It's December, so I'm going to mix in year-end sillies with my Scorpio story. Remember the cleaver guy? This was his dating ad headline: *Insert cleaverness here*. I responded: Okay. *Ward, I think you were too hard on the Beaver last night.*
The "thrushworthy" fellow was also in that batch.
Alex J. Cavanaugh Like the last one, Robyn! Although you never want to be too hard on the beaver...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Me and Mr. Scorpio, II~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Good morn." I texted the next day. "Possible to resched 4 tmrrw?" I wasn’t ready to have my life taken off-course, as if one day would make all the difference.
"Thats fine," he wrote.
Scorpio drove towards a prime destination for hikers known as Upper Park in Chico’s glorious Bidwell Park. We gabbed like two besties who hadn’t seen each other in years, sweetened by a layer of I want you.
"To tell you the truth," I rambled, "I don’t want to rush things. When things start too fast, they end too fast, and I don’t have good luck. I mean I have rotten luck with men and I self-sabotage by sharing too much and I get angry, really angry and emotional, when I'm hurt and you don’t mind if I write about you, do you? . . . "
"No, that's what you do. When you cancelled yesterday, I thought 'What did I do wrong?' But then you checked in this morning, so it's all good. I had a big smile on my face since Friday night. People were like 'what's he so happy about?'. . ."
Fresh Fall air enticed us, as we shut the car doors. We chose a popular and semi-rigorous trail. Hand in hand, Scorpio and I worked our way down steep slopes of dirt and scattered shrubbery. Eventually, we settled into a soft sandy patch of earth. Scorpio opened his backpack and pulled out a box of crackers, small block of cheese, salami, and a pocket knife. We munched slowly, taking it all in. The sparkly, cool water – run-off from the Sacramento River – was livened by mini-waterfalls.
Interim kissing and gentle hugs landed amid his expressions of gratitude for having met me. I felt free and just plain 'ole happy. At the same time, yeah, what’s going to go wrong? Maybe nothing. Maybe he's a keeper. Right? And he's a good challenge. See, I’m a close-minded snob about education and job status (as if I, or anyone, has the right to be). Scorpio is neither a high level professional nor well educated. But he's bright and doesn't likely spell "college," "collage." Plus, he was a meth addict and terribly addicted years ago. I’m a good girl who never even touched a bubble gum cigarette.
"So what about tattoos?" I asked. "Am I the only one without a tattoo or drug history in this town?"
Yep. He confessed to having two, on the back of each shoulder. Kind of exciting; I’d never dated a tatted man before.
. . . Hours later, same day, on my cushy loveseat, he affectionately ran his fingers through wavy locks of hair along the side of my face. We kissed, and we kissed, and repeated the same.
"I know we should take it slow," I said softly. "I mean, I was determined to."
"It feels so right," he whispered.
That near climactic movie screen moment arrived: Will she see his tattoos? Will she see anything else? Will she take photos for you?
to be continued.