And now for something completely different!
For me, winter was always the most romantic time of year. When it gets cold out, images are conjured up in me of busy mall in the evening with lights everywhere, a warm feeling inside, and a light snow falling. To me, that's heaven. So imagine my surprise when I experienced that same feeling of magic at the end of June, one summer.
My new boyfriend and I were taking a trip to Ohio to get the belongings I had left after moving to Colorado the summer before. He was a handsome, thirty-something Colorado native, and I was a Midwesterner, just this side of jailbait. He had lived here all his life, except for a six year vacation in LA. We set out on Wednesday morning, hoping to make it through Nebraska (we were taking I80 most of the way) before we stopped for the night. As the day wore on, we passed the time listening to music I had never heard, and getting to know each other.
As evening fell, I saw the familiar sights of summer; campfires in the distance, a train rolling by. Then, one by one, the fireflies began to dance in the sky. For me, this was a comforting sight, yet one unworthy of pulling my attention away from my new love. For him, though, this was quite a wonder to behold. After nearly going off the road a couple times, we pull into a rest area for a better look.
Out in the field beyond the small isle of civilization, the fireflies dotted the sky like a curtain of lights on Broadway. Even I had never seen so many at once. He stood there in the dark, completely mesmerized by the sight, a virgin experience for him. I took his hand and led him away from the lights, into the field, and we sat down to watch the show. We sat for hours, until the moon came up. By then, I was resting my head on his chest, absentmindedly humming a song I had heard earlier for the first time. I didn't know the words, so my boyfriend started to sing, and we danced in the moonlight.
My new boyfriend and I were taking a trip to Ohio to get the belongings I had left after moving to Colorado the summer before. He was a handsome, thirty-something Colorado native, and I was a Midwesterner, just this side of jailbait. He had lived here all his life, except for a six year vacation in LA. We set out on Wednesday morning, hoping to make it through Nebraska (we were taking I80 most of the way) before we stopped for the night. As the day wore on, we passed the time listening to music I had never heard, and getting to know each other.
As evening fell, I saw the familiar sights of summer; campfires in the distance, a train rolling by. Then, one by one, the fireflies began to dance in the sky. For me, this was a comforting sight, yet one unworthy of pulling my attention away from my new love. For him, though, this was quite a wonder to behold. After nearly going off the road a couple times, we pull into a rest area for a better look.
Out in the field beyond the small isle of civilization, the fireflies dotted the sky like a curtain of lights on Broadway. Even I had never seen so many at once. He stood there in the dark, completely mesmerized by the sight, a virgin experience for him. I took his hand and led him away from the lights, into the field, and we sat down to watch the show. We sat for hours, until the moon came up. By then, I was resting my head on his chest, absentmindedly humming a song I had heard earlier for the first time. I didn't know the words, so my boyfriend started to sing, and we danced in the moonlight.
posted by Blink at 7/11/2004 03:22:00 PM
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