistress Book playbook... soften me up with dance, offer to cook a meal, invite me to the lair, a little wine and dine, go in for the kill.

Does everybody know these tricks but me??  I was probably the only idiot on the planet who had to buy a book to figure out how it's done.  However, there was one problem with David's approach... I wasn't the least bit turned on.  David wasn't going to get lucky, at least not with me.  It's tough to light a fire when the wood is soaking wet.  Just the thought of undoing his purple sash made me want to vomit.  I really wished David had not done this.  However, it was too late now, the damage was done.  This was the final blow, the final insult, the Kill Shot.  There was no coming back from this.  This had been the Dance Class from Hell, the worst nightmare imaginable. 

Without another word, I turned my back and raced for the door.  No, I did not walk, I ran in panic.  I continued running till I reached the front door.  Then I ran to my car.  Except that I could not find it.  The parking lot had filled up.  As I stumbled around trying to locate my car, I was met by a blast of summer Texas Heat.  I was reeling in confusion.  I was sinking fast with no net to catch me.  My biggest fear was that I had finally reached the Point of No Return.  Assaulted at every level of my being, the Abyss was calling. 

Houston is legendary for extreme heat and humidity.  Upon the leaving the dance studio, the parking lot was so hot, I felt like I had entered Hell.  Given the turmoil I faced today, perhaps I had.  The pavement was baked to a crisp by the searing temperature while shimmering heat waves bounced off car roofs in every direction. 

I was in a state of panic as I looked for my car in the blistering 102 degree inferno.  Feeling dizzy and out of control, I was badly disoriented from lingering shock and sun-baked Texas heat.  Where was my car?  Apparently the number of cars had doubled in the past hour and a half.  The world was spinning as I looked in vain among hundreds of cars.  Due to the distraught condition I was in, I came very close to passing out.

When I finally reached my little VW Beetle, I swung open the door and collapsed.  It was even warmer inside the car.  However, I was so numb I barely noticed the 110 degree inferno frying me to death.  I was too weak to leave, so I just sat there feeling helpless despite the Death Valley-level temperature.  I laid my head on the steering wheel and sat there feeling pitiful.  When I finally realized the car was hotter than a furnace, I turned on the engine and ran the AC.  Unfortunately, I was so low on gas I had no choice but turn the car off and conserve what little fuel I had left.

Wearing a flannel shirt with the ruthless sun beating down, I was drenched in sweat.  I left the door open, but that did little good since there was no breeze.  Soon I had no choice but to take my sweat-soaked shirt off.  That didn't help either.  Shirtless and sweating profusely, I felt like a lobster boiled alive.  Even worse, I was trapped in this oven.  Due to my weakened condition, I had no choice but to sit there until I calmed down.

Every five minutes or so, I would briefly turn the AC back on.  Despite my crisis, I noticed with a grim smile that my car started each time without a problem.  Considering it was my stalled car last Saturday that got me into this mess in the first place, I took note of the irony.

Today's dance class had been one of the worst experiences of my entire life.  I had been attacked on far too many levels to walk away from this experience unscathed.  Trying to make sense of the morning, I clung to the steering wheel like a life preserver.  Trembling and exhausted, I felt like someone who has just survived a close-call car collision.  My grotesque appearance, my clumsy dancing, and my renewed sense of inferiority haunted me no end.  However, the worst part came when David destroyed my faith in mankind. 

As I tried to get a handle on what had taken place this morning, David was first and foremost.  What he had done bothered me more than the River Oaks Seven.  I was used to women like that.  Not so with David.  He caught me with my guard down.  I needed a friend so badly I latched onto him like a drowning man.  I could not believe he had the nerve to take advantage of me.  I was mystified by his predatory treatment.  Why would David run roughshod over every rule of decency?  He had to know I was a long shot at best.  But David was so callous, he didn't care if his actions upset me.  No doubt he could tell I was down on my luck, so why not finish me off?

What gave David the impression I might be interested?  With my long, stringy, unwashed hair, did I look gay?  No.  With these ragged clothes and giant boots, did I dress gay?  No.  Did I dance gay?  Uh, no.  Had I leered at him invitingly?  No.  Had I licked my lips to indicate arousal?  No.  Had I made sexual innuendos?  No.  Had I flirted in any way?  No.  Did I touch him in a suggestive way?  No.  Was I 'asking for it' with excited laughter and obvious signals of desire?  No No No! 

