My First Kiss: Part 3, taking flight

On our way back to the high school I continue to give him the cold shoulder as he fumbles his way through an explanation. “I thought you would like the rain,” he says honestly. It’s hard to believe, but I really think he expected me to just stand there and let his friends dump water on us while I kissed him for the first time. I laugh. It’s my fault anyway. There probably weren’t any warm rain showers in the forecast for another few months. And he has been pretty patient and forgiving of my romantic idealism. My defenses start to crumble.

We pull up to the high school and he shifts the car into park. He looks at me, smiles kindly, then looks down at his lap and asks, “Why won’t you kiss me?” He really wants to know. “I’m afraid…” I say, “that I won’t be that great of a kisser.” I say sheepishly. It’s true, but it’s not the whole truth. He doesn’t but it. I continue, “and…I’m afraid of what it might mean if I kiss you—that I’ll actually be admitting how much I really like you, and how much I could get hurt…again.” There it was: my dagger. I took it out in front of him, polished it, then plunged it into his heart. I was afraid to trust him.

Wonderboy let go of my hand and put it on the steering wheel. He wasn’t angry, but he wouldn’t look at me. His intense, blue eyes drooped. Then they started to glimmer in the streetlight. I made Wonderboy cry. What is the matter with me? He kissed Brandy after he held my hand. So what. I’d rather say goodbye to the guy who makes me feel like I can fly just because I’m too afraid of heights? The silence began to suffocate me. “I’m sorry,” I said impulsively. “It’s not your fault,” he said. “I deserve it. You don’t trust me.”

“You’re wrong,” I responded. “It is my fault. The rules are complicated and I have too many of them. I take everything so seriously that I’m willing to throw away the fact that you’re the best person I know just so I can live inside of my perfect little bubble. I’m sorry.” I let my hand wander to his, hoping that he’d hold it. He did. “Walk me to my car?” He does.

Our hands linked together, fingers intertwined, but it felt mechanical. He doesn’t say much. I don’t blame him. I had blown it. I know he isn’t going to try again. A few paces from my car I curl our interlocked hands around my back and face him. He looks down at me and smiles. I can’t breathe. I’m close to his face, but he doesn’t lean in. What a punk. If it’s going to happen, I better do something. So, I close my eyes and pucker up.

I can’t see him, but I can feel his smiling lips lean in to mine. We kiss. And, for the first time in my life, I’m flying. He wraps his arms around my waist, lifts my feet off the ground, and spins me in circles. When I land he says, “You kissed me,” then he leans in to kiss me again and I meet him in the middle. “You kissed me,” I say. And he laughs quietly. The moment seems to last forever.

We dance the rest of the way to my car. I know I’m out past curfew, but nothing could bring me down right now. If I get grounded for a couple of weeks again, it’ll be worth it. He opens my door and I slide in. We say goodnight. “I’ll call you,” he says, then kisses me again and closes my door. I watch him walk back to his car and when he’s a safe distance away, I release a loud, long, excited scream. I drive home with the windows down and the heater blasting. At home, I park my car, run to my trampoline, do fifty back flips and then scream again. Mom and dad rush out of the house in a panic. I tell them what happened and they laugh. “It’s about time,” my dad says. He’s right. He doesn’t even care that I’m out past midnight.

I jump on Bambie’s bed downstairs. She was sleeping and is startled by my disheveled appearance. I tell her the story and she laughs he head off, then proceeds to give me all sorts of kissing pointers. I get the feeling she’s been waiting to have this talk with me for a while. I run to my room, break out my journal and write the date. February 9^th, 2002. Maybe I won’t get to marry this kid, but I’ll remember this day for the rest of my life.

My phone rings. It’s him. He tells me what a great night he had. Then he tells me that he’s never had a kiss that felt that way before. I smile, not knowing exactly what he meant. I can hear the sleepiness in his voice, but he insists on staying on the line. I start to tell him what has happened in the 30 minutes since we parted and I hear him start to snore. He’s sleeping.

I love him. I’ll probably never tell him and I won’t even write it in my journal. But I do. Even if we don’t end up together, even if he breaks my heart again, I’m glad it was him. I hang up the phone and fall asleep dreaming of what it feels like to fly.