Two New Keys

There are two new keys on my key ring.  One is all multi-colored dots, like a clown suit, and the other is black with a small red heart on it and the word ‘home’. 

I guess he likes me.

Me: who, in a fit of technological-induced frustration hurls a tin of soup into my shopping cart in the self-check-out lane at the grocery store; all of which he witnesses.  But instead of reprimanding me and making me feel worse, he remains (wisely) silent until we get out to the car, where he chides me in a way that makes me laugh at myself.  He can do this, because he gets me. We have the same temperament and he understands all too well what it means to be horribly frustrated and feel thwarted by life.

Me: who shuts down emotionally at one point during a marathon board game night (seven hours!) when one of the other players suggests, none too subtly, that my sense of humor lacks even the tiniest degree of sophistication.  Up until that point, I had been having a grand time, talking rather boisterously and chuckling up a storm.  It has been awhile since anyone put ‘baby in the corner’, and it didn’t sit well with me.  At one point I go to the bathroom and he follows, making sure I’m okay.  He does this because he cares that I have a good time.  He makes excuses for the other player’s behavior and, of course, he’s right.    But he doesn’t chastise me for pouting, because he knows the value of a good pout.

Me: who snarls loudly at other drivers who make what I see as ‘stupid’ mistakes while navigating our city’s badly plowed streets and roads, swearing like a sailor, sparing no one. Rather than chastise me, he, who has never really driven a car and has no license, does the same and in just as caustic a manner.  This causes me to frequently and gleefully point out exactly how silly it is for me to engage in this kind of contained road rage, as we both disparage the city of its inability to keep our streets clear of snow and bemoan how awful and trying this year’s winter has been.  He does this because he, too, knows all too well the frustration that comes moving through traffic at this time of year – but he does so on a bicycle! (I kid you not.)

Yep.  He gets me.

And he keeps ‘getting’ me.  He's found the key; the one that gets me to lower my guard and let someone 'in'.  And he's found that other key; the one that unlocks my 'happy'.  

Every weekend is another three or four nights and days of amazingly easy co-existence filled with joy and pleasure.  He’s generous with the kisses and nap time has never been so fun.

We keep growing closer.  We keep being grateful.  He keeps being patient.

We keep: working out together, laughing, getting naked, taking naps, eating out, cooking at home, having cocktails, trying new things, talking about media and art, talking about dogs and cats, working on logistics, playing video and board games, snuggling while watching movies and BBC comedies…

And then, after our Sunday morning work-out, he surprises me by insisting that we stop at the local Menards where he has two keys made: one for the front door of his building and another for his apartment.

And so I have two new rings on my key ring, granting me access to his home.

And, if I’m lucky, and smart, and believe in fate, and trust the universe…

…his heart.

Fingers crossed.