October 1976, the lost years, Age 26 the line dance daydream

I liked Rosalyn Lively, 34, the JCC line dance teacher.  However, her line dance class was not much of a challenge.  I did not blame Rosalyn.  She taught at the correct speed for her Beginning-level students.  My problem was that I already knew this material.  Thanks to four months of line classes with Becky at this same time last year, I had learned every line dance under the sun.  I dealt with my boredom with a curious daydream.  Recalling how much fun I had taking over Roberta's line dance class back in January, I recalled my idle ambition to perhaps teach a line dance class of my own someday.  This thought made me happy.  By all rights, I should have been in a bad mood.  I was still drifting through life.  The Epic Losing Streak was intact and for two years I had failed to lift a finger regarding the all-important career issue.  Nevertheless I was oddly cheerful.  For the first time in ages I had a goal in mind - I wanted to teach a line dance class.  How silly was that?  Seriously, any objective observer would tell me to go back to school and develop the skills necessary to program computers or teach a high school history class.  Not me.  I was perfectly content to go through the motions at my dead-end job and daydream about teaching line dance.  Meanwhile I continued to use basketball and Gloria as substitute for an actual girlfriend. 

So what made me decide to take Rosalyn's class?  Shortly before I began the JCC line dance class, I had taken Patsy Swayze to coffee to ask if there was any chance I might join her dance company.  That was the day Patsy dashed my fondest hopes.  She did it with extreme tact of course, but firmly.  Once Patsy closed the door, my focus switched to the line dance daydream.  My prolonged series of dance lessons had played a major role during my Lost Years.  Back when I started, my dancing ability was so abysmal I wanted to quit.  However, the mysterious presence of the River Oaks Seven had given rise to the strange idea that 'Dancing' was important and that I should stick with it.  I could scarcely believe it, but these two years of non-stop practice had turned me into a pretty good dancer.  Not great, mind you, but good.  Only one problem.  What did I have to show for this awesome accomplishment?  Not a darn thing.  Two years.  No girlfriend.  No career plans.  Still screwed up and going nowhere.  But at least I finally had a goal.  I wanted to teach a line dance class.  How's that for shooting for the stars?  Think big!

Once in a while common sense poked its unwelcome nose into my daydreams.  Well aware I would never set the world on fire with my dancing, I was vaguely concerned over my folly.  Truth be told, my dance lessons were not hurting anybody.  After all, I did have a job.  I paid my bills and didn't cause trouble.  The problem was that I wasn't going anywhere.  There was no direction, no urgency, no desire to plan for my future.  Looking back on this period of my life, I am totally ashamed of myself for not lifting a finger regarding my next career.  When I say these were my Lost Years, this is an accurate description.

At the moment my only ambition seemed to be this goofy line dance dream.  For the life of me, I could not understood why was this was so important.  I noted with a keen sense of irony that so far these dance lessons had been a complete waste of time.  Where was that girlfriend my Dance Project was supposed to deliver?  The absence of Miss Direction felt like a broken promise.  Once upon a time my intuition had told me that 'Dancing' was a Path I needed to follow.  Some say Intuition is the Voice of God.  Others say Intuition is the Voice of the Soul. 

Maybe so.  But what if I was sadly mistaken?  It was not like some angel had revealed herself in the night to remind me to hang in there.  I will admit to having doubt.  My Leap of Faith could very well turn out to be misguided folly.  My secret worry was that my so-called Intuition might actually be the delusion of a crippled mind.  Witness the sadly mistaken fools on the hill who escape from reality by waiting for the world to end.  These nitwits would say they had followed their intuition.  Was I really any different than these dreamers?

So what exactly was I accomplishing with this silly project?  Nothing.  On the other hand, taking Rosalyn's line dance class and Patsy's jazz dance cheered me up.  Basically I had grown fond of dancing, so it was a hobby at this point.  Dancing was the only thing other than sports I was any good at.  Despite my doubts, I continued these lessons because learning to dance had become part of my life. 

Here is another curious feature.  Although I was a fairly good dancer, it never crossed my mind to ask a girl to go dancing.  I had not been to a dance club since Katie over a year ago.  Nothing in my life made much sense.  I had embarked on a Dance Project specifically to allow me to go to a dance club and use my skill to attract women when I asked them to dance.  I had reached that goal long ago, so why not put it to good use?  Beats the heck out of me.  The memory of Katie was certainly one reason.  Losing Katie took all the fun out of using dance to chase girls.  Besides that, I no longer had trouble meeting women.  I met them at work.  I met them at self-improvement seminars.  I met them at Rice University.  Meeting girls was no longer the problem.  Keeping them was the new problem.  Although women came and went through a revolving door, believe it or not, Gaye was determined to tame the savage beast and turn me into a decent human being.  It was a monumental task.  I still walked away from any woman if she was too attractive, got too close or got under my skin.  The way I saw it, a woman could not hurt me if I pushed her away first. 

