So, I really had a hard time that week. I had decided not to freak out too much, but that wasn't super easy for me.
One of my music friends was having a CD release party in Carrboro that Saturday, and I decided to see how it went bringing N. There were supposed to be fire-breathers, belly dancers, and a bunch of bands--so a fun time, right?
When we got to the Station (a little after 8), the teacups had yet to go on, and were only setting up.
"So, we should go to dinner?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, go to dinner," John said.
I then dragged him to the Spotted Dog, telling him stories about my time living in Carrboro--eating at the bar after the temple (they still served food after 10), and the spinnin' dip which they have discontinued (a crime). I also pointed out it has the best calamari in the triangle. The best. He'd never had calamari.
"You guys are so cute," the hostess remarked after apologizing for our wait.
"What?" I asked, startled.
"It's just fun to see people in love. You're just so into each other; you don't care as long as you're together."
We both just smiled at each other. And I'm pretty sure I blushed a little. . . or a lot.
After making him try some calamari, we headed back over to the bar. The guys still had time to go, but we ended up talking to John's wife, Beth, and a bunch of the other members of the band--or friends of the band.
N did a good job mingling with these odd ducks in a place that some Mormon boys would maybe struggle with. It actually was really nice to introduce him to this area of my life that I've rarely shared with many others. It was important that he appreciate it, too.
He did great. The only time I was a little worried came about 1/2 an hour before the band went on. They were setting up, and the hippy drum circle in the parking lot next to the stage was going to town. . . And then the poll dancers started. In the Weaver Street Market parking lot, there were scantily clad, teeny-tiny ladies, doing gymnastic feats. . . in front of the family-friendly crowd.
"Do they know there are four six-year-olds sitting five feet away?" He asked.
"I'm not sure. I kind of want to know where their parent's are."
We both spent a lot of time not-looking, and I was blushing profusely. "Please don't tell your Mom I took you to see poll-dancing," I begged. And he grinned like a toddler caught in the cookie jar and just started laughing.
"You're a bad influence, huh?"
I pretty much wanted to melt through the floor. But as the music started, I knew that we were going to be okay. We danced in our seats, cheered for the band, and made little comments about the show and the crazy people around us.
He even made it to the encore band. . . where shortly after he fell asleep on my shoulder while I talked to Beth. He still had to drive the two hours home, so I woke him up and steered him out.
As we said goodbye he said, "You freaked out this week, huh?"
"Yeah," I sheepishly answered, but then became extremely serious, "If you're not feeling this, I need you to just tell me--rip the bandaid off."
"I will," he said, taking some stuff to his car. He then came back to kiss me, "I'm still here."