Take five.

5:30

Dave Brubeck's Take Five was playing when I first saw her. She was wearing a deep green silk dress and considerable confidence. Every other movement in the room paused just for a moment. It felt like even the lighting was following her. She walked to the bar like she'd been walking a long time, and I forgot how to place words together to form a question.

"I would have a Negroni," she said. "I'm the one who's going to make it," I replied.

I turned to grab the vermouth and caught her reflection in the vintage mirror behind the bar. Only then could I look into her eyes without fear of what I might discover. I saw a hidden smile play on her lips as she turned away. She was enjoying every second of my unease. We both stared at the crystal mixing glass as I stirred. When I released the rich citrus perfume across the surface of the cocktail, she touched her delicate gold necklace with those poised, intentional fingers. "Enjoy," I said. She reached into a tiny feathered bag and pulled out a small black lighter.

"Roll me one of your cigarettes and meet me outside," she said. Then she walked away uninterested in the world around her, consumed in being fully, unapologetically herself.

I was busy. But being busy had never been a good enough reason for me. I rolled one of the fastest cigarettes I'd ever made. That saxophone brought me back from sadness into something brighter. Why am I so anxious now?

"You made it," she said. "My body forgot how to act casual," I answered.

She lit the cigarette like a ritual she'd practiced a thousand times. She exhaled a thread of smoke, and I watched it leave her lips like it had a purpose. I was ready to say too much but didn't want my voice to disturb the moment. She looked at me, cigarette in hand, with that quiet, calculated attitude, dangerous but safe in the strangest way. She owned it wholly. I was so there I felt it down to my toes. That rare moment when excitement finally beat anxiety; it had been a long time since five minutes felt like that. Just as I turned to go back inside, she passed me her lighter.

"Bring my lighter to Coq Au Zen," she said.

I returned behind the bar, holding the lighter like it was something rare. I carefully stepped out of joy control, made myself a Negroni, and stared at the time, hoping it would pass faster. It took five minutes to shift the entire vibe of the night and maybe my life.