My toes tingled. My chest was on fire. My palms were wet; lights; the bark of a dog; door slam; chatter in the hallway; his twilight eyes; his chiseled arms; fire inside; ice on my skin.
“I don’t want to be inappropriate but…”
His smile; the toss of his golden hair; darting eyes like lightning.
“I’m in love with you.”
I blurted out the words to James Wilford Penrod, my dance professor at the University of California, Irvine. I had taken every class he offered for the past year and a half. I don’t think in words, I never have. It was 1977 and I was 32, much older than most of my college classmates, but I never thought in numbers either. Every student, including me, was in love with Jim (that’s what we called him). I noticed the way he looked at me. Judy, my fellow dance mate said, “Rita this, Rita that. He’s always talking about you, Rita.” That’s when I thought maybe he liked me back.
My story is a love story, but not in the typical sense. I didn’t always go after what I wanted. I had an absent mother whose shoes I had to fill for my siblings; I married, very young, a man who I didn’t love and who most definitely didn’t care about me; and two marvelous children later, I became a shell of myself. I felt that everyone deserved happiness except for me. I never pursued what mattered to me. I had always been attracted to dance, but then I grew up and never tried it. Movement was how I spoke; I thought with my body. But I never felt that it mattered. My heart took a back seat. It wasn’t until I found myself on a soft green couch, sitting across from a learned man with a PhD, who, between my many tears, asked me
“Rita. Forget everything. What is your heart saying?”
This question changed my life. It seems so simple, almost too simple. What do you love, Rita? What do you love? The moment he asked me that question, life finally made sense. After that therapy session I felt free. I left the couch and did a little retail therapy at Buffum’s department store and bought more clothing than I could afford.
Then I took my first dance class, and I fell madly for it. No one starts dancing at that age, but I didn’t care about rules. I pursued two degrees in dance and made a career out of it. It’s what led me to my great romance, Jim. Not to spoil the story but we got married and spent over four decades together. Jim made me feel like I could do anything, like I had wings. He was passionate, caring and unassuming – there was an energy field between us. It’s a wild thing when one shares such an intense intimacy with someone. I became enveloped with a passion for life and humanity. Everything was fresh and new. I discovered I had a passion for finding love in others and encouraging them to pursue it. I remember Jim saying “Rita, look at all those dancers with great feet and facility, so much talent, and they didn’t end up doing anything with dance. But you, having none of that, succeeded with sheer passion and determination.” Nothing seemed impossible anymore, and nothing was. That’s the power of love.
I want to visit the moment after I confessed my feelings to Jim; it’s a moment that proved to me that daring actions are worth the risk. Love is worth the risk.
“Have you ever been shocked?” Jim asked the class. I had just minutes before pointe class confessed my feelings. I stood there, feeling naked, like a ballerina without her shoes. I was hoping he would grab me and kiss me in front of everyone, reconciliation after my bold confession. But Jim wasn’t like that. He was softer.
During class, Jim came up to me, stared directly into my eyes, inches from my face; I almost thought he was going to break all the rules and kiss me, but instead he slowly got down on his hands and knees. Being petite, I looked up at most people. This was the first time I was looking down at him; I felt alive and powerful, like a goddess. He cupped his strong, beautiful hands around my feet, and I felt myself melt like wax, like clay he could shape as he guided my feet in those painful pointe shoes. And at that moment I realized that was Jim’s way of saying, “I love you back.”
Sarah is a woman in tech by day and a butterfly by night; a storyteller – writer, filmmaker, artist. Her current work is experimental and focuses on themes of curiosity, the self, existence and the human condition. She has an unpublished novel sitting in her room and two more books she is currently writing. She spends her free time exploring and not sleeping enough.
Stories Matters is a mentoring program founded by best-selling author and award-winning documentarian Leslie Zemeckis. Co-sponsored by the Santa Barbara International Film Festival (SBIFF) and ENTITY Mag, the writing program focuses on craft and confidence. Guest professional female authors join weekly, mentoring the next generation of female storytellers. A six-week intensive challenges every writer to work on an 800-word story about “A Woman You Should Know.”