One day Gaye asked a question.  "Are you sensitive about your blind eye?" 

Gaye knew from the Godzilla volleyball story that I was blind in my left eye.  I replied that it did not bother me.

"In that case, can I tell an inappropriate joke?"

I laughed.  "Of course you can."
 

"A Civil War soldier named Pete is wounded in action and loses an eye.  As a temporary solution, the surgeon finds a whiskey bottle and whittles the cork down to the right size.  He fills the soldier's empty eye socket with this wooden plug.  Feeling disfigured, Pete begs the man to cover the cork with a bandage.  However the surgeon says no, adding that the wound will heal faster this way.  Pete is told to keep the socket and the cork clean and wait ten days.  After that he can wear a patch if he wishes. 

Walking around with this bulging wood eye, Pete feels ugly and deformed.  Noticing people stare at him in horror as he passes by, Pete assumes his appearance repulses them.  Half blind, in great pain from his slow-to-heal wound, and feeling like a monster, Pete hates the world.  It is no surprise that Pete develops a huge chip on his shoulder.

A week has passed since the surgery.  Pete is lonely, so one night he takes a long walk.  In the darkness, he hears music from afar.  Curious, he discovers a barn dance.  People are having fun dancing to music.  Pete likes music and he likes to dance, so why didn't anyone tell him about this event?   Understandably bitter at being excluded, Pete suddenly realizes why no one has bothered to say a word.  Because Pete is so damn ugly!  What girl is going to dance with him once she sees that hideous cork? 

Dejected, Pete hangs around to listen to the music.  Just then Pete spots a rather plain girl over in the corner all by herself.  Since no one is paying a bit of attention to her, Pete thinks he and the girl have that in common.  When Pete notices the shy girl tapping her foot to the fiddle music, he decides to ask her to dance.  However, he is in no mood for rejection.  If she embarrasses him, he intends to slap her silly.

Unbeknownst to Pete, this girl is lonely just like he is.  Very lonely.  She wants to dance just as badly as Pete does. 

So Pete walks over.  With a scowl, he mutters, "Wanna dance, lady?"

Excitedly she replies, "Would I!  Would I!"

Pete knocks her out."

Wood eye, wood eye.  I smiled politely as Gaye chuckled over her joke but inwardly I winced.  I definitely got the point.  It reminded me of those painful days when I went to high school with my face covered with acne.  The soldier's overreaction was similar to my own acute sensitivity towards any slight.  The memory of Connie Kill Shot laughing at me at the college mixer had infuriated me to the point of wanting to strike her.  What was Connie laughing at, my scars or my dancing?  Probably both.  When Gaye recovered from her mirth, I spoke up. 

"Can I assume there is a message here?"

"Oh, Rick, you're just as bad as Pete.  You have a chip on your shoulder towards women a mile wide.  I can see where the bitterness came from, but you don't need that anger anymore.  The acne is gone, Rick.  You are a good-looking young man.  Women don't care about your so-called rugged face nearly as much as you think they do.  What they want is for you to not be so bitter and sarcastic.  If you could be nice to women instead of being touchy and moody all the time, I think you would discover most women aren't so bad after all."

Gee, where I have heard this before?  Yes, I was still my own worst enemy.  However, I knew Gaye had been working a small miracle.  I could see it with my own eyes... uh, correction... I could see that with my one good eye.  Maybe next week I will take my plastic eye out and put a wood cork in the cavity.  Let's see if Gaye still thinks her joke is funny.  With a blind eye, a face full of scars, and crooked teeth, did Gaye really think I was going to buy her off-hand compliment about my looks?  I took a deep breath and told myself to calm down.  Give Gaye credit for finding a face-saving way (forgive the pun) to address my fears about my questionable appearance. 

Slowly but surely, my rough edges were getting polished.  Even my thin skin was toughening up a bit.  Six months ago, Gaye would not have dreamed of telling me that stupid joke, much less giggled.  As Gaye put it, wouldn't it be nice to let some of my warmth show through for a change?  It was all about trust.  I loved dogs, I liked kids and I wanted to help society's downtrodden.  There had to be a warm heart in there somewhere. 

"Seriously, Rick, the more I get to know you, the more I realize there is a kindness about you that is special.  If we could just find a way to get past your misplaced fear that every woman thinks you're a leper or a loser, I think you would be pleasantly surprised to discover women will appreciate you.  What you don't seem to get is that women are just as afraid of being hurt as you are.  If you can learn to stop scaring women and let your gentle side show through, you will be greatly rewarded."

