Waltz Time - Entry 9 - Words I Wanted to Hear

 Waltz Time - Entry 9 - Words I Wanted to Hear

“Sometimes the most powerful conversations are the ones spoken without words.”

I stood in the half-dark of my apartment, the little red light blinking like a pulse I couldn’t ignore. My finger hovered over the play button, a part of me desperate to know, another part terrified that the message would shatter the fragile magic of the night before.

The machine clicked, whirred, and then came your voice.

It was softer than I remembered, almost hesitant, but unmistakably you. You said you’d had a wonderful time, that you hoped we could do it again soon. 

Simple words. The kind of words I had longed to hear. And yet, hearing them now made my chest tighten.  Because hope is dangerous, isn’t it?

I wanted to rewind the tape, play your voice again and again, let it wrap around me like a blanket. Instead, I sat on the edge of my bed, afraid to believe too much in what was being offered. What if you meant it lightly, casually, the way New Yorkers say “let’s do lunch” and never call again?

It was already so late — Friday night had tipped into Saturday, the clock glowing 2:00 AM in the corner of my room. Calling back wasn’t an option. So I told myself I would wait. After some shut-eye, after coffee, after the steadiness of morning.

Saturday didn’t mean rest. Not for me. Saturdays meant putting in the work; ballet class uptown with Finis, voice lesson after, hours of sweat and scales and repetition that carved away at excuses. This was the life I had chosen: discipline braided with dreams.

The morning air was sharp as I made my way toward the studio, coffee in hand, leotard and tights under my coat. My body ached from the late shift at the restaurant, but my mind was humming with something else entirely. Your voice. That message.

By the time I arrived, the studio was already buzzing. Dancers staking out their places at the barre, the pianist testing chords, Finis with his hawk’s eye scanning the room. I squeezed into a space, tied my shoes, trying to disappear into the ritual of pliés and tendus.

And then I felt it; that prickle at the back of my neck, the awareness that I wasn’t alone in the thought of last night. I glanced across the studio.

There you were.

Not looking directly at me, not yet. But the moment stretched with your presence filling the room as surely as the music. My chest tightened. Part of me wanted to run over, to blurt out that I’d heard your message, that yes, yes, I wanted to see you again. Another part of me stayed rooted, afraid of breaking whatever spell had been cast between us.

And then our eyes met.

You caught my gaze and mouthed something I couldn’t quite hear over the music. I think it was, “Did you get my message?”

Heat rushed to my face, and I pantomimed back, a slight nod, a hand gesture — "let’s talk after class."

The music carried us both forward, but inside, I knew the next conversation was already waiting in the wings.

When the final chord faded, dancers began gathering their things, shoes squeaking, chatter rising. I started toward you just as you began toward me until a fellow dancer cut in, touching my arm.

“Beautiful work today,” she said. “That lyrical section across the floor - you made it look like music.”

I smiled, murmured thanks, but the moment had shifted. You paused, waiting, as if to give me space.

Finally, I reached you. You leaned just close enough to ask quietly, “You got my message?”

“Yes,” I said with a small nod. “I did.”

I wanted to say more, but time pressed in, my voice lesson uptown, the clock already pushing me forward. “I have to run,” I added quickly, “but… later?”

Your smile was enough. “Later.”

Your smile tilted, just enough to steady me. “Okay… meet me on the corner of 73rd and Amsterdam at the diner for tea at two? I have some interesting news.”

And just like that, the rhythm of my day shifted. Voice lesson or not, all I could hear was the promise of two o’clock.

I didn’t know it yet, but those words would change everything.

💓