So what in hell ever gave David the stupid idea that I was interested? 

This was the same predatory behavior I had seen in college.  Hit on everything that walks and see who says yes.  I knew what David was thinking.  He could see I was a lonely guy down on his luck.  Maybe I was so desperate to learn to dance that David could trick me into visiting his apartment.  Drop a couple Quaaludes in a soft drink and see what happens.  I could not believe his cruelty.  If ever there was a human reeling from problems, it was me.  No doubt despair was written all over my face.  David knew the odds were remote, but he also knew that lonely people make poor decisions.  Why not take a shot?  Dave had sized me up perfectly.  Get me alone and soften me up with booze or drugs.  If I had one gay bone in my body, I could be his afternoon road kill. 

They say it never hurts to ask.  I disagree.  It hurt a lot to be asked.  I had thought David was going to be my friend, but now I realized the whole thing was an act.  David was just trying to get laid.  As a result, his proposition removed all remaining spirit.  There was no fight left.  Only by the grace of God there were no nearby cliffs or I would have been sorely tempted.  On the other hand, I could stay in the car and let the Inferno do its trick.  This could be my funeral pyre.  Given my darkness, a tempting thought.  Burn, baby, burn.

The heat made it hard to breathe, so I concentrated on taking deeper breaths for a moment.  I was in so much pain.  This was hardly the time for taking risks.  I had been kicked out of graduate school.  I had been badly deceived by my former girlfriend.  I had been humiliated by a Mexican girl who liked to play games.  I was fighting a mental illness that had turned me into a quivering coward.  With my back against the wall, I had taken a giant risk to appear today.  And what did I have to show for using my last ounce of courage?  NOTHING BUT MISERY!  To top it off, a man who pretended to be my friend had tried to trick me.  Now what?  Where do I go from here?  How many eons will it take to recover from my latest failure? 

So far I had been able to withstand the heat, but now it became intolerable.  Maybe I should go.  Drenched with sweat, I was very close to returning home.  However, I did not want to leave until I got David out of my system.  I briefly turned the AC back on to buy more time.  Trembling from a bad case of nerves, I kept asking why David would behave like that.  David's sucker punch had hit like a ton of bricks.  What was wrong with him?  I had let down my guard because he had been so friendly.  What was his problem?  David was a good-looking guy and a fabulous dancer.  He could have his pick of lovers, so what did he need me for?  Another conquest, another notch on his belt.  Jim Deane was author of The Mistress Book.  On cue, Deane's favorite tough guy mantra popped into my head.  "Find them, fool them, fuck them and forget them."  I had thought that line was amusing when I read it.  However, now that I was the prey and not the predator, that line lost its humor.  I suppose there was a legion of women quite familiar with Deane's sick macho attitude.  No doubt they would say, "Hey, Rick, tough break today, but join the club.  Men do the same shitty things to us all the time."

David saw a wounded bird and took aim.  What did he have to lose?  I shook my head in disgust.  There are times when the insensitivity of man towards his fellow man never ceases to amaze me.  David's uncaring behavior was akin to offering food to a starving dog, then kicking the helpless animal once it came close.  What kind of human being kicks a hungry, defenseless dog? 

Recently I had considered using force on Yolanda to get my way.  Alone in my apartment, the woman would have been helpless to prevent my attack.  Was taking advantage of Yolanda really any different than what David had done to me today?  Now that I could see first-hand how painful it felt to be treated like dog meat, I was glad I had followed my better instinct.  Nice guys probably do finish last, but at least I had a clear conscience.  Just then the Christian message 'Do unto others' crossed my mind.  That thought was followed by the story of the Good Samaritan.  'Help your fellow man.'  Here is what David should have said.  "Gosh, Rick, you really struggled today, but don't quit.  I want you to come back next week and try again.  I am sure you will do better." 

