Peter and I fight in the rain.

About halfway through the Spring, I had to take Max to see his grandparents in Beaver Falls, PA. From there, his father would visit him and take him back to Dallas for a bit. We took the legendary Amtrak route through the mountains and the 'horseshoe pass'. I can remember it still. When you got around to the other side of that treacherous looking pass, you could see the whole curve of the train track where you had come from. It was high up on the side of beautiful green mountains with the mountain wall on one side, and miles straight down on the other side. It was hard NOT to imagine a train careening off of that narrow track into oblivion.
I stayed one night in the little, odd house that Max's father had grown up in. I guess it wasn't really odd. More likely MY surroundings were the odd ones growing up, and this house was the model of normal.
Anyway, I tried to imagine him growing up there. That was hard, because Max's father had become such a cool, eighties dude. He was a suit-wearing lawyer who ACTUALLY, LITERALLY wore sun glasses at night on our first date WHILE blaring the song on his BMW's stereo, driving 80 miles an hour on the spaghetti-like freeways of Dallas. He and his groomsmen wore dark sunglasses in every photo at our wedding. But that's another story.

Then I came back to Peter, and it was just the two of us.
One night, we were going to a little hang-out with a bunch of Interlochen/NYU friends. (OK - this is where you can CHIME IN, people! If you were AT this little shin-dig, or know who WAS - or anything else relevant - I would LOVE the help! It WAS a LONG time ago!)

Peter had gotten me a present. I think, partly, to make amends for locking me out in the hallway with no clothes on. And partly it was an early birthday present. I have mentioned before that I used to LOVE red lipstick. That quirk of mine had not gone unnoticed by Peter. He had gone out to some big department store and bought me the most expensive and glamorous lipstick he could find.It was, of course, Chanel.

I opened up the little package - SO nicely wrapped!- and let out a squeal of delight at finding that beautiful, shiny black lipstick case and the most intense red lipstick I had ever seen.
"Oh, Peter!" I let out as I flung my arms around him, "I LOVE it! It's perfect!"
"Do you really like it?" he replied, his whole face blushing red.
"Yes, yes,yes! I LOVE it! Thank you!"
Peter wiped his brow in an exaggerated manner, "Sheesh!" he said, "I'm REALLY glad, because you don't know what I went through for that." He pointed at the lipstick as though it were yellow cake uranium. "They attacked me, Jennifer! Those LADIES at Bloomingdale's - they just attack you! try to spray you with all kinds of horrible things...I had to take another shower to get all the horrible purfumey-stuff off! I HATE that place!"
"Oh, Peter. You are so brave."
"So, will you wear it tonight? he asked.
"Of COURSE I will! I'd just LOVE to, brave sir!"

We got a little bit dressed up. I wore my new RED lipstick, and my favorite red patent leather pumps with red bows on them. But, no sooner than we were at the elevator (me feeling SO glam in that intense red lipstick), than Peter did the most HORRIBLE thing! He kissed me! Like SMOOCH kissed me! Red lipstick smeared ALL over my face - he totally did it on purpose. Ugh! I had to go back into the apt. and wash my whole face - but I reapplied that lipstick. I was determined to wear it.

So, we were a little late to this party. I can't remember everyone who was there. Hilary probably, maybe Drew, and John Patton, and Brad Friedman. If you were AT this dinner party with Peter and I - PLEASE let me know! Lisa might have been there - and some other people from NYU that I didn't know, or knew only a little.

It was really, really fun. Great conversations filled up the room. I could feel the energy buzzing around me, as it almost always seemed to do when Interlochen people got together. Every one of us seemed to be doing something, or thinking something more interesting than your average bear. And Brad started talking to me in his unique way.

Brad Friedman was very very thin and wiry. He had curly hair and a long face, with a wide smile that reminded me of a fox. Or a jackal. By the time this dinner party took place, I believe he had slept his way through at LEAST half of my friends. Some of them being knocked off two at a time. Not that I'm judging that. It was the eighties. People were doing coke, and experimenting like crazy with their sexuality. And I would say - at least I THOUGHT - that Brad Friedman was super sexual.He wasn't TYPICALLY that great looking. But he turned on the charm like an old fashioned snake-oil salesman, and the ladies (and sometimes men) just fell into his bed like mana from heaven. And to his credit - I never actually heard any complaints from my friends that slept with him.

He had turned his vibrant charm on to me more than once. But it had the opposite effect where I was concerned.I admired him, and hated him a little bit. For no better reason that I hated his arrogance. He should have been a politician. Maybe he is.
Anyway, I remember many times throughout my life feeling like the rabbit to his foxy tactics. He was smart. Is smart. Has a VERY good blog of his own, I might add. And that's how he got to you. Through your brain.

