The Showmance, Part III

The next morning I hesitantly woke up to go to my summer job. The day flew by in a haze; all I could think about was him. I replayed the previous night’s events in my mind over and over, sometimes fast-forwarding to my favorite part, then rewinding and rewinding it over, pausing at the moment I felt his warmth so close to me that I thought I might pass out. Then the phone would ring at work, forcing me to snap out of my reverie. I couldn’t wait to go to rehearsal and see him again.

This time I had time to prepare, at least mentally if not physically, for seeing Dewey tonight. I was limited in my clothing choices simply because I had a rehearsal for a show that included dance, so, comfort and mobility were of the utmost importance. I arrived early at the theatre, hoping to catch Dawn and tell her my wonderful story. She was there, and listened intently as I replayed every detail. Of course, like any good girlfriend would, she practically yelped with delight when I told her that I was going to spend more time with him after rehearsal to watch our second movie.

Rehearsal went by in a blur of song, dance, and the moving lyrics of Roger Miller. The group of soloists chosen to sing on the reprise of “Waitin’ for the Light to Shine” all gathered in a cluster in the wings on stage left, waiting to hear our cue line (I still remember what the cue line was. It was when Huck said “All right, I’ll go to hell!”) to move onstage for the song. Dewey positioned himself right behind me and leaned down close to my ear.

“Are we still on for tonight?”

His breath on my ear sent a chill down my spine and into my midsection, causing me inability to speak coherently. I could only nod. Huck said his cue line, and the eight of us went onstage. I have never sung my heart out again like I did on this number, soaring miraculously and effortlessly up to the high A at the end. I couldn’t help smiling and breaking character as I exited off stage left. Dawn grabbed my hand and squeezed it slightly, her eyes laughing at my goofy grin.

Somehow I managed to maintain focus throughout the rest of the rehearsal, but it couldn’t end quickly enough for me. That slight breath on my ear had rendered me completely unable to think of anything but watching another movie in that dark, beautiful house with Dewey. The director finally called it a night and dismissed the cast and crew to go home. As I packed up my character shoes, show notebook and water bottle, Dewey approached me, smiling.

“Are you ready?”
“Sure…we can take my car if you want.”

I had planned this. I knew Dewey didn’t have a car at the moment, so I was hoping for the opportunity to be able to drive us over there. Dewey and I left the theater through the back alley exit and walked silently to my car. Now that we were alone again, I felt the same discomfort at not having anything brilliant to say to him. I became more and more ready for us to start the movie, giving me an excuse to not worry so much about the flow of conversation.

Twenty minutes or so later, we were settled again on the couch, Dewey having thoughtfully brought out the blanket for me again as a preemptive gesture. This did not pass me by unnoticed. I was also looking forward to another possibility of sitting close to his warm skin again, hopefully with his hand back in its original place again…back on top of my own hand. I had no need to worry, Dewey was way ahead of me (as is usual for boys, I’ve noticed since then). He immediately placed an arm around my shoulders, his fingers burning into the skin of my upper arms. He pulled me close to him, giving me no choice but to relax into his embrace. We hadn’t even started the movie and already my heart was pounding.

I was thankful again for the movie choice. 12 Monkeys is not a movie that you can just sit back and mindlessly watch; it requires careful attention and understanding of just what the hell is going on. The only times I was distracted were when Dewey would shift his position somehow, therefore shifting mine. We spoke little during this movie, both of us trying to keep up. One time I couldn’t help commenting. The song “What a Wonderful World” began playing at one point in the movie, and this was (and still is) my favorite song of all time.

“Oh, I love this song so much…it’s so timeless.” He smiled down at me.
“Yeah this is a great song.” I smiled back, and we continued watching the movie. Sometimes I would feel Dewey’s fingers gently stroking my arm, causing momentary loss of breath and temporary, brain-numbingly wonderful feelings. I didn’t want this movie to end, ever. I wanted to just sit on the couch, warmly snuggled up next to Dewey, for the rest of my life.

Unfortunately, however, movies must all come to an end. When the closing credits began playing, neither of us wanted to stand up first. We just lie there, staring blankly at the rolling credits but not paying attention to them. I don’t remember what the first song was that played on the credits…probably just something orchestral, composed solely for the movie. I will never in my life forget the next song that played, nor will I forget what happened next.

As the opening bars of Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World” began to play for the second time that evening, Dewey stood up. I sat up and looked up at him, slightly confused. Was this my cue to leave? Dewey held out a hand, which I tentatively grabbed, and he pulled me up close to him again. Before I knew what was happening, he had circled my waist (much smaller at the time) with his right arm and held my right hand with his left…and we began to dance. In the darkened living room, lit only by the credits rolling on the television, Dewey and I danced to my favorite song.

My heart raced as the cadence of the song was finally reached, knowing what was going to happen next and feeling excited and terrified at the same time. I raised my eyes with great effort to meet his, and the emotion in his eyes made my breathing even more labored than it had been while we were dancing.

And then the world moved in slow motion.

As his arm around my waist pulled me in so close to his body that not even a sheet of paper would have fit between us, I felt his own heart beating next to mine. His left hand dropped my right one and moved to my face. In one fluid, but excruciatingly, wonderfully slow motion, he tilted my chin up towards his face and moved his face closer. By this point I made no attempt to hide the breath catching in my throat. I allowed my lips to part slightly, knowing I needed to keep breathing, and I felt his own breath, mere millimeters from mine.

When his lips finally made contact with mine, his arm around me tightened, and my heart exploded into that painfully beautiful feeling that is the first stirring of teenage angst and emotion. I never knew a boy’s lips could be this soft when his hold was so strong and firm. I wanted to laugh, cry, collapse…all at the same time. The kiss finally ended, and I reluctantly opened my eyes. The hand on my face moved my hair out of my eyes so that I could fully see and melt under the gaze of his.

This first kiss could not have been more perfect for this young, romantically deluded, 17-year old Frecklehead. I have learned a lot since then, including the feeling of total heartbreak (Dewey was also my first for this, but I choose to focus on these feelings and memories from my experiences with him. We have known and respected each other for 6 years now, and we have had other…interesting experiences together, which I may or may not include in this blog later!).

Thank you for indulging me in this trip down memory lane. :-)