Each week I would discuss my latest mishap, then we would talk about a better approach.  Thanks to Gaye, I stopped hitting girls in the chest with volleyballs and I made sure to pay for a woman's movie on a date.  Gaye explained that something as insignificant as paying for a movie showed respect.  I nodded.  These were the kind of common sense messages I never received during my difficult childhood.  I was always the slow learner, but I was starting to catch on thanks to Gaye.  Thank goodness she had patience. 

September 1976, Age 26, the lost years Sarah

As I said, 1976 was a calm year.  No Supernatural Events, no clue as to the rollercoaster ride lying ahead.  However, there was one heartbreak.  Earlier I mentioned a revolving door of here today, gone tomorrow ladies who briefly passed through my life.  Phobia and I had made a deal.  If I met a lady I was kind of interested in, Phobia would look the other way.  But if I met a lady I was really interested in, I avoided her like the plague.  The best example would be Becky, the girl my age I was super attracted to, but unable to approach. 

In September, I was handed a new Karmic Test.  Her name was Sarah, a beautiful girl who barely slipped past Phobia's scrutiny due to her youth.  Looking back, I believe I was being tested to see whether Gaye's message about showing my gentle side had taken hold.  Due to difficulties like my Graduate School failure and the River Oaks Seven, I had come to believe God deliberately puts obstacles in my path.  Referring to these obstacles as Karmic Tests, another example included the mysterious appearance of Rachel, the stunning woman who refused to let me avoid her despite my overwhelming fear of being hurt.  And of course the memory of Katie was always there to haunt me. 

The most difficult piece of advice Gaye ever gave me involved Sarah.  I met Sarah at Rice University.  I was there to conduct a scouting expedition for the long-sought girlfriend.  I knew Sarah was younger than me, but she was so poised and down to earth, I never guessed she was a Freshman.  By the time I discovered her age, I was unwilling to let her go.  Sarah was gorgeous, bright, shapely, and so on.  What really attracted me was her intelligence.  Sarah was precocious beyond her years.  What is it about smart Jewish girls like Sarah and Rachel?  Maybe their intensity. 

Unlike the giggly, bouncy Freshmen girls at the event I went to, there was not a silly bone in Sarah's body.  Like Rachel, Sarah was very serious about Israel.  Her recent summer trip to Israel had left Sarah deeply disturbed about the constant danger the citizens faced.  Sarah was very sensitive, even moody at times.  Sound familiar?  She reminded me of myself back when I was a freshman in college.  Sarah's dark moods bothered her and she was constantly searching for an explanation.  She appreciated my reassurance that soul-searching was a normal part of the college experience. 

I was thrilled to meet Sarah.  We were a perfect match.  At last I had found a woman  who was comparable to my iconic St. John's woman.  Sarah was just as smart, just as lovely and just as poised as the best, brightest and most beautiful St. John's girls of yore.  Even better, I felt relaxed and safe around Sarah.  I had found my new Katie.

However, there was a major problem.  I was eight years older than Sarah.  I had robbed the cradle because I was too afraid to date a woman of Sarah's caliber who was my own age.  Dating someone as young as Sarah was my way of staying safe.  Sad to say, since I was closer to Sarah's age in social development than to women my own age, in that sense I wasn't much older than her.  As long as Sarah enjoyed my company, I didn't see the harm.  Over a period of a month we had many long talks about serious topics.  Indeed, I even told her a little about my interest in Mysticism.  I had never done that before with anyone.  To her credit, Sarah kept an open mind and said she enjoyed discussing my ideas about Fate.  For the first time in ages, I didn't feel lonely.  I had finally found a companion.

One night we were in my bedroom when Sarah announced she was in love with me.  We began kissing.  Ordinarily Sarah was under control, but in an impulsive moment she pulled off her shirt.  Pretty soon the rest of our clothes fell off.  I was naked while only Sarah's panties remained.  It was time to take the final step.  When I reached to touch her, Sarah suddenly broke into tears.  I was mortified.  What is this all about?  I decided it would be easier to have this conversation if we weren't totally naked, so I threw Sarah two pillows to cover herself, then pulled the sheet over myself.  After Sarah finally composed herself, she did her best to explain.

"As you know, last summer I went to Israel.  I fell in love with an Israeli soldier named Schlomi.  He was a wonderful man who became my first lover.  I gave my heart to him completely even though I knew it would never work.  I just couldn't help myself.  Finally it was time to return to the States and start college.  Rick, I cried for a month.  After that I was dead inside.  Thank goodness you came along.  For the first time, I have finally cheered up a little.  I want so much to make love to you, but I just now realized I cannot give myself to you until I can find a way to get Schlomi out of my heart.  I feel like I still belong to him."

