Dancing with my article's reader

“Skipping your walk today?”
My husband asked me as I slept in late. It was his way of saying I should take it easy today—my feet and big toe hurt, and I was exhausted.

One of my loyal readers suddenly showed up at the church hall on Saturday night, where we gather to dance. I guess I tried too hard to dance well in front of her and ended up overdoing it. But instead of her being impressed by me, I was drawn to her. She said she was a year younger than me, but she looked so much younger! Her tall, slim figure, short bob haircut, and fresh, makeup-free face made her look like a graceful tree—so natural and full of life. I even asked, “Did you ever enter the Miss Korea pageant?”

She reminded me of the time my older sister brought her fiancé home for the first time. My father wasn’t too thrilled—he was tall and handsome, which didn’t quite match the rest of our family’s looks. I guess that’s why my father mumbled,
“Well, he sure is tall.”
As if that alone made him suspicious. I’m short myself, so looking up at this tall reader gave me a similar feeling—until she started chatting so warmly and dancing so freely that I found myself glancing at her, sneaking looks, and just enjoying her company.

“How are you so slim and youthful?” I asked.
“If you look closely, I’m not really,” she replied.
But I had to look closely—she danced so well!
“I may not be good with brain work,” she joked, “but I’m great with physical things.”
Clearly no need for a dance teacher—she has a marathoner’s body and moves to prove it.

She told me she’s read every piece I’ve published in the newspaper—even reminding me of parts I didn’t remember myself. She had even been to my husband’s art exhibition!
Did I reveal too much of my life in my writing? That’s always my dilemma. But what else can I do? The only writing I know how to do is spinning stories from my own life into a kind of panoramic monologue.

It was a funny feeling—this woman knew so much about me, yet I knew nothing about her. It felt a bit unfair, but it also filled me with gratitude and curiosity. I had to keep dancing while trying to suppress my urge to ask her a million questions. I didn’t want to seem rude, but I was dying to know more. Then she said,
“You know, dancing is best when the music is slow and sticky~.”
Sticky! Music that wraps around your body. When that kind of music played, she would float across the floor like a feather, dancing so lightly. When the music turned dry and dull, she would sit and chat in a calm, thoughtful voice. It was hard not to be drawn in.

Even my husband grew curious and said,
“Calling her a reader sounds too stiff. Let’s just call her ‘Deok-ja’—it’s warmer.”
("Deok-ja" is a play on the word for “virtue” and sounds like a name.)

My Deok-ja is a woman who really knows things.