first date
No one can possibly have a better first date than we did.
I remember waiting nervously in my apartment for him to pick me up. I don't remember what I wore that day, but I remember my hands shaking when I answered the phone. I had to try and keep my voice steady, and not show how excited I was that he was just down the street.
I ran down the stairs from my 5th floor apartment and stood on the corner watching for his car. It was a chilly day for October and I had my winter coat on. He pulled up, silver nissan pathfinder. My heart still skips a beat everytime I see a car like that. Even if I am in the car with him.
So many memories of that car. Calling shotgun when he was nice enough to offer a ride home. Trying to watch him out of the corner of my eye, but not let him catch me. Even though he did sometimes...
He amazed me. He is the most giving person I know. I loved those rides home. He is such a skilled driver, but it always made the ride go too quickly. I wanted him to stop at more yellow lights, stay behind the slow moving car. I love being close to him.
Anyway, I digress...
We drove down the FDR to South Street Seaport. I was so happy-nervous-thrilled-everything. I have no idea what we talked about on that ride, but I know we were laughing. He has this way of making me laugh when no one else can. He got rockstar parking of course, and we got out and walked the couple of blocks through the crappy shops to the exhibition center.
He paid for our tickets, something I wasn't expecting. I was shocked actually. I think it was the first time ever that a man had paid for me. I am sure I protested or something stupid.
The bodies exhibit was fascinating. Neither of us had been before. It was somewhat crowded with school kids filling out papers for class, making jokes, and "eeeew"ing at the dissected and displayed cadavers.
We took our time walking around, inspecting the detailed work of the artist, getting as close as possible.
Occasionally, our shoulders would brush and I would be filled with so much emotion, so much excitement, so much everything. Every fiber of my being was screaming, "I love this man!"
There was a moment when, bending down to get a closer look at some nerves in the lower back, our faces 2 inches from each other, 2 inches from the body, I noticed that there was still hair around the...well, the place where the sun don't shine...I stood up with about the same timing as he did, and about 10 feet away he turns to me and asks, "Did you notice the..." and I interrupted with, "yea, yea I did."
We had a laugh and moved on. He made a funny by the diseased lung, "Good thing I bought the filters today."
The capillaries were amazing, and we speculated on how it was possible to dissect a person with that much detail. He thought the artist must have had a lot of anger. But I said no, it was a work of love. He looked at me, so deep it made my soul shake. I think he said something about how he'd never thought of that but I was probably right.
The section with the pregnant women and the fetuses at different stages was scary in a very moving way. I let a few tears leak out, which I had hoped he didn't notice, but he must have.
The rest of the exhibit passed in a blur. I remember a gigantic toe or thumb, and the body cut up in cross sections like a log...
When we left, as we walked to the car, we reached for each other's hand. Our fingers touched and danced and found their places locked in together. I looked up at him and it was Right.
I remember waiting nervously in my apartment for him to pick me up. I don't remember what I wore that day, but I remember my hands shaking when I answered the phone. I had to try and keep my voice steady, and not show how excited I was that he was just down the street.
I ran down the stairs from my 5th floor apartment and stood on the corner watching for his car. It was a chilly day for October and I had my winter coat on. He pulled up, silver nissan pathfinder. My heart still skips a beat everytime I see a car like that. Even if I am in the car with him.
So many memories of that car. Calling shotgun when he was nice enough to offer a ride home. Trying to watch him out of the corner of my eye, but not let him catch me. Even though he did sometimes...
He amazed me. He is the most giving person I know. I loved those rides home. He is such a skilled driver, but it always made the ride go too quickly. I wanted him to stop at more yellow lights, stay behind the slow moving car. I love being close to him.
Anyway, I digress...
We drove down the FDR to South Street Seaport. I was so happy-nervous-thrilled-everything. I have no idea what we talked about on that ride, but I know we were laughing. He has this way of making me laugh when no one else can. He got rockstar parking of course, and we got out and walked the couple of blocks through the crappy shops to the exhibition center.
He paid for our tickets, something I wasn't expecting. I was shocked actually. I think it was the first time ever that a man had paid for me. I am sure I protested or something stupid.
The bodies exhibit was fascinating. Neither of us had been before. It was somewhat crowded with school kids filling out papers for class, making jokes, and "eeeew"ing at the dissected and displayed cadavers.
We took our time walking around, inspecting the detailed work of the artist, getting as close as possible.
Occasionally, our shoulders would brush and I would be filled with so much emotion, so much excitement, so much everything. Every fiber of my being was screaming, "I love this man!"
There was a moment when, bending down to get a closer look at some nerves in the lower back, our faces 2 inches from each other, 2 inches from the body, I noticed that there was still hair around the...well, the place where the sun don't shine...I stood up with about the same timing as he did, and about 10 feet away he turns to me and asks, "Did you notice the..." and I interrupted with, "yea, yea I did."
We had a laugh and moved on. He made a funny by the diseased lung, "Good thing I bought the filters today."
The capillaries were amazing, and we speculated on how it was possible to dissect a person with that much detail. He thought the artist must have had a lot of anger. But I said no, it was a work of love. He looked at me, so deep it made my soul shake. I think he said something about how he'd never thought of that but I was probably right.
The section with the pregnant women and the fetuses at different stages was scary in a very moving way. I let a few tears leak out, which I had hoped he didn't notice, but he must have.
The rest of the exhibit passed in a blur. I remember a gigantic toe or thumb, and the body cut up in cross sections like a log...
When we left, as we walked to the car, we reached for each other's hand. Our fingers touched and danced and found their places locked in together. I looked up at him and it was Right.