I wasn't quite sure how to react.  It was pretty strange to have a woman change her mind at such an awkward moment.  At first I was bitter and thought Sarah was playing games, but then I thought of Gaye's joke about the soldier who misinterpreted a lonely woman's signals.  In a way, this was similar to the time Yolanda had teased me all night long at the pool table, then refused to sleep with me.  But it wasn't really the same, was it?  Yolanda had been toying with me while Sarah was torn by a previous loyalty.  How should I react?  Tough guy or Nice Guy?  Taking a risk, I decided to give Sarah the benefit of the doubt.  I suppose I could have pressured Sarah and gotten my way, but instinct warned me to hold back.  Keeping my hands off Sarah was the hardest thing I have ever done, but it was the right thing to do.  Why did I hold back?  Because I sensed Sarah was sincere.  She had poured her heart out to me, so I felt protective rather than predatory.  Unlike Yolanda who was deliberately messing with me, Sarah had told the truth.  Big difference.

We put our clothes back on and spent a platonic night in each other's arms.  I assumed if I was patient, Sarah would change her mind eventually.  I took her back to Rice University in the morning and spent the rest of the day trying to understand what she was going through.  Given my perpetual cluelessness, a couple days later I decided to see what Coach Heartbreak had to say. 

"Gaye, where did I go wrong?  What do I need to do to persuade Sarah to take the next step?"

The moment Gaye rolled her eyes, I groaned.  Whenever she rolled her eyes, that was my first clue she was exasperated.  As expected, Gaye wasted no time chewing me out.

"You cannot be serious, Rick.  If you weren't so determined to get laid, you would realize Sarah could be your kid sister.  Has it ever occurred to you that you might be playing with her emotions?  Seriously, in my opinion, Sarah is not 'Fair Game.'"

I immediately protested.  "Oh, c'mon, Gaye, give me a break.  Sarah really likes me and I like her.  She's a big girl and no stranger when it comes to kissing.  And she's not a virgin.  Sarah is old enough to know what she is getting into.  We could be special together."

"Oh, fiddlesticks.  Seriously, you should listen to yourself.  This is a bad idea.  Sarah is not Fair Game due to your age."

"All right, here we go again.  I don't agree with you, but I am willing to listen.  Tell me what you mean by 'Fair Game'."

"It speaks to emotional development.  A Rice graduate student is Fair Game.  A Rice undergraduate, especially a Freshman, should be off limits.  Did it ever occur to you that you could end up hurting her?"

That comment gave me pause.  While I thought about it, Gaye shook her head in classic tsk tsk disapproval.  That is when I knew Gaye was not done scolding me yet.  Sure enough, Gaye proceeded to deliver a stern lecture.

"So you have found an impressionable young girl who thinks you are witty and clever.  If you press your advantage hard enough, I suppose Sarah will give in.  Congratulations!  Rick shoots and scores!  Good for you, another conquest.  Find a knife and carve a new notch.  However, when you wake up in the morning, your mind will no longer be clouded with lust.  You will come to your senses and see a pretty girl eight years younger than you who is lying by your side.  What are you going to do, take time off from work to walk her to class?  Will you hold her books?  Will you sit in the library and keep her company while she does her homework?  Will you offer to write a paper for her?  Will you go to football games and sit with students half your age?  Will you go to dormitory parties and meet all her cute little girlfriends?  Is this your chance to be big man on campus at a school you don't even attend?"

Good lord, Gaye was letting me have it with both barrels loaded!  Recoiling before her wrath, to my dismay Gaye wasn't done yet.

"I do not believe that is you, Rick.  My bet is you will feel pretty silly once you realize you do not belong in her world.  Face it, Rick, the two of you occupy different life spaces.  The odds of a successful long-term relationship with such a young girl are minimal.  What are you going to say to her parents when you realize they aren't much older than you?  And how is Sarah going to feel when you move on because you are bored with her?  How will you feel when you see her cry because she took a chance on you and it didn't work out?  Think about it.  This young lady is not Fair Game.  Stick to girls your own age."

"But I am terrified of girls my own age, you know that."

"Yes, I do know that and I also know that is why you are asking me for permission to take advantage of Sarah.  You want me to approve because your conscience is bothering you.  I have a better idea.  Why not grow up a little?  The whole point of our weekly conversation is to find ways for your social age to catch up to your biological age.  Chasing toddlers is no way to accomplish that.  Listen to me!  Do not take advantage of a woman who is not an equal!"

Ouch!  I felt like I had been hit by a club.  Gaye could be very sarcastic.  Blunt too.  I hated her for chewing me out like this, especially because I was not convinced she was right.  Nevertheless, I decided to trust Gaye's advice even though I wasn't so sure I agreed with her.  With a heavy heart, I phoned Sarah that night and explained I had serious misgivings based on her unresolved feelings for Schlomi, her Israeli lover.  This, of course, was not the truth, but rather a convenient cover story.  The real reason I was breaking it off is because Gaye was probably right.  However I doubted Sarah would agree.  She was convinced our age difference did not matter.  Rather than argue with her about such a touchy subject, it was better to use a cover story regarding her mixed feelings.  However, just as I feared, Sarah would not accept my decision.  Crying on the phone, she tried to make her case. 

