Our first date.
Two hours alone in the truck, you driving, me sneaking sideways glances at you, both on the way to the Norman Rockwell Museum and back. You talked and talked and I thought, “Man, I love the sound of his voice.” You smiled at me and it made me break out in fleshy goosebumps, dancing like little ballerinas along my skin. We got out of the truck and started across the icy parking lot and you held out your arm for me, so that I wouldn’t slip and fall. “A gentleman.” I thought, pleased. Inside, I gazed intently at the paintings and out of the corner of my eye, saw you gazing just as intently at me. My heart fluttered like butterfly wings. We ate dinner and I devoured my entire cheeseburger in front of you, not even thinking as I normally did on first dates, “Am I eating too much? Do I look like a pig?” I batted my eyes at you and felt more beautiful than I ever had felt before. Sitting beside you on the stool in front of the waterfall bar, listing to the sound of the water crashing down, the melodic roar of voices all around us, and feeling like we were completely alone in our own cocoon. Just you and I. Pretending I didn’t see you studying me, smiling, I people-watched a bit and laughed softly in my head. “You have beautiful eyes.” You told me and I swear, I almost melted off the barstool into a sloppy puddle at your feet. No one had ever told me that before. On the ride back home, as night tickled the sky with its black-tipped paint brush, you gently grabbed my hand. Your big callused thumb stroked, feather-soft and light as a child’s touch, against the inside of my palm and my heart started to thump a mad dance of delight in my chest. Back home, your lips on mine, I thought, “I could get lost in his kiss.” Your arms around me, I never wanted to let go.
Almost three years later, I can still get lost in that kiss.
Thank you for loving me the way you do.