The old fears jumped into my chest, restricting my breath for a moment, then subsided. She was the only person in the room that I could see clearly. The neon tubing painted a clear path to her table. It was dreamlike, and who can fear rejection in a dream? I went to her, not calculating what I would say, not thinking of my embarrassment, my awkwardness with the opposite sex.

I stood at the edge of her table, my hand caressing the smooth surface. She looked up calmly, as if she had been expecting me. Her liquid brown eyes looked into me. I had a moment to observe the curve of her full lips, the perfect arc of muscle that sculpted the side of her exposed neck. Her face gave a hopeful twitch as I sat in the booth opposite her without waiting for verbal consent.

We sat that way, wordless. I was dimly aware of music in the background, something earthy and full of strings. It was punctuated by the sharp click of billiard balls and the scrape of glass on wood. She looked into my eyes as if searching for an answer there, then her eyes turned to the table. Her hands pushed ahead of her, clasped together loosely.

With no logic at all I reached for her hands and took them in mine. They were cool to the touch, smooth. Everything feminine lived in those hands. I could feel her heartbeat in her wrists, quickening at my grasp.

I stood again, her hands still in mine. I never wanted to let those hands go. They were my lifeline, the salvation of my ruined spirit. She rose with me and I led her to the center of the room, still oblivious to the other patrons.

Standing on the hardwood floor, already beginning to sway to the distant music, we came together. Her dovelike hands pressed briefly to my chest then circled my neck, caressing my flesh along the way. She was at the perfect height to nestle her head against the hollow of my neck. I could feel the satin pleasure of her hair against me as her body settled into mine, fitting snugly as a jigsaw puzzle. We swayed together, united by music and the sensations around us, and the song never abandoned us. The music spun out endlessly, enclosing us in a private world.

Some time later, at the right time, she tilted her head, staring into my face again. I came to her lips as thoughtlessly as a bee comes to the flower, and we connected. We still moved to the sounds as we kissed, rocking back and forth, her lips pressing gently then firmly then lightly once again, never breaking contact, sharing our breath, our life. It eventually ended, as all good things do, but somewhere in my thoughts I am still engaged in our first kiss.

When we finally broke contact I knew all that I needed to know in her gaze. Clasping that precious hand once again I led her to the door. She followed me out the door, into the damp night.

As we reached my car we turned in unison, wanting to give a final salute to the place of our meeting. We took in identical gasps as we stared at the vacant lot that stood where the building had been, swirling with leaves and dust.