"Rick, I beg you not to do this.  Please reconsider.  Last weekend was terrible, I know that.  I am so sorry I lost my confidence.  I was very confused and kind of scared.  Ever since then, I realize how much I care about you.  By waiting like you did, I trust you so much more.  What I am trying to say is things will be different next time."

Oh my God, Sarah is breaking my heart.  How will I ever stick to my guns?  Before I could reply, Sarah dropped her brave act and fell completely apart.  The strength of her pain was unbearable for me to deal with.  Sarah tried to regain her self-control, but it was useless.  So she gave up and just kept talking through blubbering tears. 

"I apologize for not making love to you last weekend.  I am so sorry and please don't hold this against me.  I wanted to, you have to believe me.  If you will just give me another chance, this won't happen again.  I swear I will make love to you the next time I see you."

When Sarah said that, I suddenly understood what Gaye was driving at.  Sarah was so young, she had not learned how to protect her heart.  Right now she was groveling, the worst thing she could do.  Her pitiful obeisance was the last thing I wanted to hear.  It upset me to know she was willing to make whatever sacrifice it would take to hold onto me.  Sad to say, Sarah's desperation reminded me of how I had behaved the same way around Vanessa.  I recalled how naive and inexperienced I had been.  I remembered the shame I felt as I crawled at Vanessa's feet.  I had been helpless to speak up when Vanessa told me her far-fetched lies.  Even though I knew full well she was headed to see her old boyfriend, I bit my tongue.  Listening to poor Sarah, I realized why Vanessa had treated me with such disdain.  Why would Vanessa want a doormat like me?

However, Sarah was not a doormat.  She was too young and too inexperienced in the affairs of her heart.  Unlike Vanessa who exploited my naïveté, I believed I was doing the right thing by breaking it off now.  I knew every week I continued to see Sarah would just make things worse when the inevitable split came.  I resented having a conscience that insisted on saying goodbye to this sweet girl, but who ever said doing the right thing was easy?  Her tears had just taught me one of the most valuable lessons I would ever learn.  All I could think of was how much more horrible this situation would have been if I had forced Sarah to give in last weekend.  In retrospect, trusting my intuition had spared us both an ocean of misery.  With a begrudging frown, I was forced to admit that Gaye had been right all along.

I had no idea Sarah was so defenseless.  This realization triggered serious heartache for me.  I did not know why Sarah had become so attached, but her pain was so raw that I was racked with guilt.  Damn it, listening to her tears was like staring in the mirror.  Now that the shoe was on the other foot, it tore me up to see Sarah suffer like this because she reminded me so much of my past horrors.  As the tears and pleading continued, I wanted to comfort Sarah in the worst way.  What I wanted to do was was let Sarah know I was oh so close to being in love with her myself.  However I realized saying that would do her a disservice.  Better to keep my mouth shut and cut clean so she didn't hang on.  So I whispered goodbye and hung up the phone.  My phone immediately rang back, but I didn't answer. 

Why did this have to be so hard?  I spent the night crying my eyes out.  Sarah was the first woman I had feelings for since Katie a year ago.  I must be out of my mind to say goodbye to such a special girl.  However, despite my tears, I knew I had done the right thing.  This had been an important learning experience for me.  Thank goodness Gaye had brought me to my senses.  From now on, I would be more careful.  With a deep sigh, I thought about the Mistress Book.  Jim Deane would not have agreed with my decision.  His advice was 'find them, fool them, fuck them and forget them.'  Gaye didn't like his approach.  I knew because we had discussed it.  Gaye explained it is this kind of attitude that makes women so bitter towards men.  Sarah's pain underscored Gaye's point.  As bad as it was now for Sarah, it would have been far worse if she had made love to me and then got dumped despite her sacrifice.  I was mad at myself for taking chances with her feelings.  The tremble in Sarah's voice was all it took to realize Gaye's wisdom had done me a considerable favor.

When I told Gaye what I had done, she beamed.

"Rick, please don't take this the wrong way, but when I first met you, you were insensitive and selfish.  Listening to your stories, you did so many inappropriate things I wasn't sure there was any hope for you.  However, after working with you over this past year, you have made remarkable progress.  The way you backed off from Sarah rather than push her into granting your wish shows you are starting to get it.  I am very proud of you." 

I was too upset about breaking up with Sarah to take much satisfaction in Gaye's words.  However I understood what she was saying.  This situation with Sarah was just one of many times when Gaye did her best to defuse my considerable distrust towards women.  As she pointed out, it was high time I started seeing things from the woman's perspective as well as my own. 

