Drabble 70 | The First Time

[sanalayla]

The first time…

…he takes her out on a date, after she’s learned about his powers, he is very nervous. Ironically, more nervous than the first time he took her on a first date. It seems they are on the brink of something new. Something exciting and scary. While he knows that this is the woman he is meant to be with for the rest of his life, he is aware that it is something he should never take for granted. He made that mistake once and he’s not going to make it again. So, he feels pressure unlike anything he’s ever felt before; his palms would sweat if they were capable of it. His grip tightens around the flowers he’s picked especially for her and he rings her doorbell. When she answers, dressed in her special clothes, she takes his breath away for a long minute. One smile and he feels the band around his chest loosen, just a bit. With a laugh, she holds out her hand and takes the flowers from him. Turning to let him into her living room, she makes a comment about the roses, but he doesn’t hear her. All he sees is her and he’s breathing in her essence, but he can’t focus on her words because the movement of her lips and the even rhythm of her breathing distracts him.

Unaware of his thoughts, she turns back to focus on him and notices he’s in a world of his own; she worries that this is not enough for him. For a brief second, she worries that she is too ordinary. Then their eyes meet and she sees the uncertainty and fear in his, mirroring the emotions clouding her own. And she smiles at him before going into the back room. Minutes later, she emerges; her dress clothes are gone and she’s traded them in for jeans and a t-shirt. Announcing an impromptu change of plans, she declares that he needs to take them back to his place so he can change, too.

By now, he’s used to her tendencies towards the unexpected, so he goes along with it unquestioningly. And then, an hour later, she’s feeding him kabobs in front of the Taj Mahal; thirty minutes after that, they’re sharing warm croissants and drinking espresso with the Eiffel Tower in plain view. Without giving him a chance to think, she’s grabbing him by the hand and pulling him towards the busy street, jumping into his arms and ordering him to take her to Mexico, because there’s a great burrito stand there he needs to try. And so the night continues until, finally, they make it back home; exhausted and sated.

As he walks her into her apartment, she turns to face him and asks if he had fun. Giving it some thought, he admits that it’s the most fun he’s had in a long time. And she grins and lightly punches him in the arm, informing him that – for the record – she would have been happy with staying home. Confused by that, he questions why they spent the night globe-hopping. Biting her lip lightly, she studies him and confesses she did it for him. He's not sure what that means, but he doesn't ask. Minutes later, after she’s closed the door and he’s on his way home, he smiles, because it suddenly hits him. He has just had the best first date of his life.

The first time…

…they sleep together, it is not a momentous event. Rather, the event is momentous, but the circumstances are not. The night starts off like any other; the two settled comfortably together on the sofa, flipping through the channels and debating what that night’s entertainment will be. He wants an action flick; she wants a mystery. One thing leads to another and she’s tossing popcorn at him, while he laughs and manages to dodge every kernel. She protests the use of his superpowers and he reminds her that everything is fair in love and war. The distance between them disappears as she invades his personal space, straddling him so he can’t super-speed. His gaze is questioning as he takes in her new position, but that quickly changes to dismay when she topples the full contents of the bowl over his head. He’s sputtering and she’s smug, as she points out that his powers are useless when his girlfriend is sitting on him.

It’s a challenge he can’t refuse and, soon, he’s kissing her and proving to her that super-powers especially come in handy when his girlfriend is straddling him. The barriers between them seemingly melt away under his quick and talented hands. It is their first time and he knows he should slow down, but he finds that he can’t stop what he’s now begun. There are no candles, no music. No soft lighting or romantic ambiance. Just a messy living room, littered with popcorn and scattered all around them are the pieces of the everyday life they’ve created together. Their dog’s chew toys here and there; piles of DVDs; the latest edition of the newspaper tossed onto the sofa; the two to three books they’re both attempting to read in whatever little spare time they have are stacked on the coffee table.

Their clothes quickly join the mess, but they ignore where the jeans and shirts land. Instead, they focus on each other and how they feel, living only in that moment. The world does not cease to spin on its axis; they do not stop breathing. There are no earthquakes; no lightening storms. But there is love. And laughter. And, later, when the two lie in each other’s arms, they look around at their home and realize that nothing has changed. And, yet, everything has.

The first time…

…they have a fight, after she moves into his house, it’s over something so minor that they can’t even believe it qualifies as a fight. But it is a fight and it leads to days of silence and frustration. Both admit no wrongdoing and neither one wants to be the first to back down. They each draw a line in the sand and refuse to cross it. Hours into the argument, they don’t even quite remember what they’re arguing about, but each is convinced that they’re in the right, regardless.

