She caught his eye from across the room, sauntered over to him, big wolfy grin lighting up her face, took him by the hand, and drew him into her. They danced for the rest of the night, falling into each other's rhythms, scents, mannerisms, becoming re-familiar with each other, that feeling of belonging even though they had never spoken before.
She chose him because she had seen him at every dance event she had been to, of late, clearly they had the same taste in music. He was sophisticated, well dressed metropolitan man, not afraid to sport a colorful cocktail, with rhythm and style to boot. A new wave goth boy, all grown up, his style changed but the sensibilities the same, no wonder this once been goth girl loved him. He danced, but only when invited, polite, not pushy, a connoisseur of the delectable offerings at the club. He was good. And she needed good, then, more than ever. So she chose him.
They were completely smitten. You could see it in the way they would look into each others eyes while dancing, goofy grins plastered across both of their faces. He took her away from the dirt, the over work, the squalor, the constant tug on her energy and attention by everyone who orbited around her. He fed her, which no one had bothered to do in so long, taking her to lovely small restaurants, with fresh simple ingredients that blossomed into mouth watering treats under the care of the chefs. They sampled the red wines, and compared notes on the food, the wine, soaking in how easy it was to be together, to enjoy each other. They would stay up most of the night, making love, fucking, talking, until the sun threatened to send them to separate quarters so they could sleep, and then, cheeks aching from laughing and smiling so much, they would sleep, wrapped in each other, until obligations dragged them from their warm tangled slumber. He would wake her with kisses, looking at her with such utter adoration, that she couldn't help but sigh, and draw him closer to her. He was only mildly intimidated by her, and loved her completely.
He remembered everything she ever told him. Kept careful notes on her favorite things, and the things she didn't like. He surprised her with his observations, and the small, incredibly thoughtful gifts he would spring on her every time they saw each other. And she did the same for him. Two givers, refilling each other in the language they both understood. Her favorite were the pair of delicate metal earrings shaped like feathers in three tones of metal that he designed and made himself. They reminded him of her, he said, and he wanted to give her wings to fly. She adored him. He became the standard she would set for any future dates, that level of caring attentiveness, the thoughtful considerations, the way he filled her up, just by caring enough to make the effort.
She was badly broken from the life she was living at the time, and it was far too harsh and alien for him. The farm was literally eating her alive, and she was angry, resentful, and used up, and still, she gave, she worked, she problem solved, mediated, and cared for all the animals and people who revolved around her. When he left her she drank herself into a frenzy of red wine and beer, burned every thing flammable that could possibly be tossed into the flames of redemption, stripped off her clothes and screamed. And then she danced. In the morning a phoenix, twelve feet by twelve feet was emblazoned in the grass.
He helped her move shortly thereafter, and they remained friends. She hadn't realized until recently, how clearly he had seen the dynamic that was in play, how, his leaving her then was an act of mercy, on both of their hearts, as she was so overburdened that she couldn't invest, and frankly, her feral life frightened him.
Being with him still has the same effect on her, like a woman parched who is handed an endless source of cool water. Somehow, he makes it safe for her to go out dancing and be completely wild, knowing that at the end of the night, after she has danced with all the gorgeous girls she needs to, he will be there with a huge grin, and an outstretched hand to make the stumble weave trek back home, give her as many glasses of water as she needs, kiss her eyelids, and tuck her to sleep. In the morning he will get up, hand her an advil and a water, and bring her coffee in bed, until she can function. And they will talk until their cheeks hurt from all the smiling and the laughter. And for this gift, that of two givers, giving freely to each other, filling and refilling each other's wells, where every one else just drinks like it's a never ending source, she is grateful, and full of love.