As the days passed and my grief subsided, I came to see Sarah as my latest Karmic test.  Like Rachel, like Yolanda, like Celeste, like Katie, I was being tested to measure my progress.  Sarah fell directly on the seismic fault line between Gaye's advice and Jim Deane's advice.  Which one should I trust, Gaye or the great seducer?  For the past two years, I had often reevaluated Jim Deane's recommendation to use whatever means necessary to disrobe a woman.  In one sense, Jim Deane was right.  There was no doubt in my mind that Sarah would have caved in with more pressure.  Fortunately, I had too much respect for Sarah to do that.  I suppose I had Gaye to thank for that.  Gaye had turned me into a softie.  Yeah, I know, nice guys finish last and don't get laid very much.  Oh well.  It is what it is.  At least my conscience was clear and that was more important.  At some point, I had to do what was best for other people even if it was at my own expense.  That was who I wanted to be.  As my self-centered behavior diminished, I was learning to appreciate my emerging thoughtfulness towards women.  However, my new-found sensitivity came at a stiff price.  There were times when my loneliness would be a lot easier to solve if I didn't have a conscience.  Women like Sarah do not come along very often.

October 1976, Age 27, the lost years my birthday present

It took a while, but I paid every cent of that money back to Allen and Polly.  Oh, how I loved them!  By the way, have my loyal Readers noticed how the kindness of some really special people have been guiding me back to the land of the living?  Previously it was Mark, Lucy and Jill.  Now it was Gaye, Patsy, Allen and Polly.  And yes, let's not forget Gloria.  Little by little, Humpty Dumpty was getting glued back together.

My woebegone house was in the Heights.  This was a heavily wooded area two miles northwest of downtown Houston.  At the turn of the century the Heights was Houston's original wealthy neighborhood.  Not anymore.  Currently this run-down area was popular with hippies, artists, immigrants, drug users, criminals, and poor people.  I fit right in.  I was broke.  A person does not get wealthy working for the Welfare Department.  However, I wanted to own a house.  I especially liked the trees.

There was a dirty secret about the Heights no one told me about.  The area was teeming with dry wood termites.  Shortly after moving in, I discovered these termites were in the attic, the porch and the living room.  They were everywhere.  I asked my realtor about it. 

"Wasn't this house supposed to pass termite inspection?"

"Why, yes, Rick, the inspectors are required to look for subterranean termites.  Your house passed inspection.  Didn't you see the certificate?"

Maybe so, but what about dry wood termites?  Since when are 'termites' not termites?  Apparently mine didn't count.  Caveat emptor!  No wonder this place was so cheap.  I was sick to my stomach.  The only way to kill these bugs was to put a giant tent over the house and gas them to death.  The bill was $1,000.  Considering the down payment was $2,700 and I had just borrowed $1,500 from the Clark family, this termite bill was a tough blow.  We've all heard the saying 'eat me out of house and home.'  My entire monthly paycheck for December went to pay for termite treatment while I lived on peanut butter.  I was dead broke, but proud nonetheless 

Was this a good investment?  Since the monthly payment was identical to my former rent, over time it served as a hedge against inflation.   I liked owning my home, modest as it was.  The roof didn't leak and the air-conditioner worked.  But it was certainly no show-piece.  For that reason, I do not own a single picture of my house when I bought it.  Why bother?  Although my house was not much to look at, thank goodness for the Clarks.  They were better parents to me than my own father and mother. 

Speaking of my father, he dropped by one day.  Although we were not close, I saw him once or twice a year.  He took one look, asked me the price, then said I made a bad deal.  He added, "You will probably lose your shirt on this house."  Keep in mind my father had not loaned me one thin dime.  Now he was criticizing my decision.

Oh, by the way, 44 years later I sold this house for 1.6 million.  Wish he could have been there to eat his words.  Don't get me started on my father.

October 1976, the lost years Rosalyn lively

Rosalyn's line dance patterns were very similar to Becky's.  I had anticipated this.  Becky knew more line dances than anyone on the planet.  However, I was happy to find a new dance class, especially one here at my JCC home base.  Glad to be back in my comfort zone, I stuck around despite the lack of challenge. 

In my second week, I found myself going through the motions.  Once I realized I was not going to improve my dance skills, I struggled to find a reason to stick around.  After four months of line dance with Becky and six months of Jazz dance with Patsy Swayze, I was light years ahead of these other students.  Fortunately, Rosalyn turned out to be a good teacher.  For lack of anything better to do, I occupied myself by studying how Rosalyn conducted her class and explained her patterns.  I analyzed how I might explain the same moves if I was in charge.  To my surprise, I suddenly became aware of what was going on in my mind.  I wondered if Rosalyn's class might facilitate my chance of teaching my own class someday.  Now I had a better reason to stick around.  Perhaps Rosalyn could direct me to a place where I could find my own line dance class.

