He was the same. I mean of course that in the years that had past very little about the way he looked had changed. His face no longer had that youth like innocence, but it never does once you become a parent. But he was still so nice to look at and still so ready to have fun, carefree. And that was what he did and what I was so pleased to see. He ran across the yard and scooped his son up from behind spinning him and spinning him as the little boy laughed hysterically. Then he set him on the ground and went right down to his level to speak to him. The words I couldn't hear, but the way he looked at his son was with such love, such joy. Then, as it is with children, my daughters begged to be swung and spun and he obliged them all several times, leaving them in a fit of giggles as he walked across the yard to the porch. And then he saw me. He held my eye as he crossed the yard and he smiled. My stomach was mad with butterflies and it took all I had to remain calm and simply smile back rather than avert my eyes.
He stopped in front of me and from where I was sitting, he wasn't much taller. He said something, idle conversation about how his son had behaved and how grateful he was and I returned the words but I wasn't there, I was so shocked and so stunned and so happy to be talking to him. Sure, it sounds crazy, but this was the guy I dreamt about, the guy who saved me in my sleep and who loved me in my fantasies and here he was smiling at me and seeing me for the first time since we had met three years earlier. Not long after that he left me there, floating.
I called him first. We both had each other's numbers since I was taking care of his son, but I called him first. I remember that I had to think of a reason but I can't remember what it was... probably something silly like his son leaving something at my house and I just wanted him to know. I was afraid that he had just been being nice when he stopped by to drop off or pick up his son, but that phone call solidified that he was genuinely interested in being, if nothing else, my friend. We talked for a couple of hours about a hundred different things that I couldn't remember now to save my life. But, when I went to bed that night, I was the girl with the stars in her eyes. The next time he came over, he stayed for dinner. He was so polite and so sweet and such a good father. Needless to say, I was enamored.
I continued to baby-sit his son and he continued to pick him up, each time staying a little longer, his presence being a little less intimidating each time. It almost became ritualistic. He would get there in the evenings and have dinner with us, sometimes leaving soon after and sometimes staying for some conversation and cigarettes on the porch. Once we got past the awkwardness and had settled nicely into our friendship, he started coming over without a reason and we became rivals in gin rummy. Almost every night of the week, we would play cards after the kids went to sleep. And when we didn't feel like playing cards (which was hardly ever the case) we'd watch a movie. A few months passed this way and I had put the idea of him wanting anything more than friendship from me out of my mind. In fact, I was so happy for the company of another adult who I enjoyed so much that I wouldn't even have jeopardized it.
It was September so fast and every year his mother held her weekend long birthday party during the week of the full moon. We both went and I really realized over that weekend that nothing was ever going to happen between us. People flocked to him, to his presence, his goodness. Everyone liked him and wanted to be around him and I felt so little, so separate. He still smiled at me and still came over and stood with his hand on my shoulder and made casual chit chat but I felt out of place, out of his league - even as his friend. But I accepted what it was and expected nothing more than our card games and conversations on my porch. Let them have him for the weekend, I just want to see him again the next week.
And I did. He came over the next week with a big bottle of wine and we resumed our ongoing game joking about how he had only brought the wine so he could win the game. Hours passed and we talked and listened and played and laughed and then went out to the porch to smoke. I sat on the stairs, in the same place I had been when he had first seen me. I looked at the stars and the waning moon and listened to him talk to me in that voice - low and smooth and that laugh that was just a little raspy. He sat on the step above mine and I almost leaned back, almost rested on his legs... we were that comfortable together. But I caught myself, remembered that we weren't that comfortable. But that thought had no sooner entered my mind then his hands were on my shoulders and he was working some of the tension from them.
I was confused and exhilarated. I was wondering what to say, what to do, how to react, how to respond and hadn't figured any of it out when he really did brush the hair from my face, when he really did trail those fingers down my cheek to my lips, when he really did kiss me. Nothing I had dreamt was even close to that kiss, to the feel of his real hands running up my back to my neck, to the way his skin smelled.
When it ended and he sat there with his hands still on me and I opened my eyes and looked into his, it all seemed so surreal, so impossible. He touched my face again and smiled at me and I laughed. It wasn't a nervous laugh, but a happy laugh. Most guys would have looked at me strangely upon receiving such a response to their kiss, but I think he knew, I think he had studied me so much during all those days and hours and minutes that he may have even been expecting it. Rather than question it just yet, I just leaned back, like I had wanted to and enjoyed the way his arms felt around me.
the visuals are here, here and here
found one more here
Labels: History Lesson
