Something

Spring has finally hit southeastern Idaho. I took my nylons off on Sharon's porch while we chatted in the sun, and my legs breathed fresh air for the first time since September. I watched the clouds and petted Patch. Rigby has a few colors besides white and brown and pale blue--now we have greens, yellows, reds, blackbirds, squirrels, golden fields at sunset. It makes me want to listen to Sting. Fortunately for me, my lover owns every Sting album available to the general public, possibly a few besides. It wouldn't surprise me.

I also have great new driving music and a brand new semester starting tomorrow morning. No British Literature this time, just three courses freshman composition and an ENG 311 (I'm still trying to figure out what this class entails. I've planned as far as introductions).

My point: I'm pretty chipper these days, given to frequent secret daydreams and cautious reminiscences. I'm in love. His name is David Grover and I introduced him here once before from my escapades in Chicago. I think I've seen him in person approx. 9 days total. The rest of our courtship has consisted of three months of daily barrages of emails with the occasional phone call, the more occasional date via Skype, and a box of postcards with such words written on the backsides I have to sit down to read them. He is a lovely, good man, and I am hopelessly, devotedly, irreparably smitten.

I try and hear myself type this, anticipate the realistic and earthbound responses you all could give me. I try to be stoic, reasonable, the opposite of naive and ninny-pinny. But then I think of David's ridiculously unruly thick hair and the last things he's whispered to me or closed a letter with, and I grin beside myself. I find myself whistling without noticing, touching my face or my hair or my other hand like I'm My So-Called Life's Claire Danes, experiencing everything romance for the first time. Like a virgin. (Jokes, jokes....I've always been a virgin. I've been a virgin for 27 years. ....And that's not what this is about.)

I've been cautious to broadcast my relationship because I wanted to be sure I could say all of this without reservation. Last week I flew to Ohio and spent twice as much time with David on his turf (he's graduating with an MA in Creative Writing from the university there in June) than in all the days I had seen him previously put together. Oh, I was so afraid to leave the airplane. Who does this? I thought.....Who flies across the country to meet a man she's only met twice, a man she's only kissed once--a 3 a.m. kiss on the 24th floor of the Chicago Hilton on Valentines Day? I stalled the whole way out of the terminal. I walked into two bathrooms. I found myself staring into the windows of a bookstore, sweating. And I was wearing glasses, for crying out loud. My Anasazi glasses for crying out loud. They probably smelled of garlic and wet wool.

When I saw him, he looked so kind and so serious; I about had to sit down just to read his face. Here was the face behind the postcards, just as genuine as I'd hoped it would be. He stood and took a step towards me, holding out daffodils. Daffodils, I tell you. We grinned and hugged and didn't stop grinning or hugging the full five days I spent with him. I get to see him again in Utah this Friday. My turf. Drive him around in my car. Show him my life.

I don't know what exactly is the thesis of this blog post, except I just wanted to get it out there. An update. I fear to look naive. But I fear to sound even more silly or gaggy if I list all of the evidences of our love on the world wide web. I guess I mostly want to communicate gratitude. I am astounded at this great chance find, this crazy diamond of a boy who I've managed to spend nine days with against all odds, who I've managed to give my heart to against all logistics. I've dated and loved several shining gems of men in my lifetime, a few of whom might read this blog posting, these few of whom I still consider some of my greatest and most beloved of friends and brothers. To these select and good men, I don't mean to undermine or undercut anything tender I shared with you. But you each told me I'd find my own, that whatever comfort or security or passion or trust I couldn't achieve with anyone else so far, I would discover it all someday.

Well, I don't mean to count chickens or jump guns, but I've sure never felt like this before. This is entirely new. David feels like home. He is perfectly imperfect. I want to own him, to keep him as my pet. At the same time, I want to follow him around like a springtime sheep and watch him do meaningless tasks all day. At the same time, I want to discuss all great and all ridiculous topics with him. I want to play games with him all day. I want to put puzzles together with him into the evening. I want to hide the final puzzle pieces in my pocket, just to mess with him. I want to wear pigtails and run through streams with him. I want to dress purty and doll up my mug and my mane and make him dazzle by having me on his arm. I want to read great books just to discuss them with him. I don't want to sweat it about anything because I want to make our atmosphere calm and unruffled. Surprisingly, I haven't been tempted to sweat it. Surprisingly, I haven't come near to clamming up. He turns me into a vixen and a rascal. I like to think I turn him into pudding, into a devil, into a saint. I've never felt so secure. He's a gentleman. He has sad eyes and a gut laugh. He can purr like a lion and growl like a wookiee on my command. He can play any song I want on his guitar. He lets me boss him around and he lets me sit at his knee. His mind is full of beautiful things and his flattery is so honey-laced it hits me like a poison, rendering me pliable and soft. Yet it isn't much like the sting of a viper....that numbing that precedes the devouring and manipulation of the prey......it's a helpless feeling, but helpless in the arms of a good and careful man. I'm numb to the types of twittering sparrow fears that kept me hopping around past relationships, jumpy and nervous. Grover keeps me calm. I breathe slowly. I sigh and chuckle interchangeably. I want to be ridiculously good and make him ridiculously happy. I don't even think to trust--it feels natural just to take his hand and walk beside him because we've been walking the same path all along. How can I explain it?

Geez, I hope this isn't too mushy. It's still just me, plain old Gillzy. Except it isn't. Maybe I have turned to mush. Well, so be it. I glow, I beam, I quiver, I sing. Give me this day to fly through the air, I'll ground myself again eventually. Or maybe it'll be like that old Chagall, and I'll spend the rest of my days floating off, a high-blown kite flying from the hand of my love who holds my hand like a string, keeping me earthbound, keeping me soaring. My true love. What do you know. At long last, something is happening....