The Beatles We Make a Little History

We make a little history featuring The Beatles

I keep trying to write more, but it’s hard sometimes to look back. I’m such a believer in things not just being good in the beginning. I tend to hold to the belief that things get better as you get to know each other more, love more, grow together, and become something more. But, I can’t deny that at the start it felt better than right now. Maybe it’s because it was easier. We were so new and fell so hard, so fast. Too fast? It’s possible. Though hindsight is 20/20, as “they” say. Whoever “they” are.

We are here now. How we got here is part of our history, and the second day, and night, together certainly changed things. It made it all bigger, more vital, and harder to not push for more. Was it too much too soon? I don’t think so. I’m not sure we could have slowed down even if we wanted to. And neither of us wanted to. At least I know for certain that I didn’t want to.

I woke that morning still full of the night before. I was spinning in it. The memories. The excitement. The love that was impossible to deny. I wrote in a paper journal about how it all felt. Though I’d suspected we would be something together. Though I had so many feelings before we’d ever met in person. I still never expected it to be this big. I had completely fallen for him. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

We were meant to see each other the next day. Sunday morning. For breakfast. I had plans for the afternoon and in the evening. I spent the morning writing. Finding a song that fit what I was feeling so perfectly (the song in this post). We texted back-and-forth. Rapid speed, like before. I didn’t want to stop. I ended up late for my workshop, and all through it I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering to him, and us.

And then my evening plans changed. I unexpectedly had the night free. We’d talked about me coming to his place sometime. Not this night, but sometime soon. But, here I was with the night available, and all I could think was I’d like to spend it with him. He said yes and we made plans for me to meet him at his brother’s place, where he was staying above the garage, for dinner, and to hang out and listen to music after.

One could say that at that point I knew where the night would end up, but honestly, I didn’t. All I knew for sure was that I wanted to see him, be with him, and have more of what we’d started the night before.

We went to dinner first. A place that would become one of our favorites. A place that was already one of his. La Bamba, in Burbank. The food was amazing. The company more. I can’t remember what we talked about, but I do vividly recall feeling frustrated that there was a table between us. I’d felt the same way the night before. It seemed hard not to be able to touch, or kiss, him.

Conversation was easier than it had first been the night before. That said, there was a sense of tension and impatience in the air. I think we both were feeling the need to be able to touch, and kiss. To not be in public. My appetite was barely there. I was way too distracted by all the feelings and emotions to eat, even though the food was delicious.

“In My Life” by The Beatles

“Though I know I’ll never lose affection,
for people and things that went before.
I know I’ll often stop and think about them.
In my life,
I love you more.”

When we finished we walked together to his car. He grabbed my hand again. Even now, holding hands with him is one of my favorite things. It’s a simple gesture, I know, but one that has been absent in nearly all my relationships in the past. It is a lovely thing, holding hands. Intimate and tender, and something that is underrated, I think. Though there have been songs written about it.

We went in through the main house, which meant meeting his sister-in-law, who was suffering from a summer cold on the couch. She was sweet, but it was still very uncomfortable. The introvert in me comes on strong when meeting new people, especially important people in someone’s life, for the first time. That small talk thing, and feeling self-conscious and worried that they won’t like me. Luckily, it seemed like she liked me. It wouldn’t always be so easy meeting his family members, but this time, it was.

Again, I never thought how it might have looked that I was going back to his room. That I was new. I honestly didn’t think what it might mean to him, to me, or to us. I just wanted more time together, alone, like it had been the night before in the park. I wasn’t thinking further ahead than that. I wasn’t thinking further than just being able to kiss him again.

We kissed. A lot.

We listened to music. He played a playlist that has since become one of my favorites of any and all playlists I’ve ever heard. So many songs that have now become part of our soundtrack. Part of this history that I’m trying to tell.

Sometimes I really, really miss when we listened to music more. When we were excited and anxious to hear what the other thought of certain songs, artists, bands.

We talked. A lot.

We talked about big things. Really big things. It was that night that he told me about his depression. It was that night that I told him some of what happened to me as a young girl. I’m pretty sure these topics are not considered second date subjects. But, nothing about us has been by any standards or expected paces.

We kissed more.

The night started to unwind more. The music was enveloping us. The room was growing darker. Our bodies moved closer to each other. We’d long since stopped sitting next to each other on his bed. Now we were lying next to each other. Close. Very much in each other’s arms.

Conversation started to slow down. Kissing started to heat up. His hand was on my shoulders, my arms, and making circular shapes with his fingers on my hip. I was still not thinking ahead. Nor was I making any considerations or decisions on where this was leading. To me, there were no limits to us. There hadn’t been since we’d first started talking. Everything felt right. We felt right.

He broke the silence then. Stopping kissing me for a moment and said, “I think we should wait until Friday to make love.”

(We’d made plans to go somewhere on Friday.  I think we’d decided on a hotel. Somewhere where neither of us would have to go home too soon. Where we could wake up next to each other).

Wait? I never thought of waiting, or not waiting. Not even right then. Was waiting what we should do?

His hand was still on me. Lowering his touch until he was tracing the line of my underwear just under my skirt. We started to kiss again. I think I’d said okay to his suggestion, though I can’t be sure I said anything at all. It seemed important to him to wait, though his actions seemed in contrast to his words.

He broke the kiss again and said, “let me know if I cross a boundary.”

But, was there any boundaries between us? Really? Are there boundaries with someone you fall in love with on the first date? I already knew I loved him more than anyone I’d ever loved before.

Instead of saying okay I just kissed him again.

To be continued…

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