It is October and we keep trying to escape the city. One night we drive out to the Marin headlands and park the car on the edge of a cliff. The north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge is right there. I can hear boats sounding their horns from out at sea. Everything is foggy and spooky in that ethereal way San Francisco does so well. He hugs me from behind and hooks his chin on my shoulder, like teen girls dream about boys doing in grown-up relationships. I am learning not to run. ”I like you,” he says. “I like you too,” I say. We move slowly, fiercely protective of our hearts. He is so patient it makes me want to cry.
One Wednesday we build a fort out of blankets and work on our laptops from inside it. We are learning how to feel safe around each other. We drive the car down the Pacific Coast Highway to Half Moon Bay and pick pumpkins. At home we carve one that looks like a cat and my roommate half-smiles and says, “That’s nice.” We drive the car down 101 to Monterey and watch jelly fish dance in aquarium tanks. It rains and we eat chocolate chip cookies and watch baseball on a bar TV. On the way home the roads are so dark we have to use the high beams.
It is October and it is unseasonably warm in East coast terms but perfectly normal for the West coast. I wear dresses without tights and shiver in the evenings. I did not let him kiss me for three dates! We laugh about this later. “Remember how long I made you wait?” I say. Then he kisses me, because it’s November and we aren’t waiting any longer.
i think a more appropriate tag would be “perfect”