Aurelia
Aurelia cannot walk anymore, but she ‘goes’ to Zumba every night. She opens the bay windows wide and sits on the Louis XIV divan she inherited from her grandmother. She lights up one long brown cigarette, which she inhales with the passion of a salsa dancer: each twirl of smoke a pirouette, her body swept away from the ground by muscly arms, sometimes sweaty, sometimes just vibrant of strength.
Zumba is always different. The instructor tonight excels in African beats, and even though Aurelia cannot hear the music, she can mimic the rhythm and melodies form in her mind. The woman runs and jumps like a gazelle, she elongates her limbs with grace, then faster and faster, her hair twirling around her head. ‘Ta ta ta taaa — ta ta ta taa’, Aurelia sings, nostrils flaring, entranced.
If you were to observe Aurelia and the way she studies the Zumba classes from the building across, you would think she had been a dancer once. She smiles at the thought.
Aurelia is a retired accountant. She worked thirty-five years for a major corporation in a windowless office. Feet eaten away by gout, they let her work from home during her last five years.
Aurelia’s retirement party also took place in her small condo. People she never met or heard of filled the staircase and corridors, almost up until the main floor. The flowers they brought lined up on both sides. A few…
