It promises to rain for the next several days.  I take advantage of the dry pavement and grass at 7am, pulling out my push mower, and wishing I had a soundless weed whacker to complement it.  I leave the forget me nots along the border for my daughter, they are her favorite flower.  Yesterday I got a call from a friend and today we are going to Thor.  A good rainy day activity in my mind, and in his too.  I shower and fall asleep in my bed without dressing, truly one of my favorite luxuries of life.  The phone rings and he is back from a turkey hunt and soaking wet, do I still want to go see Thor?  Of course.  Be there in an hour.

There is something about him that I cannot put my finger on, I feel almost as I did with Cliff all those years ago, a long solid comfort, an easiness that is quite tolerable.  It isn’t romantic as far as I can tell, but he pays for the shared dinner, and today the movie, and comes in for a beer before heading off to a birthday party elsewhere.   I love the way he stands there and puts his arms out for a hug, I am always the hugger, but he invites it and I am game.  I don’t know if he knows me well enough to know I am a cuddler, a toucher even in my platonic relationships.  I love the feeling of another persons body touching mine, known to walk arm and arm with heterosexual females.  But I stand close to him, and wonder is his arm out for me to put mine in it?  I cannot tell, if he were Bill, or William my arm would be there instantaneously, but he doesn’t know that about me, I don’t want him to reject me, though it is how I am either way.  I am beginning to watch for the smile.  It is one that I have seen twice now, at least, and the first time I wasn’t sure.  But I see it again today when one of my students saw me in the mall, she was so excited to see me, a cry of Ms. Gregory, Ms. Gregory.  Hi I say back.  Smiling big at her.  I look up and there it is.  I bet you get that alot.  Yeah I pretty much do.

We are standing in my filthy kitchen, having a beer, and he a slice of beer batter bread my daughter has made.   He mentions Irish Soda Bread and I tell him I will have to make some for him.  My daughter doesn’t eat much of it, and my body cannot handle all that starch.  I want to make it for him and bring him some.  Not to reach his heart through his stomach, but because I want somehow to do something thoughtful for him.  He reads the magnetic poetry on my fridge, something not many household visitors do.  And he laughs but not at me, which is also quite tolerable.  He stands and looks out into my back yard, I tell him the trees, and speak of birds and wanting to feed them, and my compost heap.

Later as I walk the dog in the drizzle, I reflect on the day.  Basically a day of napping and movies.  I feel this notion that no matter what I want the friendship of this man.  I think that even if there is no romance, he is just the kind of guy I want in my life.  Down to earth, earthy, intelligent, warm, his taste in music rocks, creative, funny, and he has the most beautiful eyes and the nicest smile.

I feel lazy and tired, but I have windows to wash, a garden to weed and animal hair to dust up.  But I feel kind of good, really deep in my heart.  I feel very much like I have found a friend of quite tolerable potential.


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