My second attempt at romantic fiction! "Thirteen Kisses" is a series of fairly short stories, of which this post is the first installment. Enjoy!
Most people can complain about awkward moments where they found themselves uncomfortably close to someone’s face for the first time. The trend is often the earlier one can get their first kiss, the better. When I turned eighteen, and still had not ever tried to express my affection in such a manner, I took pleasure in that I was different.
September 7, 2007, five days after my eighteenth birthday: Luke and I were on his back porch eating ice cream sundaes and our favorite Japanese candies that we had bought at the little market down the street. As close, childhood friends, the topic of romantic relationships came up a lot. As close, childhood friends, we usually tried to avoid talking about us being together. Luke ruined that understood peace that day by saying, “Emma, can I kiss you?”
For a moment, I thought I had a major brain freeze, but in reality it was just my world being spun on its head for a moment.
“Now?” I croaked.
“Not if you don’t want to,” Luke said, blushing himself silly. “I just thought – well, think – that you and I, we, should – well, would be a great couple.”
“Oh,” I said. We sat there for sometime, silently watching our sundaes erode away until they were somewhat-chunky puddles.
“You know I don’t kiss, Luke. You know I’ve been saving it for something special.”
“Yea, I know,” the hint of eagerness in his eyes died as he explained his audacity in asking me for something I’d never give, “I just thought that I could make it special enough.”
And in truth, Luke was really special. And my best friend. And though we’d never admit it to anyone, we loved each other; we just thought it best not to show it.
“I’m sorry, dude,” I said, trying not to cry, “I can’t.”
“I understand. What do you want to do today?”
“We have that project in Robert’s’. Mind if we work on that?”
“Sounds good.”
And that was the end of that, in my dreams.
Unfortunately, Luke’s perfectly innocent question plagued my mind for the following week, until the Friday when we met next. We walked down to the market, admiring the golden aspens as we strolled.
At the market, we purchased our usual favorite Japanese candy, in addition to strawberry-flavored Twizzlers. Happily munching on the candy, we walked into the wooded park on the side of the road. Farther in we went, to the point where we couldn’t see the road, or any houses, or anyone at all. It was just us, and an army of golden aspens.
We’d been here before to eat candy, so we plopped down on the dirt and munched away. I felt almost sick to be around him, without clearing up something to make him happy. After all, Luke had always been there for me as a friend. He deserved my affection.
“Luke, um,” I choked on a piece of purple hard candy. “Um, you have permission to, well, you know…”
It took a moment for him to answer. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said.
“I know. But I want to.”
“You sure?”
“Yea.”
“Ok, then.”
End of conversation.
A few minutes and a couple good laughs later, we stood. There was one Twizzler left. He split the nine intertwined strands, giving four for me, and taking five for himself. We consumed them as the hot Colorado sun started to flee the skies, casting orange light to aspens around us. I ate my candy fast, but Luke was a bit slower.
Five strands. Four. Three. Two took a while to go down, do to the inconsiderate interruption of a gaseous squirrel. There was one strand left.
“Do you want to split it?” I nodded. He gave one end to me, and I struggled to comprehend why we was still holding on to the other end. Once it clicked for me, my spine went cold. This kiss is a gift. You love him, but hold on! You’re about to give something you will never get back!
I put the end in my mouth and started to chew it slowly. Luke did the same with his end. The strand shrunk and shrunk, and with each bite my pulse quickened, and the earth around us started to change. At three inches between our faces, an angry wind lashed around the trees, roaring for me to stop. At two, amber leaves started to whip our faces. One, I could not longer move; I was a lead statue, frozen to the spot where Luke was about to kiss me. My mind screamed for me to stop while I could, but my heart had temporary control of my body. It was already too late to stop.
The wind yowled, cried, mourned. The leaves rushed, fought, tore. Hair in my face, strawberry candy in my mouth, and Luke’s nose grazing mine. Our lips touched , and we tasted like Twizzlers.
This is what I remember about my first kiss: the nearly scalding temperature of his face, the sticky candy on our lips, and the wind that warned me not to tear my world apart.
I loved it!
