I was having a sense of déjà vu, and couldn't quite place it.
As always, Denver International Airport was beautiful in a weird Arabian Nights way. The white tents sitting on the plains made a stark picture. I glanced at my watch again, and up at the monitor showing flight arrivals and it hit me.
I realized why I was having the déjà vu. I was feeling exactly like I had when I was waiting for my first date back in the sixth grade. There were the same butterflies in my belly. The same general nervousness. The same compulsion to look at the clock every few seconds. The same tension in my body that wouldn't really allow me to relax.
And so I waited.
And I fiddled.
I tried to look at the Drudge Report on my smartphone, but I couldn't concentrate.
So I waited and watched people and watched planes and waited.
And then, finally, they called the flight number and I was on my feet, waiting at the barrier.
I knew I had been putting on weight, and I was aware of every ounce of it as I stood there. God, I felt like a blimp.
And there he was and I was in his arms and he was holding me and kissing me, not little "hi mom" pecks, but real kisses. His hands on my back felt absolutely wonderful. When his hands slipped down to my ass I giggled and said "watch it buster," just as I had done so many times in the past.
I could literally feel the smile across my face, and I was unable to stop it. It pleased me no end that he was smiling back just as broadly.
He took my hand as we walked like teenagers to the carousel and waited for his duffel bag to come through.
"God," I said, looking up at him, "I am so glad you're home safe."
He chuckled at that and said "mom, I sat out the war in a nice air-conditioned gig in northern Japan. The worst danger I was in was with my karate teacher."
We laughed together on the way to the car. When he saw it he stopped cold.
"You kept it?" he said, and I thought for a minute he was going to tear up on me.
"Of course I did. Hell, I drove it quite a bit," I said.
The little blue Chrysler PT Cruiser Convertible was sitting there, shining like a sapphire since I had had it detailed the day before.
Once again he took me into his arms with that embrace I missed. A quick, soft kiss and he was heading for the driver's side.
He stopped with a funny look on his face.
"Ummmmmm," he said, "keys?"
I laughed and tossed him the keys. I was surprised when he ran around the car to open the door for me, but I accepted that little courtesy in good fashion.
On the way home, he fiddled with the radio, seeking his "oldies" stations, one of those things we shared. When Dion and the Belmonts started singing about "Runaround Sue" we were both able to sing along although sometimes we were reduced to humming when the words escaped us.
At home, he went into the front room and did a slow turn. Not much had changed in the four years he had been gone, but I enjoyed watching him take it all in.
"I absolutely have to shower," he said, "and then we're going out for the night."
I smiled and gave him a little finger wave as he headed to his old room.
As I waited there was that same déjà vu again. I was a schoolgirl waiting for my date to be ready. And, strangely, it felt right.
He came out of his room, freshly showered and shaved. I still had trouble picturing him with his short, military-cut hair, but I knew that would grow back out. And Jesus Christ, he was so damn handsome.
He was grinning as he walked across the room to me. Another of those slightly lingering kisses and he took my arm.
"Come on best girl," he said, "I'm taking you out and we're gonna tie one on."
I giggled like a damn schoolgirl at that, but allowed him to take my hand and lead me to his car.
This time he put the top down. It was a cool evening, but it was fun riding in the open car like that. The radio was playing, my hair was flying, and I just enjoyed looking at his profile as he drove. I noticed that he hesitated from time to time and when I asked him about it he explained that for almost three years he had been driving on the left side of the road and he had this image of dying in a head-on collision. I caught myself giggling again.
We went to a small neighborhood tavern first. I had stopped there from time to time when he was still at home, and I suppose it held some nostalgia for him. I hadn't been in the place in quite a while.
Once again, as soon as the car stopped he jumped out and ran around to open my door. When I realized where his eyes were lingering I felt my nipples, hard and tight in the coolness. I could actually feel myself blushing which drew a chuckle from him.
He offered me his arm, very formally, and I took it, grinning like an idiot. His smile was pretty wide too.
In the place, I wasn't surprised to see that I did not recognize anyone. We found a booth and he asked if I still liked screwdrivers. I said that would be fine and he returned from the bar with a screwdriver and a pitcher of beer.
We spend an absolutely delightful hour, him with his beer and me with two screwdrivers. He was telling me about his time in Japan, his job in the Air Force, and, in general, what he had been doing for the past three years. He hadn't been home since he left for Japan, and we had a lot of catching up to do.
I was flushed with laughter and, well, happiness when we left the little bar and went to a restaurant.
He drove confidently, and obviously hadn't forgotten his way around town. D'Amico's Steak House was a fixture in the city, and had been serving steaks and nothing but steaks for over 40 years. Their motto was "If you want seafood we can recommend several good restaurants."
I liked the way his hand lingered low on my back in that possessive way some men have. We followed the hostess to a booth and continued our conversation. The steaks were, as always, delicious. There was some giggling and laughing as we speared bites from each other's plates. Mostly, I was just basking in having him home.
We finished the night at another tavern, this one strategically selected since it was walking distance from the house.
"I'm going to get you drunk and take advantage of you," he said, as he parked the car in the little lot, "and I don't want to mess with a designated driver."
I giggled at that, took his arm and we went into the bar.
Another pitcher of beer and three more screwdrivers completed the night. I was fascinated with his stories. He was an intelligence analyst in the Air Force, and I liked hearing about his job. And, of course, there were wonderful stories about the things a bunch of young men got into in a strange land.
The place had an actual jukebox, and we stood, shoulders touching, as we looked over the menu and made our selections. I noticed that both of us were choosing slow songs. When the Righteous Brothers started their wonderful rendition of "Unchained Melody" he took my hand and led me to the postage stamp-sized dance floor. For the first time in my life, I did not feel embarrassed to be the only couple dancing.
And dance we did. It felt comfortable, natural, to lay my head against his chest. And the feeling of his cheek against the top of my head was oddly comforting. Since he's tall, over 6', and I'm short at 5'1", this was our natural posture. When his hand eased down to cup my ass and pull me to him I murmured a soft protest, but I didn't fight very hard for my virtue.
We laughed and danced and drank until about midnight. I wasn't stumbling drunk, but I was pretty well along. David was laughing too loud and obviously drunk himself. And damn it was fun.
It was right at midnight when he tossed back the last of his beer and stood, offering me his hand.
"Come on best girl," he said, "let's go home."
The place was only a couple of blocks from the house and we walked it in companionable silence. His hand on my hip felt good, and the occasional bumps between us were kind of fun.
He opened the door and stood back to let me in. In the front room, I turned to face him and suddenly I was in his arms.
