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Turning 46 Get Weird: Part 3: Kisses at the Moon

July 1, 2015

“Walk ahead of me. I’m going to try to get in free,” I told Paul as we walked up to entrance of the Moon. I approached the bouncer saying, “Hey Will. It’s my birthday.”

“Happy Birthday,” he said in his high-pitched, whiney voice as he put a wristband on me.

“Thank you Will,” I sang. “I love you.”

Paul and I walked around the back, spotting the long-haired Pamplona enemy sitting on the deck. I hoped he didn’t recognize us as the assholes from the bar. We caught up with Amy and Liz sitting on the back bench by the bar. Paul got a beer and we observed the crowd. I went up to the dance floor to see if there was anyone to dance with. Nothing. I walked back and stood by the gang, telling Liz, “You’re going to have to dance with me.”

“To this?” she asked.

“No, silly not a waltz, in a minute.”

“Ok,” she agreed.

Pumpkin Patch showed up and put his arm around me.

“You want something to drink?” he asked.

“Can you buy me a beer?” I asked as he put his face close to mine and kissed me ever so slightly.

I sat back on the bench.

He would later jokingly tell me that he never felt so judged as when he walked up to the bar with Paul, Liz, Amy and I all sitting above and behind him, watching him order a beer.

We all chatted a bit and Pumpkin Patch went off to see about his friends.

Liz and I went on the dance floor and did our little routine and I remembered all the nights we’ve spent hot and sweaty on that dance floor, all night long.

A former co-worker of mine had joined us and Liz called me over,

“Hey Marie, Sarah wants to ask you something.”

“I was just asking her about the guy you used to talk about all the time. He was really young but you were crazy about him.”

“Oh, Z,” I said with a laugh.

“Yeah, she wants to know whatever happen with that,” Liz said laughing.

“Well, he showed up at my door this morning.” I said sheepishly.

“Oh, wow,” Sarah said.

Time went by and I was getting bored. Not much was happening. No body to dance with and Pumpkin Patch seemed to have disappeared.

“I’m going to leave soon,” I texted him.

“Where’s your boy?” Amy asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “And I’m getting a little annoyed. Maybe time to call it a night.”

“Oh, there he is,” she said as he approached.

He walked up to me, put his hand on my knee and said, “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said.

“But if you leave how will we make out?” he asked.

I smiled at him and looked around. The back patio was curiously well lit and his friends were sitting there. The “make out” swing was occupied with people who clearly didn’t understand its purpose.

I got off the bench and we walked away together. “Let’s go find someplace to sit,” I offered.

Paul told me the next day that when we walked off, he and Liz looked at each other and Paul said, “Can we leave now….is this thing over…..what are we supposed to do?” with his hands up in the air in a questioning gesture.

“That’s your job tonight,” Liz said. “It’s usually my job, but you’re in charge now.”

I led Pumpkin Patch to the front of Moon and we sat on a raised part of the sidewalk as band members packed up and the Saturday night crowd trickled out.

We kissed.

And then Pumpkin Patch proceeded to tell me basically what I think every woman wants to hear from a man. That he thought I was a beautiful person inside and out and he couldn’t wait to unravel the mystery of who I am. That I was smart and charming and he loved talking to me, even if it was just texting. That he knew 90% of what I said was bullshit (repeating a joke) but it was the 10% that got to him. That he couldn’t stop thinking about me. That he was scared of the way he felt about me because it made him think about possibilities, about future possibilities. That it made him stop caring about things like age or wanting to have kids. “And you write,” he said. “You don’t just talk about being creative or wanting to do something, you do it. When I think of all the things that had to happen, all the circumstances including that stupid app, to bring you and I to this moment…..”

He essentially said what Bridget Jone’s Mr. Darcy said on the stairs as she walked out of the party. “I like you just the way you are.”

I listened to him, not knowing what to say. I played with his shirt collar and looked up at him as he said all these wonderful things to me.