To my surprise, I laughed.  It struck me as funny that I had been handed a Christian insight in Hell.  Uh oh, there goes my new tough guy identity.  I snorted in disgust.  Who was I fooling?  Deep down I did not want to be a tough guy.  However, it wasn't easy being decent.  Every day was a struggle to remind myself that although some women are evil, most women are good.  If I followed the mean-spirited advice of the Mistress Book, I risked going down a path that would leave me even more cold-hearted and cynical than I already was. 

This overheated parking lot was the last place I expected to rediscover my sense of kindness.  With that thought, I smiled.  That revelation helped cheer me up.  I had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown when I got in the car.  Now I had just laughed.  Amazing.  The laughter plus my indignation marked the first step on a tentative recovery from the Point of No Return. 

CHIP ON MY SHOULDER

The scorn of the River Oaks women had made me feel ugly and inferior.  A shocking glance in the mirror had reinforced those feelings tenfold.  Although I cherished my St. John's education, there had been a down side.  I had spent nine years feeling socially inferior to my classmates and their mothers.  Fortunately, once I reached college, this wound had mercifully gone into hiding.  I had thought I was rid of this demon for good, but I was wrong.  The moment I saw the familiar haughtiness, my sense of inferiority returned as if it were yesterday.  I despised those women for digging my long-buried resentment out of its grave.  I was the high school outcast all over again.

The only reason I survived high school was the giant chip on my shoulder.  For a moment today, I had noticed my age-old feeling of Defiance come out of retirement.  Welcome back, old friend.  Unfortunately, it only stayed long enough to keep me from leaving the room, then disappeared.  Why was my defiance in such short supply?  Most of my fight had been beaten out of me by Fujimoto's constant criticism.  Vanessa did the rest.  Look at me now, I was borderline mentally ill.  I had a condition known as 'acute social anxiety disorder'.  Fear of rejection, constant worry, anxiety, avoidance of taking action to solve my problem.  I don't say this to garner sympathy, but rather to make the point that I was a very disturbed young man.  Was it possible for a mentally ill person to cure something this serious on his own?  I definitely had my doubts.  Once you're down, it's tough to get up under your own power.

More than anything, I suffered from severe loneliness.  The fastest solution would be to make friends with a girl, but I was so sure I would be rejected that I reached the point where I no longer gave myself the chance.  Feeling defeated, I was unable to leave my apartment at night except to play basketball.  How would I ever win a fight if I could not even get in the ring?  That was the whole point of these dance lessons.  They were supposed to bolster my confidence and help me begin to approach women again. 

Here I am, a young man fighting a fear of rejection in the only way he can think of... dance class... and guess who shows up?  Seven beautiful women who spend the entire hour rejecting me.  I had tried to keep my guard up, but the River Oaks Seven ripped it to shreds.  They made me feel inferior by laughing at my clumsiness and sneering at my hillbilly appearance.  Maybe they had been laughing at my pock-marked face as well. 

"How sad.  Poor Sasquatch could not find a decent dermatologist in the forest." 

That thought made me cringe.  Every imagined slight, every contemptuous laugh sent another dagger through my heart.  I had a terrible fantasy.  What if I asked a pretty girl to dance?  Would she take one look at my scars and laugh at my desperate attempt to gain her favor?  Or would she wait to see me dance and then laugh??  The memory of Connie Kill Shot reappeared.  My fear was that all women would respond to me with similar disgust.  The memory of Connie's scorn lived at the very core of my Phobia. 

Now that the River Oaks Seven had effortlessly triggered my worst demons, I hated them with a passion.  No matter how much the sun superheated my car, the nasty grins on their faces made me burn worse.  I felt so beaten, I could not imagine finding the courage to face them again.  Or David for that matter. 

This dance project was over.  I quit.  The thought of never seeing these women again made me very happy.  Good riddance. 

ABANDONMENT

The heat was unbearable and I wanted to leave.  However, before I left, I seemed to require closure on the events of the morning.  In particular I wanted to consider the implications of my mediocre dancing.  A quick burst of AC gave me a brief respite.  Ultimately, my poor dancing was the most important issue.  I had just received final confirmation that I was never meant to be a dancer.  But for some nagging reason, a part of me did not want to give up.  Disturbed by the possibility that quitting was a mistake, I was determined to examine my doubt before I left.  Why had I struggled so badly?  Dancing came naturally to a lot of people.  Many of my classmates back in high school were good dancers, especially the girls.  So why not me?  Why did I have to struggle?  I had no answer for that. 

