Vignettes from New York City...
I pause at the landing at his gray-colored apartment door. Chords from an electric bass resonate from within; this is the first time I hear him play. I hesitate knocking because I am unsure if he will play for me. New lovers are always vulnerable about their artistry. (Hence, he has yet to read my words on this blog.) Within ten minutes of my standing at his threshold, I am lounging on his Scotch plaid couch with his orange cat beside me, one of us literally purring and the other metaphorically so. Mesmerized, my eyes follow his fingers as he strums his new bass. My irises shift back and forth between his profile and his fingers. He hands me the instrument and I feel vulnerable and unsure what to do. He is a patient teacher, but I am an unfocused student. He asks me a question. I do not hear him. He asks again - where do you want to have dinner? I do not know the answer, nor do I care to give one. I listen to him play again until I tell him to stop. He and I leave to have dinner an hour later.
He wants to take me to an Italian restaurant up on 88th. As we walk up the avenue, I take his hand. I know he is not one for PDA, but I cannot resist. At one point he pulls his hand away to button his polo. I grow sad, wondering if it was an excuse he had to take his hand away - he does not like being affectionate in public. Moments later, he reaches towards my left arm and takes my hand.
I love it when he orders for me. I know that is so anti-feminist ideology, but I cannot help that I enjoy him telling the waiter that we will drink a bottle of a red Barbaresco and that she will have the shrimp and scallops. Later on after we eat, he takes the bottle and pours into my glass: "Drink up, kid."
It is pouring and the sound of the water hitting the pavement is loud in a cacophony of pelting drops. I stand under the awning and watch him dart out into the street without an umbrella. His only protection from the rain is a baseball hat and hoodie, and he whistles sharply as he runs into the thick puddles on the street. The yellow cab stops and the window rolls down; he hands fare to the driver. He motions for me to come as he opens the door for me, but all I want to do is go back upstairs. I run over to him and the cab. We kiss in the rain, hard but not long, and he tells me that he is not going to sleep until I have called him to let him know I was home safe and in bed.
An hour later I expect him to have fallen asleep, but he answers and is wide awake. True to his word...so far he is nothing but true to his word. I fall asleep listening to the rain.