Can I touch your hair?

She asks me

A strange question indeed

We’re standing next to one another

At Ocean Beach

Atop the O'Shaughnessy Seawall—

Adorned by generations of graffiti artists

With bulbous shapes and garish colors

We’re facing west

Our gazes fixed well past the shore break

And the sloppy mess of waves

Like agitated clothing and suds—

Beneath the lid of a washing machine

I come here often

Usually in the morning to check the surf

And most often it looks just as junky as this

But tonight I don’t give a damn about the surf

Because my friend and I have come to see the sunset

On a rare warm and windless evening

During a magical time of year:

Indian Summer—

In San Francisco

But this is no ordinary sunset

It’s the kind of sunset so spectacular

That it draws out the locals

They emerge from their homes

Sandals

Boom-boxes

Wagons carrying coolers of beer

Sometimes dogs

Sometimes kids, too

And they sit in the dunes and watch

Surrounded by ice plant—

And absolute splendor

I tell my friend it’s ok to touch my hair—

I mean it seems innocent enough

But the moment she does

I feel an incredible urge to plunge my own hand

Deep into her sloppy mess of dirty blond curls

Pull her face up against mine

And kiss her so well and good

That it would do justice

To this magnificent moment—

This glorious sunset:

Orange cotton candy billows

Decorating a cobalt sky

Somehow I don’t kiss her

The truth is I know exactly why:

We’re friends!

And dance partners

And this is a line we’ve never crossed

But with her hand in my hair

And kissing on my mind

My oh my has that line really started to blur—

If not perforate

So we get back into my car

I’ve waited this long

I can wait a little longer—

At least I think I can

See I’ve known her since early 2015

Like me she is also a scientist—

And a lindy hopper, of course

We’d dance really well together—

A minimum requirement

But there was something else—

Something special about this one

Every time I’d see her

I’d wonder if one day

There’d be more—

Than just dance

And science

I was married then—

But desperately trying to escape

Meanwhile my friend was slaying her own dragons

Dating

Trying on different versions of herself

It just wasn’t the time

And timing really is everything

(Believe the hype!)

Over the years

We would occasionally see one another—

And dance

And make small talk

Sometimes about science

But also about other fascinating stuff

That would be fascinating to no one—

Except her and me

But she kept dating other people

I finally left my disastrous marriage

So then I also dated other people

And she also kept dating other people

Lots of a little romances for each of us

Hearts always aflutter at the beginning

But after one week—

Or maybe two or three

It’s goodbye and on to the next one

One of the problems with dating:

Those little romances?

They all kind of add up to meh

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This one time we met up at Le Colonial

Just for dancing and chit-chat

Like we had done again and again—

Through the years

But this time

Between dances

I ended up being her wingman

Setting her up at the bar with a muggle

(That’s what some dancers call people who don’t lindy hop)

He had a really cute beard too

But it didn’t last

More meh

That happened a few months ago

When I was still hung up about my ex

And dealing with custody

And numerous other problems

But it seems foolish now—

To have set my friend up with some random guy

I mean on paper we’re still just friends

Yet somehow in real life everything is changing

My mind is swirling

Do I risk losing a friend and dance partner?

Because I want more?

Part of me doesn’t want to take that chance

But my feelings for my friend

Are starting to spiral out of control again

I remind myself:

This is only gonna work—

If she wants it, too

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So after the absurdly beautiful sunset

We hit up my favorite Thai dive in the Tenderloin 

For Pad Kee Mao

And Pad See Ew

Basically spicy and mild versions—

Of the same wide rice noodle dish

Kind of like me and her

Spicy and mild

Yin and yang

See what I mean?

My thoughts are clearly out of control

A little while later

We sit down on an uncomfortable red couch

At an underground speakeasy called Local Edition

In keeping with tradition it features a clock in the front window

Along with an assortment of old typewriters

Video cameras

And all sorts of other vintage artifacts

Anyhow we sit down

We’re both sweaty and dishelved from dancing

The band goes on a break

A dreadlocked server hands us a menu

But we already know the cocktails we want:

An Ava Gardner and a Mother Superior

Even my out of control thoughts

Can’t manage to turn that into a romantic metaphor

Meanwhile I notice that my friend is sitting uncomfortably close to me—

On the uncomfortable couch

I attempt to process this

But I’m interrupted by another woman

Someone my friend and I both know from the dance scene

The three of us have an awkward conversation

We reluctantly invite her to join us

But mercifully she has to run

Sorry that was so weird

I say to my friend

That’s okay, I know why it was weird

She says back to me

She’s one of your orbiters

And she’s freaked out to see me here with you—

Even though we’re just friends

So my friend is clearly right about why that was so awkward

But what’s this business about being just friends?