When asked, one will say the issue is socks. The other will say the issue is dishes. Both are right; both are wrong. It’s irrelevant, though, because the issue is really that they are adjusting. To living together and figuring out where one begins and the other ends. The socks and dishes are an easy target. Inanimate objects that they are, they remain mute; they accept blame. And, so, she continues to avoid him and he continues to ignore her. Minutes turn into hours, hours into days.

By implicit agreement, he sleeps in the spare room and she takes the room she has just moved into. Sleep proves elusive; unknown to them, they have both already become accustomed to sharing a bed. They spend the night apart, but their actions mirror each other as they toss and turn in their self-imposed solitary confinement. However, the next morning, they wake up and pretend the night’s rest was enough and avoid any conversation that could indicate otherwise.

Their friends are not surprised by what they call the Mexican stand-off. In fact, there is a decided lack of sympathy and much amusement from what she now terms ‘the peanut gallery’. Undaunted, they ask her what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. At her silence, they provide the answer - the two argue about socks and dishes. They all burst into a peal of laughter at her lack of response.

He watches the interaction and explanation with some amusement of his own, but that quickly fades when he sees the look in her eyes. There is uncertainty, but there is also a stubbornness and determination that he knows only rivals his own. With a sigh, he forces himself to cross the distance between them and to be the first to break the silence.

She accepts his overture and reaches out to him, as well. The conversation is not long, but nor is it quick. It encompasses everything they need to say and everything they need to understand. And, when their words have all been spent, the two make their way home; hand in hand. It is not as though the fight never happened. But that it did happen has been forgotten.


The first time…

….someone calls her Mrs. Kent, exactly ten minutes after she’s exchanged her wedding vows, she looks around for her mother-in-law. Literally, she glances to the left and to the right, expressing confusion when she notices her mother-in-law standing fifteen feet away. Her sister nudges her in her ribs, reminding her that the comment is directed towards her. Not her mother-in-law.

In that moment, she forgets to breathe as it hits her that her identity has now irrevocably changed. A name that has always meant the comfort of a mother’s embrace and a soft voice that has consoled her on many an occasion, both over the phone and in person, is now a name she’s expected to carry. She has many associations with the name. The scent of apple pie, fresh out of the oven, reminds her of Mrs. Kent. A Christmas tree, decked out with ornaments, accompanied by eggnog and cookies, reminds her of Mrs. Kent. The steely gaze, while arguing eloquently for a law, the blue eyes filled with passion and determination – that is Mrs. Kent. Not her.

She glances down at her hands, which have never been able to stir cookie dough into anything resembling food. Her hands have known ink, blood, and – every once in awhile – dirt and metal. Depending on the type of day she’s having. She’s more likely to get a paper cut from flipping through her take-out menus than she is likely to get a burn from taking something out of the oven. How can she reconcile the two? She’s not Mrs. Kent. That’s not a name she can live up to – a woman who manages to be so many things to so many people, while – at the same time – being able to offer a shoulder to a crying girl or words of wisdom to a boy who is so different from anyone else in the world. Instinctively, she knows she’s not capable of doing the same, when she imagines herself ten years down the road; twenty years down the road. That grace. It is not something she possesses and nor did she ever consider that it would be necessary.

With an anxious frown, she tries to consider her options and wonders how she can announce to the whole gathering that she’s an imposter. That she, somehow, slid into this life and this family without anyone realizing she may not belong. Suddenly, she feels a hand cover her own and she glances down. It’s a weathered hand, having seen many more decades on this earth than her own have. Clasping her fingers, one sporting a new and shiny ring, her mother-in-law squeezes her hand, gently. She glances up to meet the older woman’s gaze and sees love, warmth, and affection. And, most importantly, acceptance and understanding. Before she can speak, the other woman tells her, softly, that she’s the best daughter a woman could ever hope for. And that she’s proud to share her name.

It has been told to her, again and again, that she shouldn’t cry during the wedding. Something about the pictures turning out wrong. Truthfully, it isn't as hard as people say it is. She’d managed to keep her emotions in check while her father walked her down the aisle. While she and her new husband exchanged their vows and rings. And, later, when her sister gave her a hug and told her how loved she was. But, in this moment, she stares at the woman who is the only mother she’s ever known and tears well up. And, while they hold each other, she decides that it is an honor to be Mrs. Kent. And she’s ready to spend the rest of her life living up to that.