Melodies Pure And True

A true story finally written out for the "perfect date" contest.

The last time we saw each other, you made it clear that you were interested in more than friendship. I reciprocated. Makes me wonder what will happen tonight. Something interesting, for the first time in my life.

 

You pick me up at my house, come inside, say hi to Ma, then we go out and get into the truck, where you open my door for me and help me inside. As always, we drive into town and then decide what we're going to do. "What do you want to do?" you ask.

 

"Baskin Robbins?"

 

"Ok." We go inside, place our order, and for the first time, I let you pay for mine with little argument. We eat slowly; you comment on my outfit, down to the icy necklace.

 

"Thank you," I say in response to your kind words. You mention my eyes. I answer, "I love yours, too. They're gorgeous." I'm blushing, I know. You tell me anyway. "I know." I tell you of my future plans to name my autobiography Vascodilation, which is the scientific term for blushing. "I can't help it, and it's embarrassing."

 

"It's cute."

 

"Not really."

 

"Sure it is." As we finish our World Class chocolate, "What do you wanna do now?"

 

"I don't care. I'll have fun no matter what we do."

 

"Me too. What do you wanna do?"

 

"I don't know. I'm down for anything."

 

"We could go to the park."

 

"We could," I laugh. We always go there when we don't know what else to do. "I still have that blister on my thumb from swinging last time."

 

"I'm sorry. We can do something else."

 

"No. Let's go to the park."

 

"You want to?"

 

Decisively, I say, "Yes. Let's go."

 

"Ok." We go back to your truck and head toward Gilbert-Stephenson. You let me put in my Shinedown CD. You like it, too, so we sing along (mostly me). We're there in a matter of minutes, but, as usual, we don't get out immediately. "Want to walk?"

 

With my answer, we hop out of the truck and start a lap on the dirt track around the playground. Brent Jr., my iPod, is accompanying us on this one. I let you choose what song, and, of course, you pick a song that's on there because you gave it to me. I don't mind. I like your taste. It's killer.

 

The first time we ever came to the park together, it was just after noon, and it was crawling with teens and pre-teens who came to hook up. We didn't pay them much attention, but I did happen to notice. The second time we came here, it was during the evening, and it was more of the same. I remember because we saw your 20-something former friend who likes to hang out with 14-year-old girls at playgrounds. You looked rather embarrassed to be swinging when he walked up. I couldn't help but laugh. Today, though, is different. It's evening, but this place is teeming with old walkers. They all like to look at us, too.

 

You slide your arm around my waist, and I try to act natural, but I'm not used to this. We hardly make a fourth of a lap before you suggest that we sit down on a bench nearby. It's facing away from the playground and toward a row of houses that I suspect are mostly inhabited by old folks and perverts. Who else would like to live this close to a playground? I don't even care that they're probably looking out their windows as you put your arm around my shoulders. I allow myself to lean on you, though I know I'm tense. Why am I being such a spaz?!

 

As we sit there enjoying each other's company and the close proximity we're sharing, we keep listening to Brent Jr. belt out our favorites. Old people walk by and wave at us. I guess they're remembering their times with their first sweethearts as they smile and throw up their hands in greeting. You kiss the top of my head when we have five seconds of privacy. I notice how cheesy this makes everything feel, because "Easy" by Lionel Richie is playing. "Change the song," I request. You ask why. I tell you to just do it. You do.

 

After a few more kisses on my forehead and cheek, you decide the old people (who seem to be multiplying) are getting to be too much. "Do you wanna go?

 

No! my head screams. I know you're not enjoying this, though, because everyone's looking. "Sure."

 

"Let's cut across the playground." After childishly enjoying a few pieces of playground equipment, you climb up on a large wooden thing that resembles a crow's nest from a pirate ship. It's much larger, closer to the ground, and squarer, however. On the opposite side of the planks you climb to get up there, there's a pole to slide down to travel the four feet to the ground. "Come on!" I climb up and sit on the side of it with you, and we talk about anything and everything. I guess we're not leaving...

