Jenny Williams, California
After Miracles, 1998
The car was dark and we sat parked in his driveway, still in our seatbelts. The mocha I'd gulped at Miracles Cafe an hour back made me fidgety and alert; my fingers tapped the steering wheel, nervous, waiting. I couldn't bring myself to look at him. We were seniors in high school and I was embarrassed, him so experienced and me always awkward, never knowing what came next.
He let out a big breath and turned his face to mine. My eyes flickered up.
"Well then," he said. And kissed me.
It was wet. In all my years imagining the circumstances of my first kiss, not once did I factor saliva into the equation. And soft -- I had no idea lips could be so soft, especially a boy's lips, especially this boy's lips, whose body was so rough with surfing and skating and daredevil tricks. A boy I'd known since preschool, when we chased each other in the school yard and traded chewing gum at lunch. A boy who had become, suddenly and without warning, tall and wind-blown, with bleached hair and a crooked grin.
He pulled back and said nothing, locking his eyes with mind in a measured gaze.
"I'm...I'm sorry," I stammered. "I don't really know..."
He hushed me with a finger.
"Practice. Lots of it. Doctor's orders." Smiling, he kissed me again.
The car was dark and we sat parked in his driveway, still in our seatbelts. The mocha I'd gulped at Miracles Cafe an hour back made me fidgety and alert; my fingers tapped the steering wheel, nervous, waiting. I couldn't bring myself to look at him. We were seniors in high school and I was embarrassed, him so experienced and me always awkward, never knowing what came next.
He let out a big breath and turned his face to mine. My eyes flickered up.
"Well then," he said. And kissed me.
It was wet. In all my years imagining the circumstances of my first kiss, not once did I factor saliva into the equation. And soft -- I had no idea lips could be so soft, especially a boy's lips, especially this boy's lips, whose body was so rough with surfing and skating and daredevil tricks. A boy I'd known since preschool, when we chased each other in the school yard and traded chewing gum at lunch. A boy who had become, suddenly and without warning, tall and wind-blown, with bleached hair and a crooked grin.
He pulled back and said nothing, locking his eyes with mind in a measured gaze.
"I'm...I'm sorry," I stammered. "I don't really know..."
He hushed me with a finger.
"Practice. Lots of it. Doctor's orders." Smiling, he kissed me again.
This entry was posted by theheylady, on
Tuesday, January 23, 2007.
