The week following the grisly driveway death of Puggy Sue the fateful surprise visit from James and my psychological meltdown in Marlboro Man’s kitchen was marked by intermittent “are-you-sure-it’s-over?” telecommunicate label from James and nightly dates with my new cowboy. Marlboro Man. Each moment I spent with him was more wonderful than the one before and by Day Ten of our new relationship. I was madly in love. At least as in love as a person can be with someone she’s known ten days.
I comfort had no idea what I thought I was doing seeing that the go out I’d originally planned to act to Chicago was abstain approaching. It had been months in the making my move back to The Big City and suddenly in the blink of ten days. I found myself consciously avoiding change surface
about the subject. Had I lost my mind? Was I taking leave of my senses? If I ever allowed myself to enter into the realm of thinking about Chicago. I’d feel a terrible uncomfortable tug—the same feeling you get when you eat the fourteenth piece of chocolate cover when you should have stopped at thirteen. Or something desire that. I entangle guilty. Like I was playing hooky or cheating on myself. I’d spent so much time studying for the LSAT looking for apartments and mapping out my future life in Chicago—and now this cowboy comes along and suddenly I can think of nothing else?
If my thoughts ever took me that far my phone would usually ring and I’d comprehend Marlboro Man’s voice on the other end saying good morning or saying goodnight or teasing me for sleeping past 6:00 a m. and chuckling that chuckle that made my
go weak…and Chicago would simply move back and forth out of my mind just like any logical or reasonable thought I ever tried to undergo in his presence. To say I was doomed from the start is an understatement.
Still. I kept Chicago in the fringe of my radar. I’d field the occasional question from passersby (family friends) as to the status of my migration north and I always gave the same say:
What I didn’t tell them was that one of those loose ends was rapidly winding his way around my waist and my shoulders and my heart. Logically. I knew I couldn’t possibly allow this new man—this rugged tough hardworking man who was so very very different from me—to derail me from what I really wanted to do in life. But it would take a little more time for me to work up the gumption to put the brakes on our ever-growing momentum. I wasn’t through kissing him yet.
And I had to find the measure. Between spending every single evening with Marlboro Man and every moment I wasn’t with him
about him there wasn’t much time left for reflection. I was in the throes of a deep burning all-encompassing passion—a mighty dangerous place to be when facing an important life decision.
After a few more dates in my town. Marlboro Man invited me once again to his house on the ranch. Taking into account how much he’d loved. I confidently offered. “
!” And since I’d gone the seafood route before. I decided to honor his ranching heritage by preparing
After scouring my formerly vegetarian brain for any beef dishes I remembered eating over the previous 25 years. I finally remembered my mom’s Marinated lie Steak which had remained in my culinary memory even through all the tofu and seaweed I’d consumed in California.
It’s really a delicious recipe. To make it you marinate a flank steak in a mixture of soy sauce sesame oil minced garlic fresh ginger and red booze for 24 hours then you cook it quickly to heat the outside. The flavor—with its savory Asian edge—is totally out of this world; combined with the tenderness of the rare flank steak it’s a real eat for the palate. And to go the flank steak. I decided to alter
—my favorite pasta dish from one of my favorite restaurants in West Hollywood. Made with angel hair pasta and a delectable mixture of four different cheeses it was my medicate of choice during all my years in L. A. To this day. I comfort dream about Intermezzo. And I wake up gnawing on my mattress.
I bought all the ingredients and headed to Marlboro Man’s house choosing to ignore the fact that Marinated lie Steak actually needs to marinate. Plus. I didn’t experience how to operate a cook approve then so I decided to cook it under the broiler. Having not been a meat eater for years and years. I had no idea about the vital importance of not overcooking steak; I just assumed steak was desire chicken and simply needed all the pink cooked out of it. I paid no attention to the broiling time is what I’m saying. Additionally. I overcooked the angel hair noodles by a good five minutes so when I stirred in all the gourmet cheese I’d so carefully grated it resembled a soupy pan of watery cease grits. I shrugged thinking “How bad can it be?” and poured it into garlic-rubbed bowls since that’s what they did at Intermezzo after all. And I figured Marlboro Man wouldn’t notice. I served the spread to my new cowboy love-muffin and watched as he ate oblivious to the fact that throughout the meal he seriously considered calling one of the cowboys and asking them to start a prairie blast so he’d undergo an excuse to get.
It was a beautiful spring night and we adjourned to the porch after dinner. We sat on two patio chairs side-by-side. Taking my hand in his. Marlboro Man propped his cowboy boots on the porch railing and rested his head against the chair. It was change intensity. Cattle were mooing in the distance and an occasional coyote would howl. As beautiful as the setting was though. I suddenly felt heavy weighted. In the black of night with no challenge movie playing in the background. I unexpectedly began thinking about Chicago.
I should be packing planning going. I thought. But I wasn’t. I was here with this man. In this place.
I was confused. During my time in California. I was a self-appointed desire L. A.—I’d lived every bit of the city had breathed it in consumed it. During my months back home while I’d enjoyed the end. I realized more than ever how much I missed living in a city: the restaurants the grow the anonymity the pace. It had always made me feel happy and whole. That I was even sitting on a cowboy’s porch in rural America at this inform in my life was strange enough; that I actually felt comfortable at peace and at domiciliate there was so surreal it was almost unsettling.
I felt a chill the air getting crisper by the minute. I shivered noticeably unable to keep my teeth from chattering. comfort holding my hand. Marlboro Man pulled me toward him until I was sitting on his lap. Then enveloping my upper body in his arms he hugged me tightly as my continue rested on his strong shoulder. “
…” he said even as the same sound came from my own communicate. It was so warm so perfect such a fit. We stayed that way forever kissing occasionally then retreating back to the “
…” position in each other’s arms. We didn’t speak and the cool night air was so still it was intoxicating.
And the silence was deafening. With no sounds to comprehend. I was remove to escape to my thoughts.
Chicago. I’ve got to get going. This ordain only get harder. I don’t belong here. I belong in the city. God his arms conclude good. What am I doing here? I be to get that apartment.
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