dancing through heartbreak
January 3, 2024
To my former dance partner,
It was the night going into Dolphy Day, and everyone was vibing to celebrate the end of senior year at Le Moyne College. I walked inside that dark, crowded house to see you standing near the DJ. I intended to walk past you, but we immediately made eye contact. I gave you a fake half-ass smile while my eyes shifted to the right. You noticed that, so you stood before me (without being intimidating) and leaned in closer to me. You smiled and playfully said, “You can’t just walk away. We’ve known each other since we were kids.” The tone of your voice had a slight ring of joy to it, and maybe that’s because you were happy to see me — or perhaps the drugs made you “feel good.” I witnessed firsthand the sadness in your eyes, and if I’m being honest, mine were too — something told me that night would be the last time we would see each other. I gently held your forearms — and you held mine. I had nothing to say to you, so I remained silent. I smiled weakly and nodded briefly to show you that I heard you. We let go of each other, and I walked away towards the back of the house to dance — without you. This night was nearly five years ago.
Last night, I found myself scrolling on Instagram until 2 am. Things were triggering me earlier that day — I couldn’t sleep. I’ve learned that when I’m stressed, my brain thinks about other stressful memories, even unrelated ones. I saw a video of a woman dancing to bachata by herself to a Romeo Santos song. She looked beautiful and happy, and yet I felt a massive wave of grief. I viewed the video more than once because the music and dance moves touched an older part of me I miss — the part of me that is you.
There aren’t a lot of people who can relate to our story. We grew up a few blocks away from each other in The Bronx. We met at Jonas Bronck Academy, a junior high school that offered ballroom dance lessons. Even though we attended different high schools, we took the D train together to attend our ballroom classes in Manhattan. I remember we danced in the park near our homes to prepare for those weekends. Without planning it, we both went to Le Moyne College in Syracuse, where we taught ballroom to our peers. Dance was always fun and freeing throughout my childhood — we danced together for eleven years. Our history isn’t normal — it’s unique.
You can imagine how conflicted I felt and continue to feel when I dance. What brings my soul joy also comes with baggage. Believe it or not, when I think of you, I smile (for the most part). I felt sad last night, but that’s normal. Before I started writing this letter today, I had a solo dance party in my kitchen while listening to that same Romeo Santos song from the video. I thought of you and even imagined you dancing with me, which is crazy to admit because it shows how far I’ve come. Instead of pushing you away in my mind, I accept that you’re there with me whenever I dance in Zumba classes, Latin clubs, or my house. Holding onto the fun memories of us on the dance floor is a beautiful thing.
I always thought our bond was genuine because we danced innocently without the need to cross a line. That’s why the night you ended our friendship was deeply painful. It was freshman year, and you texted me saying you wanted to hang out — I found it weird that you were texting me so late. I felt something was off between us since we arrived at college — I offered to meet outside Dablon Hall to see if you were okay. You texted I’m here, so I left my dorm.
Believe me when I tell you — I became terrified the second I saw you. You didn’t look like yourself. You wore baggy clothes, your eyes were dark, you had an unfriendly smug smile, and you couldn’t stand straight. You had consumed drugs and alcohol before you texted me — which explained your demeanor. I asked, “How are you feeling?” — you didn’t answer. Instead, you stared at me as if I was your prey. When I asked why things had been off between us, you snapped at me with, “I just want to fuck.”
I quietly looked up at you. I was nervous and stuttered when I pleaded, “What? We danced together,” as if that had anything to do with what you had just said. I was in shock, and nothing made sense. I quickly left and started to cry because you made me feel unsafe; thank God I trusted my gut not to invite you inside my single dorm room that night. Talk about trauma, huh?
Our bodies always united when we danced, so I thought the joy we felt on the dance floor was enough for you, as it was for me. It turns out you wanted everything and more from the pleasure my body could give. We were never in a romantic relationship, so being intimate wouldn’t have been intimate. It would’ve been nothing but a transaction for you.
Reflecting on how we experienced college together, I think about the healthy boundaries I didn’t have in my non-existent path to healing. It took a while, but we talked casually on and off throughout those years. We even had a few laughs, yet nothing felt the same. I didn’t know how to accept what you said that night, and in no way did I fully process the grief that came with the end of our friendship. I pretended we were cool. I wasn’t ready to let go of dancing with you. It wasn't until years after graduation that I started to heal and accept your betrayal. I want to trust my new dance partners to respect me and my body. I don’t know how long it will take me to get there, but I will keep trying.
I learned to graciously forgive you — which is impressive, considering you never apologized. There were a million reasons why you acted the way you did, all of which had nothing to do with me. You weren’t living your most authentic self — I hope you are no longer in that dark place. If you’re reading this, I want you to know that I hope you forgive yourself. You deserve to live your life — without guilt. I want you to take the dances we learned and relive those good memories with someone you love, whether it’s your wife on your wedding day, your daughter, or your Mother.
As I grow, I will heal in new ways and continue to love the part of me that is you. I will also hold onto my favorite memory of us — I’m not sure if you remember this: in sophomore year at Le Moyne, we taught our friends in El Movimiento the Tango for the Latino banquet. There was a moment when every couple repeated the new steps. When they were ready to practice with music, we stood close to each other, in hold, as we waited for the cue in the song to start. I felt you looking at me. I met your eyes, and with a gentle and truthful tone, you softly shared, “Don’t tell anyone I said this — this feels so much better with you.” We started to dance.
-Carla
