Send me on my Way

Last night, Adam followed my lead--cleaned his room, assembled his desk, created a playlist, and lit some candles after he came home with a six-pack of BudLite from the corner store--a few minutes before I buzzed up to be let into his two-wing apartment. The last time I had seen the inside of his space it was a mess of dirty clothes and unhung shelves...this was a pleasant surprise.

We talked for a while about putting in the Hindi movie I had brought--a clever ruse he had created to lure me into his man-trap. A ruse, I had knowing full well, fell blissfully into with little struggle. I sipped my two beers as he swigged four--apparently in light of the Bears losing the superbowl, he had drunk a fair share of Stella Artois's earlier in the evening--he was the man and I got to be the little lady. We discussed the state of affairs in India; namely the reasons we hadn't ascended to superpower status in the last 1000 years--history majors are not ones laypeople should argue with on semantics or facts. He fought my bleak outlook on organized religion. He struggled with his uncertainity about life and looming quarter-century mile marker. I made a mental note to throw him a splendid surprise party...pending we are together in April.

Somehow when we talk it surpasses chit-chat. It's how it should be, but often isn't with boys. Even boys I've been out with many many times, never get past the shallow "How was your day BS" but with Adam it's different. Every revelation is couched in self-discovery and I always feel like he's opening up to me as much as he has ever opend up with anyone. It's a comforting feeling. It's a warm feeling. It's a feeling that breeds security and, in my case, a prevailing sanity that is critical in the early phases of dating.

To put it another way, I don't feel the need to impress him, but I do yearn to protect him from the harsh reality that threatens his idealistic view of the world. I want him to keep those rose-colored glasses on him as long as humanly possible, so I want to shield those UV-rays encroaching on his corneas. In turn, he hastens to comfort and soothe me when I express discontent. When I'm with him I feel like he values not only my physical and mental attributes but the greater whole of my being.

I suppose it would all be a moot point if I didn't turn to putty every tim his lips brushed mine and and I felt that sharp intake of his breath before we breathe each other in. The magic of kissing someone who gives you goosebumps is indescribable. It gives me chills, thrills, and spine tingles. It's like warm brownies with cold ice-cream. It is passion wrapped into action. It's the cool side of the pillow after warming up the first side to your discontent as you toss and turn in bed. It's a hot shower on your aching muscles after a filty game of exhausting soccer. It's everything you want when your palms are sweaty and your mouth is dry.