Bodies clump together against the walls of the small room so the main floor is left open. It’s middle school all over again – as if an imaginary line drawn down the center separates the guys from the girls. The nervous chatter that fills the air is cut short by an energized voice. “Alright, everyone, pair up!”
Everyone scatters and latches on to the first person they see.
“Hi, my name’s Sara. Nice to meet you!” I recite, and small talk flows from my mouth, which is set to automatic. I do a quick assessment of my matched man. His oxfords are worn, with tight little bows that perfectly mirror the perky bow tie that adorns his shirt. His smile seems a part of his outfit, which is just as quirky as the rest of him. I silently curse the heavens. Why does he have to be that cute? I don’t dare look into his eyes. I know their bright blue portals will distract me, and I have to focus.
“So…what do you do?” I cringe, regretting the question as I say it. That’s the typical and most loathed question one could ask in this situation. I’ve crashed already, and we haven’t even gotten to our first awkward silence.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he smirks, saving me from myself. I still may have a chance. The bantering continues as we attempt to work through the moves the lesson requires. I’m just getting comfortable with this guy (Dylan? Brian? I totally forgot his name already) and the same voice interrupts us mid-dance.
“Rotate follows!” And it starts all over again.
Swing dancing is eerily similar to speed dating. Those who have been dancing for a while forget this, but after a hiatus I return to swing and immediately notice the parallels between the dating scene and the dance floor. Still, I’d choose dancing over dating any day.
Every Saturday, which some consider “Date Night”,  guys and gals of all ages head to the Kat’s Korner, a dance club located in the gym of a sketchy elementary school, conveniently across the street from the drive-through liquor store. Questionable as it seems, Kat’s is one of the busiest swing dance venues in Mesa, Arizona, with up to 200 people at a time crammed in a gym meant for 20. A flashback to the fifties, the girls wear dresses pulled from vintage Simplicity sewing patterns and the guys sport Sinatra-style jackets and ties. Whatever it takes to impress.
The first dance, like a first date, is always a tad awkward. The guy leads the girl through the basics, easy moves comparable to typical icebreaker conversations. It’s almost guaranteed that you’ll step on the other person’s feet. It’s even worse when the guy sends the wrong signals, and both of you are thrown into a tangle of apologies and limbs. Sometimes the dance isn’t all that bad though. If the chemistry is right, as in any potential relationship, you could land a second chance! At that point, things go a little more smoothly. Dance partners develop special moves the way dating couples form inside jokes. Eventually, a true bond forms between follow (usually the “female” dancer, but hey – we don’t judge) and lead (the “male” dancer) that is more reliable than any serious relationship. The trust required to perform an aerial isn’t found in every relationship.
In the swing world, I’m known for playing matchmaker. On break, I sit by the fans to regain the ability to breathe and watch the rest of the couples interact. Sometimes I’m merely looking for techniques that I can steal and use myself, but often I notice a follow whose presence seems to occupy the entire floor. She floats with her lead as if she is actually connected with him. At that point I know that she’d be a perfect match for my friends, so I drag one of the guys to the side and whisper, “Her! Her! Right over there! YOU HAVE TO DANCE WITH HER!” After a few threats, he usually asks for a dance, and I get to observe my pairing.
With swing dancing, people can have dedicated relationships, casual dates, and yes, even one night stands. I myself have been lured to the dance floor for such a fling. Once, I lusted after a sculpted blonde boy all night, searching for him in the room every time I was led into a swing out. As the room spun, I’d catch a glimpse of him flirting with other girls with his seductive moves. He was definitely a new “fish in the sea”, and I, along with every girl at Kat’s, intended to make him my catch.
However, I was intercepted time and time again by other guys asking me to dance or other girls stealing the stranger away before I could reach him. Didn’t they know I’d called dibs? My potential soul mate kept getting stolen from me, as if it just wasn’t meant to be.
It was like being in a romantic comedy when he came up to me the very last dance of the night. Initially I moved out of the way when he approached, just in case I was blocking his way from the real person he wanted to ask. But his gaze persisted, and I coyly grasped his open hand and followed him to the bedroom dance floor. A smooth blues song started playing as he pulled me tight, and I practically melted into that second. Some higher force kept me from messing up. I flowed with him through the song. I couldn’t help smirk to myself, looking at the faces of the other girls who had danced with him that evening… They hadn’t danced like this. At the end of the song he whipped me into one dramatic dip – it took me warrior-like levels of control to stop myself from leaning up and kissing him right there.
        Now, swing dancing is neither for the faint of heart nor the weak of feet, and some people would prefer an actual date to a trip to Kat’s, but I contest that a night of swing dancing beats a night of awkwardly staring at the other person from across a table. I’ve been in a steady relationship with swing dancing for the last two years, and I haven’t strayed. Well, except those times I cheated for some blues, salsa, and tango…