Chapter Eight; Tell me your Story

Nick is adamant about seeing me again the next day (Twist my arm!) and says he’ll pick me up at 7:00. I agree but insist that this time?

I’m buying the dead cow.

What I am enjoying most about this little adventure into Nick land is that he is taking the lead. You see, I am a big believer in letting the guy be the guy and the girl be the girl. In other words, I refuse to chase. I’ve done it and it is just not a good idea. Hence, I’ve become a bit old fashioned when it comes to what I believe are the sacred roles each gender is meant to play. And that doesn’t mean I don’t think women shouldn’t work or vote, it just means that I believe the intricate dynamics of male/female relationships are long established in the pages, chapters, and plot of the human story. And honestly? I like it.

To me that means that I can be my independent feminine self, and at the same time, still seek that safe place to fall.

And strong arms to catch me when I do.

As for women who say they aren’t searching for the same thing? How can I say this gently . . .hmmm . . . how about this:

They're big fat liars.

The next night finds us at a restaurant once again, leaning into each other and talking away. Nick shares a lot about his family. And when you get on the topic of family, well, none of us are the Cosby show.

I am normally guarded on the topic of my own fam damily’s dysfunction and purposely hold back. A few things are on the tip of my tongue but I don’t utter them. Not yet. I want to confide some of these things with Nick, but something inside me says to wait.

So I do.

And so instead I comfortably put on my interviewer hat and learn all about him. How many siblings does he have? Tell me about your parents.

I love people. My dream job, if I ever were to ever make a career change, would absolutely be in the psychology field. I am endlessly fascinated by the experiences that mold individuals. What was your favorite thing to do when you were a kid? Who was your best friend? What’s something you thought was so traumatic when you were in high school but now you look back on and laugh at yourself for? How is your life unfolding now? Are you happy with it? Why do you think you decided to do that? What would you change? What decisions are you most grateful for that molded you? Which do you regret?

Everyone has a story. As diverse and unique as the person it resides within. And I am always so humbled when someone chooses to open their book to me.

Two hours and two glasses of wine later, we have wrapped up dinner (I bought, as promised) and are back at my house. I am perched on my writing desk in my home library watching Nick click away at my laptop, walking me through all of his Facebook pictures.

He is telling me his story.

And I am enthralled.

“This is my best friend. This was the time that this happened. This is when I took a trip here. This is when I learned this. Oh, this was so funny at work when we did this . . .”

His openness is captivating, his candor mildly intoxicating, and his stories a mixture of serious and silly. Usually people hold back so much, and he doesn’t seem to be at all. He talks as if he has had so much to say for so very long, but no one who really wanted to listen.

But I listen.

And while I do, two strong hands work out the knots in the arches of my feet and one deep voice lulls me into a dreamlike state.

At any minute, though, I worry that he is going to offer me center stage next and ask about my pictures, my family.

My story.

But he doesn’t. And I am glad. For on the bookshelf behind me is about twenty photo albums documenting every minute of the last several years and I just don’t feel like going there. There’s a lot of grief in those pictures. And I don’t want to talk about it.

Inside of me, I do wonder . . . doesn’t he want to know?

But then, I’m not really ready anyway. So I do not offer.

The whole point of coming back to my house had been to sit by my fire in the back yard, so when the pictures show ends we decide to take the party outside.

But in order to have any music, I confess to Nick my hysterical setup where I simply open my library/office window on my second floor, prop the speakers in the windowsill, and let the music waft to the patio below. Although getting the volume level can be a bit tricky. Normally I have to run back and forth between the patio and the computer constantly tweaking until its right.

Nick offers to stay in the office with the controls while I go outside and report back to him from the patio.

“Is this good?” he yells from the window.

“A little loud. And good grief, what playlist is this? I don’t think my neighbors will appreciate hearing Pink calling her ex-husband a tool at this hour!” I shout back with a laugh.

Nick laughs and turns it down. The music fades to a tolerable elevator music level and I just hope that the internet radio station starts playing better tunes. Because if Katie Perry is up next I am not going to sit by a fire with hero man and listen to I Kissed a Girl.

That’s just wrong.

Our fire side conversation meanders back and forth through our lives, odd trivial things. I end up learning about a car accident Nick was in when he was in college, which leads to some discussion about the things he sees on his job as firefighter. I ask about a tragic accident in town last summer where a young man was killed on his motorcycle. Was he working? Yes. He was the first one on the scene.

I am silent. So is he.

But soon, back and forth our words are again strolling through the firelight. I feel so comfortable with him. No topic is off limits which seems to accelerate the night. Which is, of course, coming to an eventual close.

He kisses me at my door, crushing me inside of his arms as he hugs me goodbye. I feel so little and so protected when he does that I just want to linger in his embrace indefinitely.

I put my head on his shoulder.

“Thanks for coming over,” I sigh.

“I have a hard time letting you go,” he whispers. “See you tomorrow?”

"Yes."

I stand in the doorway as he bounds down the step to his truck.

And then he is gone.

I sigh and just lean against the wall of my kitchen for a few minutes and marvel at what has transpired in my life in just under ten days. Where the helld did this guy come from? Why am I meeting him now? What does all this mean? Does it mean anything? Should it mean anything? I don't any of the answers. All I do know is that I’ve never felt like this before.

Equal parts comfortable and intense. Simultaneously sane and crazy.

And there is, ah hem, not to mention, this incredible attraction going on here.

Someone pass me a cold shower. And an air conditioner.

Because yes, you just read the description of this night correctly. Two grown adults. In a house by ourselves. On a Friday night.

And it stayed G rated.

Someone give me a cookie.

When it comes to physical intimacy, I am practically a nun. And it is not because I am a prude. It is because I am cognizant of my emotional reality. Once sex enters the picture, I am like the penguin version of Patrick Swayze. (So totally envious of that man’s love for his wife, I mean seriously.)

If I surrender too soon, I take the chance of artificially bonding with someone and that’s just got “bad idea” written all over it. In permanent ink.

So basically? Yeah, I can’t go jumping in the sack with every firefighter that comes along. (Okay, he’s the first firefighter to arrive on my single scene, but you know what I mean.)

I have a steadfast “no hanky panky until at least thirty days” rule.

But honestly?

I'm tempted to call up Michael J. Fox and see about getting myself a flux capacitor.

Because if there’s anywhere I’d like to time travel my Delorian to right about now.

It's about twenty days.

Into the future.
*****************************

Dear DL Readers,
Thank you for tuning into my KFGO debut! I'll be on three more times in October and I'll post the dates here. I really enjoyed all the great feedback, thank you for your emails! I was VERY happy to hear I did not sound like TOO much of an idiot, although I am always happy to make people laugh at my own expense.

As for the "surprise" I alluded to last time, it isn't happening. I was going to post Chapter 9 earlier but the stars are not aligning. Sorry! I know this will come as a shock, but I am not perfect. I know! Can you believe it?

See you back here on Thursday for Chapter 9 . . .the working title alludes to the movie "Titanic" and that's all I can tell ya.

As always, thank you for reading!

Muah!
~Audra