We rushed into the Grizzly Rose already ten minutes late for the beginner line dancing lesson. We paid the $5 entry fee. As soon as we entered, the hot, humid air made me glad I did not wear my new western fringe leather jacket. There were about seventy people in the room. The instructor was shouting, “This is your right side and this is your left side.”
We squeezed into the second row from the front where there was just enough space for the two of us. Music was playing, people were moving, and we could not catch up. Then the instructor said, “This was what you learned last week. Next, we will do something completely new and take it step by step.” I looked at Bruce and could see hope in his face.
I was inspired to take a line dancing lesson after I met a woman from France at a rodeo in Wyoming. She fully embraced Western style, dressed in a denim skirt and red gingham checkered top. In French, she told me that she was disappointed they did not line dance in Cody. She said Denver was the place.
When I arrived in Denver, I told Bruce I wanted to line dance and understand my French country western cousins. He said, “Wait for me, I want to go with you.”
As I stood on the dance floor, I noticed a universal hum of excitement and strained my ears in search of a French accent. I looked around. There were people wearing shirts representing what I assumed were their countries of origin: Slovenia, Romania, and the Philippines. In the front row there were men and women in cutoff shorts and cowboy boots. Just behind us were dancers who looked like they could be in a hip-hop class with their matching sweat outfits and platform sneakers. Then there were the two of us, Deanna and Bruce in his Red Sox hat, from Massachusetts.
The front row moved with confidence. Maybe they were seeded to help the rest of us follow along. They did the extra turns for the grapevine and snapped their heels in a way the instructor did not teach us.
We laughed and barely noticed how sweaty we were. The instructor broke down each step and both of us were smiling at each other. Then a Monterey turn had us facing a different wall as we moved into a jazz box. I looked at Bruce and he was not facing in the same direction as the rest of the line. I heard a lady behind us cheering him on.
As soon as the session ended, all I could think about was I want more. I moved through the crowd and searched for our petite firecracker of a dance instructor. We raved about the experience, then Bruce reminded me of why I was there. I got down to business and I asked her if she gets French tourists at the Grizzly Rose.
She said, “Yes, lots of French people and people from everywhere.”
“Why do you think?” I asked.
Without missing a beat, she said, “They have heard about me.”
Then her face became serious. She said, “As soon as you walk through those doors all the troubles go away. Music and dance bring people together from all over the world.”
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