 

"My butt hurts." I stand, rubbing my backside. "I'm sitting down here."

 

I have a seat on the floor of our mis-shapen crow's nest and you stand and join me. We rest our backs against the boards that make up the walls of the nest, and eventually you put your arm around me. I lay my head on you, still tense as I was on the park bench. I don't know what my problem is. Sensing everything, you whisper to me, "Are you comfortable with me?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Good, because when I'm with you, I feel like all is right with the world. I feel like nothing is wrong." My body relaxes and stays that way for the remainder of the night. All of a sudden, I trust you. With my life, maybe. You're so strong, and you smell so good. I love whatever deodorant or cologne it is that makes you smell this way. Your arms are strong around me, and your manly hands find mine to join them.

 

All the old folks have dissipated, and now families are showing up with their kids of all ages. We notice one child in particular who can't be older than nine. He reminds me of myself at that age: too smart for his own good. As his family exits their vehicle, his little sister grabs him by the hand, dragging him to the playground and leaving their parents in the dust. "C'mon! Let's go ride the motorcycle!" she shrieks.

 

"A-HEM!" he says, ripping his wrist from her grasp. "There's a number problem! There are two of us and one of those." You and I laugh so hard, watching him prance around the playground.. It's quite a thing to see. It brings back my elementary school days.

 

"That kid's hardcore!" you whisper to me.

 

"I know," I giggle.

 

"Hey," you say, pointing to his parents who are walking and holding hands on the other side of the park. "That's us in fifty years!" You've grossly overestimated the amount of years it'd take us to get to where they are.

 

"Do they look seventy to you?!" I bust into laughter. So do you.

 

"No! I mean, like, fifteen years." You don't even mean to make me laugh most of the time when you do. You're precious. Randomly (or not?) you say, "Is it sad that I can count the number of girls I've kissed on one hand?"

 

"No."

 

"What about you?"

 

"I can count the number of people I've kissed on no hands."

 

"Really?" I thought you already knew that I've never been kissed.

 

"Yeah."

 

"Well, that's cool."

 

Around 10:00 (WOW! So much time has gone by! Why so quickly?), I get a text from my dad. "It's about time to be home." I read it out loud to you, and our gaze locks on each other. I know this is the moment. I lean in, and you follow. I can't believe I'm in the initiator. Our lips meet, and it's pretty much perfect. I lay my head back down on your shoulder again. "I don't wanna go."

 

"We can wait a little while. You want to?"

 

"Yeah."

 

Somewhere in a distant corner of the playground's parking lot, someone starts blaring a song we both love. It's Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds". "Don't worry about a thing, 'cause every little thing is gonna be alright!"

 

"Perfect," you whisper to me. We kiss again. It is perfect, considering only moments ago you mentioned that when you're with me you feel like everything is right. I feel the same way. I don't ever want to go home, but I know the night can't last forever.

Reviews

[Angel's Lady]

Wow. Now, this is what I wanted to see. Pure love. A romantic date, simply put, perfectly stated, and quietly, utterly, simply awesome. Thank you for writing this. You made tears well up and, when writing affects me, I love it. No matter the emotion that it brings me, as long as it brought me something. Perfectly done.

[FatalityWriter467]

You're a baby aren't you a little young to date?

[sherie carter]

I loved it. :)
ANNNND I teared up a bit in the end.
My K-doll is all grown up. Ish.

[Kristin Brecoe]

awww. i got better structured towards the end. the beginning was too runny and icky. idk. i see how you were wanting to get to the good part, but still... the beginning just didnt feel right. and i chuckled when i was the cover art. =]

and i love that motorcycle kid... that made me smile. =]

i still enjoyed this. i like reading what you write because of the voice you put out. its interesting [in a good way] to read.

-kristin.

GOOD LUCK