Tuesday, July 7, 2009

I pull off the highway at an exit that’s vaguely familiar. I make the right hand turn from the offramp and feel a tightening in my chest. Rather than make the left hand turn that my car wants to make, I drive forward and find a parking lot.

I pull into a spot, put the car in park, flip down the mirror above and nervously check my makeup – quickly reapplying some mascara and lipgloss. I grab my bag, and I get out of the car.

I saunter confidently, at least on the outside, to the main street where I’ll meet him. As is the plan, I call him to let him know I’m here, but there’s no answer. I wander aimlessly in a store that I can’t afford until I’m standing out front – waiting.

He comes down the street and all at once I’m calmed and excited – relaxed and more nervous.

Saturday. April 5, 2008

I pull off a highway that I feel that I should know, but that I feel tragically ill-prepared for. Wishing I had glasses so that I could better read street signs, I strain against the sun, squinting to find my turn. I find it and proceed down to the parking lot.

Nervously I flip down the mirror to realize that I’m a mess. I quickly hope that concealer can live up to it’s name and apply some eyeliner, which I rarely wear, in an attempt to make the look less “Crazy-lady-with-crying-eyes” and more “I-meant-to-do-that.”

Satisfied with at least pseudo success, I take to the pier – and wait.

After what seems like nervous, fidget-y eons, I find a bench and force myself to relax. Which is never successful. It is then that I see her. I stand and awkwardly wait as they approach. 

As she steps onto the pier, all at once I’m calmed and excited – relaxed and more nervous.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Conversation is akward at first. A hug, that feels a little to intimate and close, but comfortable at the same time, and a moment where we don’t know where to begin. Sweet relief as he has made a plan and I don’t have to do the thinking, give my input, and can just be a follower, if only until I find my footing.

We walk into the restaurant and I find my voice. – I’m able to make the simple decisions that even a few minutes ago seemed so foreign – should we sit inside or out? Definitely patio. Should I drink a beer or a cocktail? Hefewiesen. It’s coming together and I’m not startled when our legs bump under the small bar table. We fall into an easy rhythm – laughing at each others jokes, poking fun at each other and at ourselves, pulling away from the safety net conversations that have always fueled earlier interactions.

It’s nice.

And for a moment I wonder why I was so worked up in the first place. This can be easy….this is easy.

Saturday, April 5, 2008

The closer she gets, the less I am me. The more quiet, reserved, shy. I allow myself to enter her embrace, but I never quite know what to do when I’m there, other than be glad. I pull back and look at her, then I look at the perfect little person in her arms.

She never fails to notice my quiet, and never fails to comment. I spend so much time assuring her that this isn’t my normal personality, when the real proof would be behaving like it wasn’t my personality. But it’s not a simple switch to flip.

But it happens. We fumble a bit, but find things to talk about  – favorite television shows, hobbies, jobs, dating. Without realizing the exact moment, there was a shift where it no longer felt like part of a job interview and began to feel like two people getting to know each other.

It’s nice.

And for a moment I wonder why I was so worked up in the first place. This can be easy….this is easy.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Dinner is over and there’s a beat – what happens next? Do we go to the movies like we talked about despite the fact that there’s nothing really playing that we want to see? Do we switch locations and have another drink even though the three beers that I’ve had are dancing in my head? Do we call it a night and say our goodbyes?

We stand on the corner, literally at a cross-roads.

In the distance, I see the dancing lights of the Pier and before I can think about it, I say, “We could go for a walk?”

The next step is where the cliche begins, as we walk hand in hand under a full moon. And while this was entirely my idea, I feel that familiar grip in my chest and I think, No, this is not where I need to be. Not now. I know this Pier and I’m not ready to stand there. But I look over at the man next to me and I think, maybe I am.

April 5, 2008

We walk the boardwalk, talking, laughing, watching. Taking pictures of our daughter and talking about all of her miraculous accomplishments. The words she can say, the things she likes to do. Speaking about her as though she were a college student and not a sixteen month old toddler.

After indulging her in the sand, on the swings, and having a corn dog, there’s a moment where I fear this is over. That I’ll blink my eyes and they’ll be gone. But there’s one last activity on the menu – a stroll on the Pier itself.

The sights and sounds of the Pier are mesmerizing to this little girl, and she cranes her neck to see it all, not wanting to miss a moment of the action. There are street performers, costumes, lights, music, and for a child that’s always been captivated by things that sparkle, the Pier is no exception. The allure of the carousel calls and we all take a ride together. As it goes round in circles, my head spins with the awesomeness of the moment.

And then it’s goodbye. We stand on the Pier at the top of the stairs and hug. We spout promises of next times and blow kisses to seal the deal. Three hands wave as we part. Two larger hands of loving mothers that used those hands to wipe noses, push swings, and answer the call of “up!” - and one tiny hand, around whose fingers the two mothers are securely wrapped.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

We walk past the staircase that I recall so vividly from my last visit to the Pier. I avert my eyes and look in the other direction, towards the moon, so as not to be snapped back to a moment that doesn’t have a place here tonight.

We walk over the same boards where I remember my daughters tiny feet dancing, past the carousel where I sat in what sometimes seems like another life.

We walk and walk, and a thousand times I hear myself about to say something that I could never take back – about my memories of this Pier and the amazing child that I was with. But I don’t. I stand under the moon and I look out at the breaking waves and I catch a glimpse of an empty playground. The swings sway gently in the breeze, but they’re empty. Looking back out at the horizon, so dark you can’t tell where the ocean ends and the sky begins, he lifts up my chin and kisses me.

And for one brief fleeting moment, I forget about the swings and the carousel and the corn dogs.

But my reality is swings and carousels and corn dogs.