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I Walked Out

jean compton
5 min readApr 26, 2018


Last week I was in New York City with my husband.

It was a last minute trip. We were going for a memorial of an old friend (95) and decided to spend a few extra days to see more friends and do the things and the sights that we love in our prior home base.

I usually always like to take a dance class with my former dance partner who teaches stretch and modern jazz at a health club in Manhattan.

That day, I only had time for his stretch class as we had to catch the shuttle to Grand Central then the train to Scarsdale for the memorial.

I was hoping on this trip to take another modern dance class other than my friend’s. Later during the week of our visit, after the memorial, after a dinner with friends, and after my class with him he told me he was going to go on Sunday morning to his favorite dance class and I asked to join him.

Perfect, I thought.

It was a two hour class. I thought, well, okay. It was an Intermediate level class — the first part warming up, the second part the movement portion. I thought, okay, again. I think I can probably keep up with that.

Being out of practice for dropping in on a stranger’s dance class, I mean, you never know whether the way they move will be something you can easily pick up.

We went to the class. He introduced me to the teacher. She welcomed me. He informed me that I hadn’t been dancing. Well, that isn’t entirely true. I’d been studying Zumba for the last three years — up until recently — when my teacher decided to quit. And, I worked out on my own. Did my own routine.

The first half of the class, the long warm-up/stretch-up went fine. The teacher gave me constructive criticism, encouragement, even compliments. I thought I kept up pretty well with the mix of young and adept (regular students) and ones closer to my age-65.

There was a short break in-between classes. One of the students was selling her art for a fundraiser and I bought some cards. Quick trip to the bathroom and it was take-your-places-second-part-of-class-is-starting time.

I didn’t have room to get behind my friend. So, I stayed in the back, third row (per teacher’s recommendation) and she began the first section of the dance combination. There…



jean compton

I have an eye for the artful and influence. Essays, Memoir and Musings on this and that. Currently working on a memoir about my life as a dancer in 80's NYC