the unabashedly biased story of the best date ever.

So I spent today cleaning.

This is a good thing, in general, especially considering that my parents are coming tomorrow and that the end of the semester is fast approaching, but it did mean that by seven-thirty I was well and truly grumpy, had not been outside for more than about twenty minutes of the entire day, was covered in lint, fuzz and hair, and smelled decidedly of Clorox.

At around that time, I had finally texted Sam our plans to meet up with my parents tomorrow, and when he texted back, I replied with, “Do you wanna go be outside somewhere?”

Because he is a lovely person even without my bias coloring everything, he said he’d come pick me up.

We raced the sun down to Inkom, hoping to make it up to Pebble Creek before it sank behind the mountains. When we’d scrambled up to the slight ledge in the last hundred feet before the lodge and turned around to see the most marvelous sunset I have ever seen in my life (and I have lived in the desert for most of that life), Sam noticed that one of the chairs hung, still and quiet, only about four feet from the ground just beside the wheelhouse.

Of course it was inevitable.

Up we scrambled, and sat for a few minutes before I started to shiver, at which point Sam kindly volunteered to go back down to his car and get a blanket. I worried slightly that by the time he made it back up there’d be nothing left of the sunset to watch, but of course I’d forgotten something very important: stars.

We snuggled up in the blankets and counted them as they came out.

The moon rose over our shoulders, bright and cold, and the wind in the pine trees was a river.

Finally we climbed back down and, each wrapped in a blanket, scrambled back down to the car. I said, “I feel like a Jawa,” and chirped to make my point, and he laughed.

I am not one of those people who makes a habit of logging the “nights of their life” and deciding which are best and which are worst.

But this was definitely the best night of my life.

Though we cannot make our sun stand still,

Yet we will make him run.

– Andrew Marvell


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 )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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