The wooden floor was worn from years of dancers shoes gliding, sliding, and stomping their way across it. Tables and chairs ringed the floor but were not yet full because it was early evening. The DJ was already cranked up. A woman heard a tune she loved to dance to, and moved out to the floor under the lights.
It was a club version of a popular song, dramatic and with plenty of opportunities to get her freestyle Broadway dance on. Ninety seconds into the song she heard a man beside her say “Dahlin’!”
The man, no longer young, not yet old, moved to the other end of the dance floor duplicating her moves. They circled each other, two actors on a stage, understanding the music, letting it move them, entertaining the folks around.
Then the man took his dancing to a whole other level. Unlike her, who had a natural talent, he was classically trained. Ballet, tap, and jazz were his forte. He leapt, falling to the floor in a graceful tumble, sliding on his knees to her feet. He reached a hand to her. She took it. He sprang up.
He whispered, “Thank you for letting me free!”
She moved to the edge of the dance floor and watched as he relived some long ago memory of a dance solo he had performed. Sad joy had never been so acutely danced.
The woman seemed to understand she was needed again and moved to the center to be with him. Sixty seconds later, the song ended as they stood together in a perfectly timed ending that only could have been choreographed by two people living in the moment, with their heart.
Applause erupted and they took their bow.
He hugged her. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
She went back to her chair at the bar. He floated out the door.
They never saw each other again.