I was unsure of how I felt. It’s sometimes still hard for me to believe that anyone could really see me and value me the way he was claiming to. I’m not sure I’ve completely destroyed the left over voice from the past that said I was irresponsible, foolish and “nothing but a burden,” the phrase that is seared in my psyche.

“You two are still here?” a guy said, walking out. “You were kissing right here the last time I came out.”

“Kissing is good,” Pumpkin Patch said. “You should do it too.” He laughed. “This isn’t exactly a private spot,” he said as he kissed me again.

Liz and Paul finally found us and said they were going home.

“Can you bring me home?” I asked Pumpkin Patch.

“Sure,” he said.

“I’ll meet you there,” I told Paul.

He wanted me to spend the night with him.

“Are you sleeping with anyone else?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

And there it is. You are the sun and moon and stars but not quite enough. That’s what it seemed like he was saying.

I mean, I get it. I was there. He just broke up with someone who wasn’t good for him. He wants to play. He doesn’t want to fall in love and be in a relationship. But then why is he saying all these things to me? I understood yet I didn’t understand.

“Why don’t you take me home,” I said.

We got to my parking lot and kissed more. He’s such a good kisser. Things got a bit heated. Clothing was breached. Things were touched. Oh, fuck it, the wine and absinthe said in my head.

“Take me home with you,” I said. It must have been at least 2 in the morning.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said putting my head on his shoulder.

I texted Paul, “I’m going home with him.”

We arrived at his apartment and began undressing each other and I laughed remembering the “slimming” underwear I had put on to look decent in the dress. We had sex for the second time, an expected improvement then lay in bed trying to sleep.

He whispered to me and caressed me. He ran his fingers and hand all over my body, gingerly, kissing my cheek and neck, giving me goosebumps. He said he could fall in love with me. I lay there on his dark sheets and pillow, allowing him to shower with me the sweetest of attentions, beautiful touches on my skin and sweet nothings in my ear as I  slowly fell asleep and wondered what I was going to do about this one.

I woke up with a massive headache in the back of my head.

After more morning affections, I asked him to drive me home. I had an earring missing and I couldn’t find my bra. I looked at myself in his bathroom mirror and laughed. I looked like shit. I tried to smooth down my tangled hair and I put on my dress and heels. He threw on a t-shirt, shorts and a hat and we walked out into the Sunday morning sun.

“This is a little too “Sex-in-the-City” for my taste,” I laughed.

When I got to my apartment I kissed him and thanked him for a lovely night.

“I’m confused about you,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“It’s not your fault,” I said, “Well, actually it is your fault.”

He laughed and said goodbye.

 

“Walk of shame brunch?” I texted Liz.

I jumped in the shower and she picked me up. She slowly drug out of me the previous days events. I’m not sure why….maybe my head was still spinning but I didn’t dish all the details like I might have a few years ago, when we were giddy, newly single divorcés. I didn’t want to analyze everything, I guess. I didn’t want to expound on how I felt and why I felt that way and what the psychology behind my feelings might be and how my behavior might be part of a pattern. I didn’t want Z’s words scoffed at or Pumpkin Patch’s motives questioned. It was a great day and I needed to save parts of it for myself. Well and you know, the blog, of course.

When we got back Paul had decorated my tee-tiny apartment with streamers and baloons and roses and gave me a card with a sweet message. I hugged him and told him I loved him.

And then……finally……….I took a much needed nap. Happy fucking 46th birthday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I saw Sarah that evening at the grocery store.

“Did you have fun last night?” I asked her.

“Yeah, so did you make it a two-for?”

“A what?” I asked.

“A two-for,” she laughed.

“Oh, lord Paul and Liz gave you too much information,” I said embarrassed.

“You’re the one that told me Z surprised you and I watched you walk away with the other guy.”

“Oh, yeah…….uh yeah, I did. How embarrassing,” I admitted.

“Embarrassed?” she asked, “Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s awesome and she put her hand up for a produce-aisle-modern-feminist-high-five.” I slapped her hand and laughed.

Good God, I thought. If my 20-something married self could see me now.

I smiled as I picked out tomatoes.

 

 

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