Madama Butterfly

Last night I went on a date with a beautiful woman. She is intelligent and interesting, amazing to feel myself with something other than pure lust coursing through my cells.

She had invited me to the Opera and I in turn invited her to dinner, her pick. We started our evening off at a cute little Italian place, eating really great locally grown foods that were expertly prepared.

We discussed family, work, school, interests. There was very little in the way of discussion about play or sex, a few small innuendos.

I really wanted to know her.

I sat watching her intently as she talked, absorbing her presence and eating slowly. I am stunned by how absolutely pretty she is, inside and out. I find myself wanting to know everything I can about her.

We walked slowly back to her apartment to put leftovers in her fridge and I note the cello on the floor and some amazing art that turns out to be a drawing of her. She calls it narcissistic and I must agree, it is dark and dangerous and not how I see her at all. The artist has cast her reflection on the paper as she is light and the portrait is dark.

We walk up to catch the bus to the Opera, discussing her hobbies and interests.

Riding to the opera I ask her about the cello and learn even more about her that intrigues me.

This woman has me mesmerized. I find myself wanting to just listen to her speak and look into her eyes.

We arrive at the Queen Elizabeth theatre and get settled into out seats. We look at our programs and comment on the stage and the orchestra.

Soon the curtain has gone up and we immerse ourselves in the tale of Madama Butterfly. It was delightful the way the set designer was able to affect the emotions on stage so utterly by subtle changes in the set. I have always been appreciative of theatre arts including set design and construction. I was not to be disappointed.

Intermission and we got up to wander around looking at various bits of art and enjoying the ladies that were dressed up for the evening in their formal wear. Again we connected having random discussions.

She could not have impressed me more.

Back in the theatre we prepared for the tragic ending we knew was coming. This opera is fatal and the sorrow becomes palpable and lives in the theatre as the woman playing "Cio Cio San" pours her heart out with her glowing vibrant voice.

Her death is no less dramatic than expected and we are both crying at the heartbreaking ending of the beautiful "Butterfly", we are standing with everyone and clapping and cheering the cast and crew.

We walk back to her apartment and I retrieve my food.

Our goodnight is quiet and I am left wanting so much more, but patience will prevail with this woman. She is to succulent to rush at, I would much rather end the evening with a hug and the possibility of tomorrow, than a quick fling. Friendship and the possibility of something more gives me the patience I need to wait.

We agree to get together again, nothing concrete yet, but I will expand my plans to include her when there is an opportunity.

I will see her again.