Hmm.  Why not ask her?  Unfortunately, I got cold feet.  My ancient Phobia kicked in and prevented me from approaching Rosalyn for advice.  That made me angry.  I thought my fear of rejection only applied to potential girlfriends.  With a snort, Phobia replied my fear extended to asking for a job as well.  I assumed Rosalyn would guess at my ulterior motive for taking her class and laugh.  Or more likely she would say there was little she could do to help.  Afraid of seeing my daydream go up in smoke, I said nothing.  Then one day I had an inspiration.  I had approached Patsy Swayze and made a friend out of her.  Why not try the same thing with Rosalyn?  Nope.  Couldn't make myself do that either.  Am I hopeless or what?

However, you know the script by now.  What happens when I get caught dragging my feet?  One of two things.  If it involves women I am interested in, I go brain dead and miss obvious openings with Katie and Becky.  But when it involves my destiny as a dance teacher, things seem to break my way.  Very curious, huh?  Apparently God noticed I was stalling again and decided to intervene.  

Three days after my birthday, I was handed a gift.  Lo and behold, Rosalyn made the first move.   At the end of my last class, I was about to leave when Rosalyn intercepted me.

"Hi there, I've been watching you.  When you started my class a month late, I assumed you would struggle.  To my surprise, you are the best dancer in the class.  You are unusually good at these line dances.  Since this is our last class, I thought I would say hello and learn your secret."

I was shocked, but managed to reply cordially.  "Thank you, Rosalyn.  My name is Rick Archer.  I have enjoyed your class."

Rosalyn reached out and we shook hands.  

"I am pleased to meet you, Rick.  The reason I stopped you is because I am curious how you came to know the material so much better than anyone else.  You seem to know some of the patterns before I even teach them.  I've never seen that happen before.  Are you psychic or something?"

I laughed.  "No, I am not psychic.  I have been taking line dance classes off and on for the past two years.  Since the Jewish Community Center is practically home to me, your class seemed like a good way to brush up on patterns I have seen before."

"Where did you learn to dance so well?"

"A couple years ago I took Disco freestyle lessons over at Dance City USA.  Then last year I met a lady named Becky.  She taught me every line dance under the sun at the University of Houston Sundry School.  When I saw your class, I thought I would take another line dance class for old times sake.  I really like dancing to Disco music.  Plus I take jazz classes from Patsy Swayze."

"Patsy Swayze?  You're kidding.  Patsy is a household name in the dance world." 

Rosalyn seemed impressed at the mention of Patsy's name, so I assured her I was telling the truth.

"I've never met Patsy, but I hear she is a very good teacher.  Okay, things are beginning to make sense.  I don't get many men in my class to begin with and I certainly never expected the day would come when a man was my best student.  That has never happened before.  You are a rare creature, one of a kind."

I laughed again.  "Yes, rare like the Abominable Snowman.  Don't worry, I know what you mean.  For some reason, men prefer to avoid line dance classes.  There were very few men in Becky's classes last year."

"I hope don't mind me asking, but why are you taking my class if you already know these patterns?"

Tell her the truth?  No, or at least not yet.

"I wasn't always a good dancer.  I never danced in high school.  Two and a half years ago I promised myself I would learn to dance even if it killed me.  Sad to say, my project has taken forever.  However, despite my slow start I swore to myself that I would continue taking lessons until I was excellent.  I haven't reached that point, but I will say my dancing has managed to improve over time.  Patsy's jazz class has helped a lot and your class reinforces what Becky taught.  I suppose I will reach my goal eventually.  At any rate, thanks for the compliment.  It is a nice birthday present."

"Oh, it's your birthday!  How old are you?"

"I turned 27 this past Sunday."

"Uh oh, Scorpio.  Dangerous.  Remind me to stay on your good side."

We both laughed. 

"Are you going to take my next class or is this goodbye?"

Rosalyn's class worked on a two-month cycle.  Next Wednesday would be the start of her November-December cycle.  To be honest, I did not see the point of repeating something that was no challenge whatsoever.  However, this unexpected rapport with Rosalyn had a funny way of changing my mind. 

"Yes, I will be back next week."

"Great.  I will see you then."

I went home in a very good mood.  I had made a friend.   Not a girlfriend, mind you, but a friend who might help me. 

Rosalyn was a slender woman, 5' 6", honey blonde hair, brown eyes, attractive in a modest way.  Rosalyn was friendly, but demure.  When she danced, she was not a show-off, definitely not flashy in the mode of hip-swaying Becky, a born exhibitionist.  Seven years older than me, I could tell from our conversation that Rosalyn was not interested in me as a boyfriend.  She related to me more like an older sister.  In a way, the absence of fireworks helped.  Since I wasn't interested in Rosalyn like I had been with Becky, I wasn't afraid of her.  In other words, with my infernal Phobia deactivated from thoughts of romance, I was able to talk to her like a normal person.  However, when it came to my hidden agenda for returning in November, I remained mum. 