I was a good athlete.  Assuming I had better than average control over my body, one would assume I could learn to dance as easily as the next guy.  Instead I stumbled badly.  If my high school classmates and these nasty socialite women could pull it off, why couldn't I?  What was their secret?  Superior breeding?  A wave of self-contempt hit me hard.  I was poor.  I was ugly.  I was friendless.  Fujimoto had made it clear my personality was in great need of repair.  I was so unattractive I could not even compete with Yolanda's obese boyfriend.  Now I had just confirmed I was spastic as well.  Gee, what else could I fail at?  I was the Creepy Loser Kid, a total failure.

How could I have been so wrong?  According to Jim Deane, learning to dance was supposed to require little more than 'a modest effort'.  Modest effort?  After today's events, learning to dance seemed insurmountable.  Climbing Mt. Everest might be easier.  Prior to today's class, my optimistic fantasy had suggested a far better outcome.  Pick up a few useful dance steps, then depart with a big smile over this exciting new Dance Project.  So much for that daydream. 

Given how low my courage was to begin with, I had taken a huge gamble coming to class today.  In a sense, it was like going 'all in', a popular Poker phrase.  I knew I was taking a risk, but I never expected things to backfire so badly.  To my surprise, I noticed a flicker of interest remained.  In my heart, for a brief moment I felt that this dancing idea might still be the answer I was looking for.  However, before I considered another try, there something about today that was not right.  There is 'failure' and then there is 'FAILURE'.  Under ordinary circumstances, one would not expect a Saturday morning dance class to turn into a Life Crisis. 

It was like the cards had been deliberately stacked against me. 

I did not understand what was going on.  I had felt Supernaturally Guided to take this class by the presence of Vanessa's name and the ensuing Twilight Zone events.  Silly me, I had interpreted these signs as a message from God that Dance Lessons might be a way to lick this horrible Phobia.  Feeling I had received a recommendation from a trusted friend, I took God's advice.  I snorted with disgust.  Look at me now.  Trapped in this blazing heat, I was too pathetic to even drive home. 

Unless I was missing something, it felt to me like God had deliberately set me up for failure.  Why would God set me up for failure?  That made no sense!  It also hurt.  Isn't God supposed to help those who help themselves?  Here in the midst of my Epic Losing Streak, I had never felt so abandoned.  Seriously, has God forgotten about my dismissal from Graduate School?  Has God forgotten about the Curse of Vanessa?  I understood that life has its ups and downs, but wasn't it my turn to catch a break??  Why did I have to be thrown out of graduate school?  Look how hard I tried!  Vanessa said she loved me, so why did she ditch me?  Why can't I get rid of this Phobia?  Why can't I learn to dance like normal people?  Would it be so terrible to find I had a secret talent for dance?

With just a bit of talent, I might have found the courage to go dancing, meet some girls and hopefully solve my aching loneliness.  But no, that was not going to happen.  The hardest part was feeling that God had deliberately sabotaged today's event.  I had been so convinced I was doing what God wanted me to do only to see my hopes smashed to oblivion.  I was crushed to see my single wistful, wishful ray of hope ripped away in the cruelest way possible.  With my frustration at a fever pitch, I was so upset I could no longer handle the disappointment.  

In that instant I lost my temper.  Bitter and overwhelmed by futility, I screamed out loud, "Damn it!  Why does everything always have to be so hard for me?  God, is it asking too much to catch a break here?"

What did I just do?!?  I was ashamed of myself.  I could not believe I had complained to God.  This was a first.  Back when I got caught cheating on the German test, I had not spoken out.  Nor did I complain to God when I got thrown out of graduate school.  I felt responsible for my mistakes, so why blame God?  But I was complaining now.  My failure today was not fair.  I was convinced God Himself had sent me here knowing full well I did not possess the ability to succeed.  I also blamed God for planting those miserable women in the room to intimidate me.  And just in case I had any thoughts about continuing the class, I blamed God for giving David the dumb idea to kick any remaining hope out of me.  Today was God's fault.  I was sure of it and I was angry.  But mostly I was disappointed.  I had really hoped this would work. 

