whiskey sours make me sentimental

For a while, and I don't know why it's been nagging at me as much as it has, I've been trying to remember the moment my feelings for you changed, or rather, started growing, I guess.

I remember that first summer that I knew you. It was the summer right before I left for Central, and I remember that you were extremely friendly, and fun to dance with. I remember your girlfriend visiting, and how she came to swing one night, and how shy and somewhat standoffish she seemed, but didn't really think more on it. I remember one particular night at one of Derry's blues parties, I think it was the one in July, when I was still fixated on him and I danced with you and I remember feeling so out of place, and berating myself for being so inexperienced at blues.

I'm glad I came back the next summer. I don't know what the heck happened. All of a sudden, my tastes in guys, the things I found attractive about the opposite sex, had changed. I know that when I was younger that I didn't understand how some men were found attractive, and when I returned for the summer after my junior year, I suddenly understood how handsome beards were, among other things. And you were this broad-shouldered, long-haired, weird guy with a great smile and sense of humor and ohmyGAWD you were engaged. No matter, right? He's just my friend.

It was one of the nights after Applebee's. It was the night we broke out in blues to "The Remedy" by Jason Mraz blaring from David's car speakers. The fact that you couldn't keep away from that beat, and the way we danced, surprised me. When I finally arrived home and turned out the light and was left alone with my thoughts before drifting off to sleep, it scared me. I couldn't let this happen. No way, no how.

Also, the fact that you joined the trio of us in the theater showing "Despicable Me" the next day confirmed that oh yes, (oh, no...) oh YES. Aw, shit. Damn. I mean, good-looking, a great dancer, and he'll go see an absurd kids' flick in theaters? No way any package is that pretty when wrapped, not from my point of view, at least.

But it was that moment in the parking lot that night, you whirling me around to that optimistic, unorthodoxly perfect blues tune in perfect time, that I realized something had shifted inside of me.

And I guess it never really went away. Things can stay with me for a while, if I let them. Those sad, stray kittens that wander into your yard and are pitifully mewing by the back door; the ones you let in for a little bit to sip at a saucer of milk that you placed carefully away from the rest of the inside of the house so that you could catch it and place it back outside before it got too comfortable. The clever little fuzzballs that are good and just show up on your porch like clockwork for that saucer, or the irresistable ones that rub up once or twice against your ankle and OOPS, look, it fell asleep on your couch; well, it's raining outside anyway, might as well, won't do you any harm....Thankfully I'm not the crazy cat lady just yet, but a few felines are roaming the hallways. This one just happened to jump on my lap and startle me at exactly the right moment...still here, after all this time. (Maybe I am the crazy cat lady already, just minus all the cats...)

That was a terrible analogy. Now I want my cat to snuggle with me.

POINT: You never left. But, being the unique case that you are (in more ways than one), I'm glad you didn't. Even if you do end up leaving later...I'm glad you didn't.