I decide it’s time to do something—

By now my just friend is just about sitting in my lap

I think about putting my hand on her thigh

That’s when I realize her hand is already on mine—

Inches from my crotch, in fact

The overwhelming urge to kiss her wells up inside me again

I suggest we get some air

We leave Local Edition and head across town to Club Deluxe

By now our sweat-soaked clothing adhering to our skin

Fogging up the car windows—

But not in the way I would like to be fogging up the car windows

Dammit, slow down, make sure she’s ready

I warn myself—

But I’m not sure my self is really listening

Anyhow Club Deluxe is packed and steamy

Local Edition was also hot and and muggy

But here the floor-to-ceiling windows of the club are actually dripping—

With mist on the outside

And remnants of hot breath and sweat on the inside

I can barely see into the club

But we do manage to get in

And even cram in a dance—

Carving out a sliver of dance floor

Between the tiny stage

And the smattering of tables—

Covered in rings of residue from sticky cocktails

And the weathered gloss black diner chairs—

Visible cracks showing in the seats

With discolored orange foam peeking out

So one dance turns into three

And then a break for greyhounds—

With freshly-squeezed grapefruit juice

In spite of our hyperthermia

And sweat-soaked clothing

We’re literally leaning all over one another

In what I might call an accidental embrace

But there wasn’t anything accidental about it—

Not in the slightest

Our bodies are beat, almost limp

And touching as much we were

I could feel her chest move up and down against mine—

With each breath

So we’re still just friends, right?

But my mind is still swirling

It’s getting late

I think the moment is near

We leave Club Deluxe

My stomach suddenly fills with a swarm of butterflies—

But they feel more like vampire bats

My still just friend exits the club first

I linger for a moment—

To say a quick farewell to Patrick the doorman

My friend gets a few paces ahead of me

By now temps are in the 40s and we’re socked in with fog

We can’t even tell if we’re hot or cold anymore—

Because it’s kind of both

Visibility is maybe two blocks

And the lamp posts are doing that thing in noir films

Where a triangle of light reveals a thick mist—

Against an otherwise dark and moonless sky

Haight Street became a movie set

Club Deluxe the backdrop—

And we’re the stars

The inverted ocean water in the sky is so thick

It’s collecting on our clothes

Mixing with our dance sweat—

In an unholy cocktail

This was the moment:

It’s time to find out for sure

If we’re still—

Just friends

Hey you, come here!

I beckoned her over

Extending my arms for a hug

With her signature gorgeous smile on her face

She took two-and-a-half big steps in my direction

And fell into my arms

I didn’t ask her if I could touch her hair

We were way past that shit now

Instead—

During her last half step

I reached up and softly caressed the back of her neck

Then I raised my hand—

Slipping it deep into the thick curls tumbling down her shoulders

Simultaneously I guided her lips toward mine

Our mouths colliding

In a first kiss so picture perfect

That the only thing missing is the vintage movie cameras—

We left those back at Local Edition

That was risky

My now more than just friend says

After we make out right there in front of Club Deluxe—

For a million years

Was it really though?

Perhaps not so much

Because I watched for every sign—

Every nonverbal cue

I knew she wasn’t going to kiss me

Not without me making the first move

But I also knew she wasn’t going to dodge my kiss

Because I waited for her to be right there with me—

For almost five years, in fact

And she was well worth the wait

But the waiting isn’t over—

I have an early flight to catch the next morning

So we have to cut our evening short

And because of three successive trips back east—

Between the two of us

It turns out I don’t get to see my more than just friend again—

For almost a month

So I have to wait some more:

You know, for the really good stuff

But the waiting only makes it that much better

Which is why the waiting is worth it—

Dare I say always worth it

So is the risk-taking—

I had to take the risk of losing a friend

In order to find myself an amazing lover

From her hand in my hair at sunset—

To a Hollywood-style first kiss in the dense fog

That led to so much more

It was perfect

But the best part—

Not to be overlooked:

I love this woman like no other

But I also like her

Because she’s still—

My friend