Feeling abandoned by God, my will to fight was gone.  I tried as hard as I could to lick this Curse and look where it got me.  Nowhere.  For the past year, nothing had gone right and I couldn't take it anymore.  This Dance Class from Hell was the last straw.  My self-pity was so overwhelming that I broke down.  Right there in my car I began sobbing like a forlorn banshee in the storm.  I cried and cried.  At least ten minutes, probably longer.  All that pent-up frustration poured out in torrents like water bursting through a busted dam.  I have never felt more defeated in my life.

I realize how silly it must sound for a grown man to become a giant crybaby over a dance class failure.  But that is exactly what happened.  Here in the car I discovered this dance idea held far more power over my imagination than previously thought.  Now that I had failed AGAIN at something that was very important to me, the tears would not stop.

That thud was the sound of me hitting the valley below.  My life had just hit Rock Bottom.  I had thought hitting Rock Bottom in Colorado was as low as I possibly could go, but there is never any guarantee that Rock Bottom is Rock Bottom.  My life had just reached a startling new low.  Making matters worse, the light at the end of my tunnel had flickered out.  I knew it had been a long shot, but I was very sorry to see this dance idea go kaput.

AWAKENING

When the tears finally ceased, I was soaking wet.  A thunder shower could not have drenched me more thoroughly.  Good grief, even my blue jeans were soaking wet.  The car was a sauna filled with humid steam from my overheated blood, sweat and tears.  Since I had just hit Rock Bottom one might assume I had nowhere to go but up.  I disagree.  During the time I spent at Child Welfare, I had met quite a few people who got knocked down and never got back up again.  Once they reached the Point of No Return, they decided it was hopeless.  Why bother trying again?  Fortunately, my tears were a godsend.  I was a tough, humorless kid who didn't cry very often in those days, but I sure needed those tears today.  In a very peculiar way, I felt cleansed of my despair.  Maybe things were not so hopeless after all.  Feeling stronger, I asked myself where to go from here.  I was surprised at the answer.

Deep down, despite all my reservations, I had convinced myself that Dancing was my best path to beat this Curse. 

Wow.  I did not expect that.  I turned the engine back on to get some life-saving cool air, then smiled.  With a big sigh, I was finally able to release my death grip on the steering wheel.  I sat back in my seat and took a long breath.  Those tears had really helped.  Grateful to see myself regain a semblance of self-control, I began to think with a clear mind.  To heck with this miserable heat.  I wasn't leaving until I hammered this out.  I was surprised, maybe even shocked, at the next thought to cross my mind. 

Not only did I still want to learn to dance, I was willing to come back next week to the Dance Class from Hell. 

I was incredulous.  Was I out of my mind?  Why try again when I had no natural ability!?!?  I immediately tried to talk myself out of it.

Jim Deane had written Learning to Dance required at most a modest effort.  What a crock of shit.  I had known all along that I was a miserable dancer.  However I had chosen to ignore my better judgment and try anyway.  In my wildest dreams, I was going to take one dance class and go to some club.  Once the women saw how good I was at dancing, they would line up to be my next partner.  So much for this pie in the sky nonsense.  The events of the day made success seem inconceivable. 

I was crushed to accept this Dance Project had been doomed from the start.  However, an unexpected ray of optimism had just contradicted my sense of hopelessness.  Instantly a fierce debate began as the Quit side argued mightily with the Continue side.  When the desire to Continue refused to go away, I sat up in my seat and paid better attention to the debate forming in my mind.  I didn't care about the heat.  Something very important was taking place.  To my surprise, the Continue side was winning.  

I asked myself why I was considering further lessons.  One part of me was ready to quit.  But another part of me insisted it wasn't hopeless.  The answer was clear.  'Dancing' had mysteriously emerged as my preferred solution to the endless search for a girlfriend.  Don't ask me how, but a subtle shift in consciousness had me convinced that Dancing was my Best Path back to women.  Dancing could cure my Phobia, I was sure of it.  All I needed was an easy way to break the ice with a girl I did not know.  "Would you like to dance?" was sure to work.  That fantasy held great power in my mind. 

