Page 35 of The Big Race
I walked him through the sequence once more, verbalizing each movement and its meaning.
“Right foot forward, toes pointed—this represents determination. Bend at the waist, keeping your back straight—showing humility before the gods. Right hand moves outward while left hand pulls inward—the balance of giving and receiving. Then pivot on your right foot while bringing your arms up like this—Hanuman taking flight.”
He grumbled something under his breath about preferring a kayak paddle to gold fingernails, but he started copying my movements instead of the teacher’s.
His athletic discipline kicked in, and he began to improve, breaking down each movement into its component parts while trying to connect with the story.
“Where did you learn to dance like this anyway?” he asked between sequences, his breath coming a bit faster than usual. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
I smiled, remembering those nights in college when dancing had been my social armor. “I used to hit the dance floor at frat parties,” I admitted. “It was my strategy for avoiding conversation. No one expects you to make small talk when you’re dancing.”
Ray’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You? At frat parties? I thought you spent college hiding in the computer lab.”
“Only during daylight hours,” I quipped. “Turns out dancing is the perfect activity for an introvert at a party. All pattern and rhythm, no awkward questions about your major or hometown.”
“I learn something new about you every day,” Ray said, a flash of admiration in his eyes. “Even after twenty-five years.”
After we mastered the basic movements and their meanings, Khun Malai led us to a small shrine in the corner of the room. “Before final performance, you must make offering to Phra Phikhanet—Thai Ganesha—who is patron deity of arts.”
She showed us how to properly place incense and flowers before the elephant-headed statue, then bow three times with hands pressed together at the proper height.
“This shows respect for knowledge passed down through generations,” she explained.
“Dance is not just entertainment, but connection to our ancestors.”
This ritual complete, Khun Malai announced it was time for our final test. “Now performance and questions. You must dance telling story, then explain meaning of each key position. Both parts must be correct.”
“Both parts?” Ray looked alarmed. “We have to explain it too?”
“Culture Crash,” I reminded him. “It’s not just about doing the movements, but understanding why.”
It was frustrating to watch the models and the sorority girls finish ahead of us, but we soldiered on. Eventually Khun Malai clapped her hands. “Now full routine, start to finish. Must be perfect in movement and meaning!”
We took our positions side by side, the mirrors reflecting our bejeweled and bedecked figures back at us. The assistant started the music—a haunting melody played on traditional Thai instruments that seemed to hang in the air like the humidity.
Ray caught my eye in the mirror and winked. “Follow your lead, babe.”
We moved through the routine, my body finding the rhythm naturally while Ray concentrated intensely on each step. When he faltered on a particularly complicated hand gesture, I whispered a quick reminder: “Flower blooming, representing hope—remember?”
The three minutes felt both eternal and fleeting. When the music ended, we held our final pose, both of us sweating beneath the heavy costumes. Khun Malai studied us critically, walking a slow circle around our frozen forms.
“Now, what meaning of this position?” She pointed to Ray’s hand configuration.
Ray hesitated for only a moment. “This represents Hanuman’s loyalty—the monkey god who serves without question.”
She nodded and turned to me. “And this movement, with turn and arm sweep?”
“It symbolizes the crossing of boundaries,” I answered. “How love transcends separation and distance.”
She continued questioning us, probing our understanding of each significant gesture and its cultural meaning. Ray surprised me with his grasp of the symbolism, clearly having absorbed more than I’d given him credit for.
I noticed that Cody was filming her speech, rather than our reactions. “Not perfect,” she pronounced finally, and my heart sank. “But you understand spirit of dance and its meaning to Thai people. You respect our traditions. This is acceptable for farang. You pass.”
She handed us the next direction card but cautioned us not to open it until we were outside. Then she sent us to the changing area and we struggled to get out of the fancy clothes and back into our own. “That was kind of fun,” I said, my fingers fumbling with relief as I removed the golden crown.
“Speak for yourself,” Ray said, but he was smiling. “Though you did look pretty hot in that outfit. All royal and commanding.”
“You didn’t look so bad yourself,” I replied, feeling a flush of pleasure at the compliment. “Very regal, once you stopped tripping over your feet.”
“Maybe we should take dance lessons when we get home,” he suggested, handing his costume to the waiting assistant. “Something less complicated, though. Salsa? Ballroom?”
“I’d like that,” I said, surprised by how much I meant it. “As long as you’re ready for me to lead sometimes.”
“After today’s performance?” Ray tapped the clue envelope against his palm. “Babe, you can lead any time you want.”
We rushed out of the dance school and back into Bangkok’s chaotic streets, my body still humming with the music’s rhythm.
Ray squeezed my hand as we ran, and I realized the dance lesson had shifted something between us—a small rebalancing of our dynamics, a reminder that we each had hidden talents the other had yet to discover.
“By the way,” Ray said as we rushed out, accompanied by Cody. “You never mentioned those college dance parties before. Any other secrets I should know about?”
I grinned. “A few. But we’ve got a race to finish first.”