November came and went without a word other than minor pleasantries.  I constantly ridiculed myself for not finding the nerve to tell Rosalyn about my secret desire to teach.  I settled for turning myself into an unofficial assistant.  Most line dances rotate 90 degrees to the left when the overall pattern is ready to repeat.  After two rotations, the students would complain because they had their back turned to the instructor and could not see.  For this reason, Rosalyn asked me to stand in back so the students could copy me instead.

It was now Wednesday, December 15, our last class of the year.  I was determined to say something tonight or drive my car into the nearest bayou if I failed.  Take a risk for a change!  To my credit, I had thought of a less threatening way to feel Rosalyn out.  Patsy Swayze earned a living as a dance instructor.  Now that teaching dance was on my mind, I wondered if Rosalyn did so as well. 

Sticking around after class, I approached as Rosalyn packed up her records.  She looked up and smiled.  "What can I do for you?"

"You never talk about yourself in class, so I was curious to know if you teach dance for a living."  

Rosalyn rolled her eyes.  "Are you kidding me?  I would starve if I relied on dance classes.  There's no money in teaching line dances, so I just do it for fun.  I have a daytime job at the Welfare Department."

I had not expected that.  "No kidding?  What a coincidence!  I work for the Welfare Department too."

Rosalyn looked surprised.  "No way!"

I nodded.  "Yes, I'm serious.  Where do you work?"

Comparing notes, we discovered Rosalyn handed out welfare checks while I investigated child neglect.  Same employer, State of Texas, but different duties.  This curious coincidence broke the ice.  Rosalyn had always been rather formal with me, but now I saw a different side to her.  Admitting we were both dirt poor, we got a good laugh out of that.  Thanks to our new-found bond, Rosalyn was immediately more relaxed.  That helped a lot.  However, Phobia kicked in and I suddenly found myself tongue-tied.  Ordering Phobia to shut up and quit torturing me, I swallowed hard.  How do I ask a woman for a date when I am not actually asking her for a date?  I decided to just blurt something out and hope for the best.  Our surprise connection gave me the courage to finally take a risk.

"Rosalyn, do you think we could go to lunch sometime and swap notes about working for the Welfare Department?"

When Rosalyn said she would enjoy that, I was ecstatic.  What I really wanted to do was discuss how to become a line dance teacher.  However this indirect approach was good enough for now.  The following day I called Rosalyn at work.  We met for lunch Friday at noon.  Christmas was right around the corner and the restaurant was aglow with lights and decorations.  Amidst the festive atmosphere, we talked about working for the Welfare Department.  Rosalyn asked several questions about how I became interested in dancing.  I was fearful of revealing the Supernatural aspect of my path, so I wisely avoided topics such as the Mistress Book, getting picked up by a Drag Queen, or getting propositioned at the end of my first dance class.  She probably would not have believed me anyway.  Instead I shared a highly sanitized version of my saga that revolved around the River Oaks Seven and how being an underdog at St. John's had prevented me from dancing in high school.  Rosalyn got a kick out of my story. 

Unfortunately, I made two mistakes.  Always better at talking than listening, I failed to ask Rosalyn a single question about herself or how she got started as a dance teacher.  Nor did I bring up the subject of how I could become a line dance teacher.  Oh well, maybe there could be a next time.  Lunch had been a good idea.  We were acquaintances before, but now we were buddies.  I noted with quiet satisfaction that Gaye's attempts to humanize me might be paying off.  This had been my first lunch date since Vanessa three years ago.  Gosh, had it really been that long?  Recalling one of Gaye's lectures, I made sure to pay for Rosalyn's lunch. 

Rosalyn protested, but I insisted.  "Don't give me a hard time, Rosalyn.  Lunch was my invitation."

Rosalyn smiled at me. "Okay, you win.  Thank you for lunch.  Will I see you in dance class next year?"

Ah, music to my ears!  "Of course, Rosalyn.  I am having too much fun to quit now."  A small fib, but not really.  Rosalyn's class was so easy I could sleep-walk through the patterns.  However, I continued to nurse the hope that Rosalyn's class might lead to a class of my own.  I wondered if Rosalyn had the slightest idea what I was up to.  If so, she didn't show it.  

"Excellent!" she replied.  "That makes me happy.  Have a nice Christmas!"

We hugged and parted.  I was pleased when Rosalyn made sure I was going to continue her class in January.  You never know.   Maybe, just maybe, the upcoming year would see the day when my developing dance dream would pay off.   I crossed my fingers.