My Intuition promised me that learning to dance would eventually cure my Phobia.  They say that Intuition is the Voice of God.  I don't know if that is true, but I will say I was very surprised to see that my Intuition was unshakeable even after everything I had been through today.  Not only that, my Intuition told me I should return to David's class.  I was not afraid to face David again, but what about those horrible women?  That is when an ancient memory emerged.  I never let women like the River Oaks Seven run me off back at St. John's.  It was true.  I had faced intermittent snobbery and disdain for nine years and never let it stop me.  So why let it stop me now?  Yes, I was lost at the moment and nothing was going right.  That said, crazy as it sounds, the memory of my St. John's defiance rallied me.  I felt like a fog was starting to clear, like I was waking up from a deep sleep.

I had not always been such a loser. 

In fact, I had tasted considerable success until I hit Colorado State.  I was a born competitor.  Competing against the smartest kids at the toughest school in Houston, I finished very close to the top of my class.  I had a earned a full scholarship to St. John's and graduated with honors.  I had earned a full scholarship to Johns Hopkins and graduated with honors.  For that matter, I had earned a full scholarship to Colorado State.  And, if someone was willing to ignore Fujimoto's hatchet-job 'D', I made the second highest grades in the program.

Why I had I lost sight of this?  

Right now I was puny and weak.  Here in my Darkest Day, I was so full of defeat that everything seemed insurmountable.  But it didn't have to be that way.  In a flash, an unexpected surge of confidence rippled through me.  I had conquered handicaps before.  I had overcome my blind eye and I had come back from my crippling acne attack.  Due to my parents' neglect, I had practically raised myself.  I helped pay my way to college by working a job after school for three years.  Whatever happened to my aggressive side?   

My time at St. John's and Johns Hopkins had taught me I had the ability to accomplish whatever was important to me. 

So I got pushed around at Colorado State.  Boo hoo.  Sure I had a tough run of bad luck, but I was still in the game.  For crying out loud, what was my problem?  Back when I was a kid, I taught myself to play chess on my own.  I taught myself to play basketball on my own.  Now I was very good at both skills.  I knew I had the ability to be the hardest worker on the planet when I set my mind to it.  So maybe it would take longer than most people to learn to dance, but I was only 24 years old.  I had my entire life ahead of me!  Time was on my side.  I would get there eventually.  If I wanted to learn to dance, then go ahead and do it!  With that thought, it was settled.  I had the ability to accomplish whatever was important to me.   And right now, Learning to Dance was important. 

However, there was one catch.  Since the Mistress Book had said it was imperative to hone my skill to the point of excellence, this would not happen overnight.  On impulse, no matter how long it took, I promised myself I would stick with dance lessons until I was excellent.  It might take a long time, but so what?  I had no bills, no dependents, no one to answer to.  Besides, I could still look for a girlfriend in the meantime.  If this Dance Project is what I wanted to do, there was nothing to stop me.  Not even the River Oaks Seven.  Not even my inappropriate dance instructor.  A smile crossed my face.  I had just awakened from a long nightmare.  I was thrilled to remember who I really was. 

Just then I noticed how drenched I was.  To be honest, I had not really been paying attention, but now I noticed I was burning up.  I had been well aware of the heat all morning long, but had chosen to withstand it.  These thoughts had been so important I refused to leave until I reached closure.  Now I felt so much better.  I laughed at a funny thought.  Was this a Baptism or a Test of Fire? 

I gasped.  For the first time, I had the strangest feeling the events of today had been a spiritual test.  My decision to commit to this Dance Project felt so much like a sacred vow I had a truly scary thought.  I believed God had challenged my Faith with these bizarre obstacles.  There were no guarantees that this strange, very goofy Dance Project had any real purpose to it.  Nevertheless, I had chosen to follow my Intuition which insisted that I try again no matter what.  Not only that, I had even raised the bar to a ridiculous new height.  Based strictly on a hunch, I had promised to continue until I was 'Excellent'. 

The insane heat I had endured during my long meditation carried powerful symbolism.  My crippling negativity had burned to death in the fire.  And, like the Phoenix, from the ashes I was reborn.  This was a crazy moment, so crazy in fact that I decided to make it official. 

I was going to learn to dance... so help me God.

This was my Leap of Faith.