(no subject)
First Date
Soundtrack of the Day:
If I hadn't made me
I would've been made somehow
If I hadn't assembled myself
I've fallen apart by now
If I hadn't made me
I'd be more inclined to bow
Powers that be would have swallowed me up
But that's more than I can allow
Current Temperature: So Owen Meany goes to the war eh?
He picked me up at about 7 o’clock. I was anxious. Was my outfit mature and sophisticated enough? Did I look stuffy and dowdy? It was Halloween, my parents were out. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about my date with a twenty-two year old. I mean, he was a full fledged man, and I was a budding nineteen-year-old just learning about the female powers bestowed upon her by nature.
I glanced out the living room window at the driveway as I touched up my makeup and pretended not to be concerned. He pulled up in his brass-colored Mercury Tracer. Until then, I had never seen one before, not one that made me look twice. Not one driven by the creature of beauty and poise walking up the walkway to my front door to ring the doorbell, for me.
Back in September was when I first laid eyes on him. I walked into my second semester American Studies class, a triptych on American Civilization. The class was a forum setup. The stadium seats allowed about 100 students, who would later split up into their discussion groups with one of three masters in the course, and were almost empty except for the first three rows. Having spotted the golden boy in front, equally anxious for some thoughtful nourishment, I scanned one last time for a seat in the first row, but no such luck. I settled for the fourth row, allowing myself one minute in every five to gaze at the back of his light brown head. Now, he’s why I was born, I thought.
By the next class I knew to get there earlier and sat in the first row, sat in his seat. In that month we had become rather friendly, even showing up before the previous classes adjourned. It was the last week of October when he finally asked me out. Of course I knew it was coming, I just don’t know what the heck took him so long.
We drove to the city where we had chowder in a seafood shop at the wharf, and went for drinks at a nearby bar. I, nineteen-year-old me went for drinks. It was so cool to feel so grown up. We walked along the wharf and passed the piers after dinner, talking about this and that, and mostly about class. He kept his arm around me, I tried not to be too short next to his 6-foot frame. Somehow we ended up at Ghirardelli Square, but they were closed. So much for dessert. We sat on the hill beneath the famous chocolatier and spent the rest of the night staring at the water.
That was our first date, my first real date outside school dances, group outings to movies, football games, and keggers. I never really dated my previous boyfriend; we just ended up together and that was it. No romance.
Thus was the beginning of our short relationship. We dated. We spent our time getting close. We got really close on whatever levels my nineteen-year-old mind could handle at the time. He was beautiful, a pleasure to look at, a joy to touch, and we had nothing in common, nothing but our desire for the other. But through him I began to learn about what I want.
Soundtrack of the Day:
If I hadn't made me
I would've been made somehow
If I hadn't assembled myself
I've fallen apart by now
If I hadn't made me
I'd be more inclined to bow
Powers that be would have swallowed me up
But that's more than I can allow
Current Temperature: So Owen Meany goes to the war eh?
He picked me up at about 7 o’clock. I was anxious. Was my outfit mature and sophisticated enough? Did I look stuffy and dowdy? It was Halloween, my parents were out. I couldn’t bring myself to tell them about my date with a twenty-two year old. I mean, he was a full fledged man, and I was a budding nineteen-year-old just learning about the female powers bestowed upon her by nature.
I glanced out the living room window at the driveway as I touched up my makeup and pretended not to be concerned. He pulled up in his brass-colored Mercury Tracer. Until then, I had never seen one before, not one that made me look twice. Not one driven by the creature of beauty and poise walking up the walkway to my front door to ring the doorbell, for me.
Back in September was when I first laid eyes on him. I walked into my second semester American Studies class, a triptych on American Civilization. The class was a forum setup. The stadium seats allowed about 100 students, who would later split up into their discussion groups with one of three masters in the course, and were almost empty except for the first three rows. Having spotted the golden boy in front, equally anxious for some thoughtful nourishment, I scanned one last time for a seat in the first row, but no such luck. I settled for the fourth row, allowing myself one minute in every five to gaze at the back of his light brown head. Now, he’s why I was born, I thought.
By the next class I knew to get there earlier and sat in the first row, sat in his seat. In that month we had become rather friendly, even showing up before the previous classes adjourned. It was the last week of October when he finally asked me out. Of course I knew it was coming, I just don’t know what the heck took him so long.
We drove to the city where we had chowder in a seafood shop at the wharf, and went for drinks at a nearby bar. I, nineteen-year-old me went for drinks. It was so cool to feel so grown up. We walked along the wharf and passed the piers after dinner, talking about this and that, and mostly about class. He kept his arm around me, I tried not to be too short next to his 6-foot frame. Somehow we ended up at Ghirardelli Square, but they were closed. So much for dessert. We sat on the hill beneath the famous chocolatier and spent the rest of the night staring at the water.
That was our first date, my first real date outside school dances, group outings to movies, football games, and keggers. I never really dated my previous boyfriend; we just ended up together and that was it. No romance.
Thus was the beginning of our short relationship. We dated. We spent our time getting close. We got really close on whatever levels my nineteen-year-old mind could handle at the time. He was beautiful, a pleasure to look at, a joy to touch, and we had nothing in common, nothing but our desire for the other. But through him I began to learn about what I want.