First Date

[Barry]

I can never forget the moon that night, how when I reached for the door handle of the car, Erica’s car, which she had loaned to Susan for our first date, I looked up and saw it was full. I was struck by this as I got in, my skin breaking out into gooseflesh.
At her suggestion, we went to the Barley Mill, a tavern on Hawthorne I’d been to that had a strong Grateful Dead motif to the décor.
This was feeling good already.
We settled into a corner booth, and she began to talk.
I knew inside of fifteen minutes she was the one I had long been searching for. I remember a particular sliding sensation, a settling into my seat, and a feeling of warm, soft comfort washing over me. I’d had no idea she grew up in Fresno, not at all far from Sacramento, where I grew up.
This was only the first indication of so many things to come.
I stared into the milk chocolate of her eyes as she spoke, smiling and nodding, interjecting where appropriate, not wanting to say much myself, just listening.
When she mentioned Sutter’s Fort, I perked up. “I’ve been there,” I said, “when I was a little kid.” I wonder if she was there on the same day. She smiled at me across the table. I smiled back, sheepishly.
As the evening progressed, it became more and more clear something really special was going on. This was no idle dalliance, no one time thing; this would not be our only date. She was the one. I was certain of it. And what was so amazing was it was obvious to me she felt the same way. There was no question, no anxiety, not a shade of doubt. This was the woman I had always dreamed of, the one whose face I could never see – because I had not met her yet. This was her. She was the one. This was the woman of my dreams.
I resolved to take it slow after that. No sense screwing it up by proclaiming eternal love right out of the gate. And besides, her face wasn’t coming clear in my memories just yet. That took time. Years, in fact, but it did happen. That faceless woman acquired a face: her face. And that woman I’d always dreamed of, whose face I could never see when I woke up in the morning, her face became clear in my memories of those dreams as the years went by.
That first week, we saw each other every night, I think. We would go out, and then come back to my room in the house at 20th and Stark, the room in Itchy’s house, with all the fleas, and we would lie on my two foam pads for a bed and mostly talk, but also neck. That’s all we did was neck. I insisted on it. I could have “laid” her that first night, but I didn’t want to. This was special. We had to take it slow. As slow as possible for how special it was. We both knew where it was going, but I was adamant in my own mind that we would not have sex right away. This was important to me somehow. So we just spent that first week making out and talking long into the night. I’d walk her out to her Vanagon at four in the morning, not even caring how much sleep I’d already lost, understanding why she wasn’t in a hurry to get home to her kids, when I would be if they were mine. It was because of what was happening. The world was changing. All around us, inside of us, through us, it was all coming completely apart, being put completely together. Nothing after this would ever be the same.
The weekend after our first date was the Dead shows down in Eugene. I had a ticket for the second show, on Sunday, and I was all set to go with my friends Scott and Lisa. I wanted to go, but I didn’t want to. Already I didn’t want to be apart from Susan. The first night we were there, Scott and Lisa went to get some pizza at a nearby place, asking if I wanted to go. I said no thanks, claiming I wanted to preserve my meager funds for other things, which was the truth, but mainly because I was thinking of Susan. I was sure I would call her, but trying to convince myself I would not. While Scott and Lisa were out, I drank beer and smoked weed, getting good and ripped. Then, as planned, I broke down and called Susan. I had decided to tell her I loved her, this exactly one week after our first date. You never know how that’s going to go, but it went well. There was no awkward pause after I delivered the news. I could practically see her smile, all the way on the other end of the phone line; I could hear her gush. It was like I took a remote view: over a hundred miles apart, we were actually both in the same room. “I love you, too, Barry,” she said, breathless, and I was smitten.
When Scott and Lisa got back, we drank and smoked and carried on long into the wee hours of the morning. We dropped acid and listened to John Hiat on a tiny cassette tape deck. I was on a cloud. I’d met the woman of my dreams. She loved me. She’d said so. And I loved her more than I’d ever thought possible. The rest of the weekend after that…well, it was fun, but it was also just something I wanted to get through, so I could get back to her, my Susan, the woman of my dreams.
When I got back on Monday, I called her as soon as she was off work. We went out that night, and when we got back to my room late in the evening, I let her take my hair out of the ponytail and brush it.
I was history.
We made love.
It was everything I ever dreamed.
It was more.
She told me later that week that I could move in with her and her four children, whom I’d already met, if I wanted to.
I moved in on September 1st, two weeks after our first date.
Both of our parents thought we were crazy. Her mom took her to lunch to ask her if she knew what she was doing. She had children to think about. Who was this man? My mom wanted to be a grandmother. This woman had four children already. Did she want more? Susan and I both fielded the questions and concerns nonchalantly. We both knew what was going on, even if no one else possibly could. This was fate, destiny; cliché as those term are. We were meant to be together. Long and long had we revolved in each others orbit. This was clear to us from the beginning. And that clarity has only deepened with the intervening years. Even now, after sixteen years together, almost daily we discover a new patch of ground that we both have walked, another experience that we have both shared. It’s like we are two people, male and female, who until we met were living separately the same life. And now, for the last sixteen years, we’ve been living that same life together. How can this mean anything but that we were meant to be together? It’s like we do this over and over, lifetime after lifetime, and the fun of the game is always to see if we can find each other. And we have. As we always do. And each time, with each repetition, it just keeps getting better and better, more and more interesting, and the love we share grows stronger and stronger.

Peace,
Barry

[Barry]

My wife was the first person to read this after I wrote it. She said, "It sounds like a story, like from a movie, but it's true."
And she's right.

Peace,
Barry

[goldenmyst]

Barry, this is a truly spirit filled and moving account of your falling in love. I loved the end where you speak of finding each other lifetime after lifetime. That is such a lovely thought to reunite through the centuries. You pen zen journeys of the mind and heart which are sublime. Keep writing my friend.

Nameste,
John