As we walked he wrapped his arm around my waist.
I leaned in, not away.

As we talked he looked into my eyes (so sorry for the corniness of that statement)
And I looked back, not down.

We sat at dinner and I danced in his attention.
Rose, glowed, warmed when he looked at me thinking I was not paying attention, when he laughed at my quick wit, when he beamed after I said “OMG, these charred Brussels Sprouts are soooo, soooo good! Thank you soooo much for ordering them!”

And when I got up to use the restroom,
(with the intention of not taking another sip out of either my wine or water…damn the date rape drug)
I intentionally didn’t pull my shirt all the way down over my jeans
knowing that he was looking,
feeling like he was lucky to be able to look, lucky that I wanted him to look.

As we went up the escalator his warm hand found mine
and only let go briefly in the movie.
And just like in the movies, he was shocked that I was crying.
He took both my hands, pulled me in, his face all concern and asked “Are you ok?”
And when I respond that “I cry easily,” (which is my new truth after Art’s death) he smiled and kissed me on the forehead.
And then starts to gently, affectionately wipe my tears away,
until the flow gets to be
too much
and I have to stop him
because
well…
the tears are mixing with
the stuff coming from my nose.
And after all,
it is only our first date.

And then he walked me to my car
and we stand there,
knowing what was going to happen next.
And I’m asking God, “Please make him a good kisser. Please make him a good kisser!”
And he is.
And I am delighted
and I revel in his touch, his soft hands, the firmness, the gentleness,
the experience-ness of them.
And I revel in the light, respectful but oh so wonderful kisses.

Then he pulls away and says,
“Art was very lucky to have you.”

And I revel more, like a dog who has found a really
good
smelly
pile
of stuff …
to roll in.

I see I am not just reveling in his kiss,
or his attention
or his touch, although all three are good enough reasons.

I am reveling in myselfness. This widow, who couldn’t see this place, who didn’t want to go to this place, is now dancing and shining and laughing in this place.

And there is no guilt
And there is no shame.

This widow is alive and boy, does it feel fuckin’ good!!!!