This night in question, I found myself cornered by Brad at a later point in the evening. Peter was having an in depth conversation with someone else, and Brad made his move. I don't remember exactly what we were talking about, but I do remember how uncomfortable I was, and a little bit flattered despite myself. We were over in a corner. Finally Peter came over and put his hand on my waist.
"I'm ready to go. How about you?" he said.
I was ready to go. But instead of saying that, I took his hand away from my waist and said, "Yea. In just a minute."
I don't EXACTLY know why I did that - except that there is always this line. This line in time - with relationships. BEFORE you both cross that line, there is no OWNERSHIP of one another. And none of that behavior is allowed. And AFTER that line, some of that behavior IS allowed. Expected even. And in my personal experience, men usually want to cross the line into "ownership" territory more quickly than women want to. I have heard of it happening the other way around - to be SURE - but in MY world - it seems the men always get there first.
I wasn't ready for Peter to display that "she's MY girl" type of behavior in front of these old friend yet. And as soon as I removed his hand, I could feel that I had hurt his feelings - or at least his pride.

So, I got my coat, grabbed Peter's hand, and said "Let's get out of here."
"I thought you didn't want to leave yet." Peter responded a little sulkily.
"Well, I do." I said, trying to fix things. Then I gave him a big kiss on the cheek in front of everyone.

Outside, it was raining cats and dogs. We started for home - tipsy, and sploshing around in the puddles like little kids.
"I couldn't BELIEVE what you were saying about Emily Dickenson in there." Peter said disdainfully. "I don't even consider her a REAL poet. It's a bunch of schmaltz."
Somehow, walking in the rain, we got into a HUGE fight about Emily Dickenson. We went back and forth. I was getting REALLY angry. It felt like he was attacking ME, too. Saying that I was stupid because I liked some of her poetry.I defended her to the death.

We would have taken a cab - it was raining SO hard, and it was a long walk - but we were fighting too intensely. By the time we got to 7th ave. and 17th st. I was in tears. Angry tears.
Peter grabbed my arm.
"Ok. Maybe she IS a real poet. Maybe I just don't get her because I'm not a girl."he said.
I was FURIOUS.
"Maybe you don't "GET" her because you're an IDIOT!" I said in my anger. ( the last thing Peter was or is is an idiot)...and then a bulb went off in my head. I took a step back, and "out", and looked at Peter's face. Really LOOKED. The poor guy looked tortured. He didn't look angry at all. He looked miserable.
I took a deep breath. "This isn't about Emily Dickenson at all, is it?" I asked, with what I hoped was a much less angry face.
"Well, kind of..." Peter said. Now he looked confused.
"Oh, Peter. I love you so much." I said. Now he REALLY looked confused.
"I'd rather fight with you in the rain about Emily Dickenson than be with anyone else in the whole world right now. This is the best fight I've ever had."

And I was telling the truth. It WAS the best fight I'd ever had.
I went over and started to kiss him. I just got right in there while he was still dazed and confused. He kissed me back, then pulled me away for a second.
"Really?" he said."Is this really the best fight you've ever had?"
"Yup."I said, trying to kiss him again.
"So does that mean it's over?" he had to clarify before any more kissing could be had.
"Yes. It's all over." I said. Then we made out in the rain.

By the time we got upstairs we were soaked through. And laughing. Each drenched item of clothing found it's way to the bedroom floor one by one. And when we were finally shivering in each other's arms under the covers, Peter finally said, "I guess it wasn't really ALL about Emily Dickenson..."
I just waited. I knew what it was about.
"I guess I was a little jealous of Brad tonight. You were talking to him for so long."
I still didn't say anything. I just kissed his cheek.
Then Peter pulled away a little bit so that he could look right into my eyes. "I AM your boyfriend, right? I mean, you don't want anybody ELSE, do you?"

Oh my goodness. If I could show you his face just then - if I could only show you his face - you would fall instantly in love with this perfect, honest, earnest boy. The way that he looked at me just then is the way that everyone wants to be looked at at least once in their lives. This look is what sells romance movies, and diamond engagement rings...this look, this moment is food for a soul. It is a treasure that will never be taken from me. And with that look - in that moment - I crossed the line.
"Yes. You are my boyfriend. And I don't want anyone else. I'm all yours."

I said it slowly and carefully so that he would know that I meant it.
From that moment forward, there was no doubt. We belonged to each other.