Laws of Attraction


“I am really attracted to you,” he said to me as we stood on the porch to Graceland.

If you stand stock still the motion sensor light does not come on.

I was trying to not move a muscle.

“I think you get that,” he added.

Then he kissed me again.


Could that have been any more romantic?


The moon a sliver of yellow sailing in the sky.  The stars low hung like ripe fruit.  The breath of warm Indian Summer air caressing my face.  The outline of the two huge palm trees and the quiet, yes, quiet of the neighborhood.

Or maybe it was just the roar in my ears that was drowning out the noise.

He picked me up from work tonight at the shop.  We went for a walk through the Mission.  And we ended up at the Mission Bowling Club on 17th and South Van Ess.  He goes by it to work frequently and I shared my experience there when we took our staff retreat and ended day ones festivities picking up a few frames.

I am terrible at bowling.

He gave me gruff, “aren’t all girls from the Midwest good at bowling,” and teased me when I threw another gutter ball.

I looked cute in my pom pom socks though.

We had a half hour.  It was totally sweet and cute and unexpected.  An engagement had to be kept at 8:30p.m. and we were to meet some friends up in the Potrero Hill area.  We were just going to look around and as luck would have it there was a free lane and we bowled for a half hour.

It was a lot of fun.

A lot.

Then a walk back through the Mission to the car and a quick slide over to Potrero Hill.  The view from Vermont street was glorious, a ring of fog softly descending on the other side of Twin Peaks not quite pushing over into the bowl of the city spilt before it.

Getting to see a few more friends before I leave.

I leave in two weeks.  Two weeks from today I will be flying over the Atlantic, leaving the United States, and entering into France.

One of the things I did today at work, other than get soft and girly (my co-worker commented that he had never seen this side of me.  Not a side I show very often.  He said that he knew I had a soft side but that he never saw it, it was apparently nice to see), was geek out on all the bicycle stories about Paris.

I have bicycle escapades to be planning.

I am super excited.

I told my co-worker one of the things that I saw in Paris the last time I was there, May 2009, was a woman, in her late 50s or early 60s, riding a bicycle with a basket in front.

You often see women and men riding bicycles in Paris and the Velibe bikes were definitely out in force, but this woman was different.

She had a one speed, it had a wire basket attached to the front, she was in a long skirt that she had rusched up in front of her, grey flannel material with a peek of black slip, cream converse on with ankle socks, and a long grey tank top on that looked a little like an upscale wife beater.

Her hair was long and dark and streaked with silver and she wore it up in a low bun that was slung loose on the nape of her neck.

I noticed her because she looked entirely French and was doing something that I had sudden overwhelming desire to do–she was coming from market with a bag of vegetables in her basket.

And I noticed her because she had tattoos.

She had two half-sleeves of tattoos.

Now, this is unusual in Paris.  And unusual for a woman in her mid-fifties to early sixties and she looked so natural, so a part of the scenery, so French, I was struck immobile and watched her pedal serenly by.

I was outside Pere LaChaise cemetry walking toward the Marais district from the 20th Arrondisement where I was staying at Mama Shelter.

I had a vision of myself doing the exact same thing.  I could see myself living in Paris, riding a bicycle, baring my tattoos un-selfconsiously, riding to and from the market.

I could see myself riding through the South of France and going through the country side via bicycle and riding through fields of sunflowers.

And in two weeks.

Maybe two weeks and two days, I should give myself a day to re-assemble my bicycle, I will be riding along the Seine.  I will be able to go for a ride on the paths during the Expire Veribe, literally “breathe freely” days when the city shuts down certain boulevards and path ways to strictly pedestrian and bicycle travel–no cars allowed.

I will ride through the streets of Paris on my Starry Night Steed.


The color of his face washed over in blue light from the interior hallway of Graceland, juxtaposed against the midnight velvet push of sky between the outline of the two palm trees impressed itself into my memory.

No matter what.

No matter.

I will remember that silhouette, the cut of his chin, the glimmer of stars on his eyes and the fall of the light on his cheekbones and how natural it felt to have his hand on my hip bone.

He chuckled wryly, “it happens like this sometimes, you know.”  He looked down at me, “you go somewhere on a vacation and you have a romantic interlude, a moment, a brief time.”

“And you take it,” I closed his sentence.

“You squeeze what you can out of it,” he added.  “We’ll squeeze in one more day.”

He took my hand and we walked down the steps.  He kissed me once more by the fig tree, still pushing out green silky bundles of fig, still milking the last strokes of summer sun, even as its leaves are browning and falling aside to scatter under my feet when I go to the gate in the morning.

I unlocked the gate.

He got in his car.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” he said.

I leaned into his window and kissed his mouth soft one more time, “drive safe.”

And I walked back into the glow of light falling down the porch steps.

One more day of romance before I go.

Tags: , , , ,

2 Responses to “Laws of Attraction”

  1. Day Today Dating Says:

    You’re a fabulous story teller. I can’t wait to read more.

    – K.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: