Prelude to a Kiss

It's funny how the worst first kisses are the best ones too.

   Driving home is the most nerve-wracking experience of my life thus far.  I laugh too hard at everything he says.  My lisp is becoming horrifically more pronounced by the syllable, but I can't. stop. talking.  When we pull into my driveway, my heart stops.  He leans in.  I can't believe this is actually happening.  I smile.  I lean.  I close my eyes.  I form my lips to a kiss, and prepare for the magic.  His lips touch... my eye.
   My eyes fly open.  I jerk back, alarmed.  Thank God I closed them.  That would have been so creepy if I hadn't.  He stutters.  I stutter back.  We sit stuttering at each other.  I'm trying so hard not to laugh.  I don't want to emasculate him.  He takes a deep breath.
   "Let's try that again."  Smile.  We lean in precisely, carefully.  Our lips make contact.  Relief.



   How long can we possibly sit on my parents' couch looking at each other?  How long can we possibly watch movies and hold hands and be together and never kiss?  Does he even like me?  He just keeps talking.  And smiling at me.  I wish I was the kind of girl who could just go for it.  I wonder how different my life would be.  Those girls get what they want.  Because they take it.  I wish I had that kind of nerve.  Maybe I do.  Or I should!  I do!  This is how I is going to be from now on.  I am going to take life by the balls.  Did I get that from a car commercial?  No... they wouldn't say  that on TV.  I must have heard it somewhere else.  Where though?  Who would say something that stupid?  Well, I just did.  But I must have gotten it from somewhere.  It probably was a stupid car commercial.  I mean, they say bastard on TV sometimes.  Whatever.  He's still talking?!  How long can he possibly talk for?  Oh God, I think he's almost done.  Do it. I can't believe I'm about to do this.  I have to pick exactly the right moment.  And...NOW.  I kiss him.
   Precisely at the same time he licks his lips.  My lips make direct contact with his tongue.
   Are you fucking kidding me?  This is humiliating.  Is he going to say anything about that?  He doesn't.  He changes the subject.  I pretend to listen for another half hour, until his ride pulls up outside.  He gets up to leave.  We walk to the door.  Right before he leaves... he kisses me.  And I kiss him back.  And it's perfect.


   "Will you come in the other room with me please?  I need to talk to you."  My nervousness is so obvious.  He looks concerned.  Of course he agrees.  He follows me into the dining room.  I decide it's probably best to be direct.
   "Well, um, the thing is I, uh, lost a bet and uh...  Well, we have to kiss.  I mean, I have to kiss you.  So.  Yeah.  I'm going to kiss you."
   A smirk spreads across his face.
   "Okay.  Let's... Go ahead."
    And then it's over.  We join the rest of our youth group with secretive smiles.  I never told him I only made the bet because I knew I was going to lose.


   "Drop me off around the corner.  I'll walk home from there.  I don't want your car to wake up my parents."  He nods, and passes my house.  The frustration and confusion in the car are palpable.  This wasn't what we planned.  Things just didn't work out.  I always get so nervous.  What the hell is the matter with me?  The car stops.  He tries to smile.  I turn towards him and kiss him softly.  He responds aggressively, overzealously.  I pull back.
    "I'm just trying to kiss you."  
   "I'm just trying to kiss you."  
   "No... I'm  just trying to kiss you."
   He nods.  He exercises an impressive amount of self-control.


   We're not alone anymore.  And we're leaving.  As I stumble ahead, he reaches to stop me.  He waits for everyone else to get ahead of us, then takes my hand in his and leads me to the car.  I sit in the front seat, as usual.  We drive in a daze, rushing everyone out of the car ahead of us.
   We're alone again.  Pulling into my parents' driveway, we sit and stare at each other, awkwardly.  We both start talking at the same time and then fall silent.  Then speak again.  Then stop again.
   Finally, he speaks alone.  "
   Well.. I'll see you tomorrow?"
   My heart crashes to the bottom of my stomach. "Well yeah, um okay.  So goodnight!"  
   "Yeah, goodnight."  
   I rush into the house, punching numbers into my phone as my hands shake.
   "I think... I think we just ruined everything.  We just hooked up.  Kind of.  Not really.  I mean nothing really happened, but...  I don't know.  I think we crossed a line.  I mean, what the FUCK was I thinking?  What the fuck?  I can't believe what just happened to my life."  "Were you guys drunk?"  "NO.  I don't know what just happened.  We're just stupid.  And fuck...  God, everything is ruined."
    My phone beeps; I have a text message.
   "Come back outside?"
   "Fuck, he's back.  I... I've gotta go.  I'll call you after."
   I go outside and get back in the car.
   "What?"  
   "How bad are you freaking out right now?"  
   "What?  I'm not freaking out! Why would I be freaking out?!"  
   He laughs.  He takes my hand.  "You really think I'm going to believe that?  Where are we on a scale of 1-10?"  
   "...Eleven."  
   He sits up straight.  "I don't know what's the matter with me.  I... I froze.  I'm sorry."  
   "You didn't even kiss me goodnight!"  
   "I know."  
   "No one has ever not kissed me goodnight.  You have to kiss me goodnight!"
   So he does.  It ends short because we burst out laughing.
   "I almost killed you, you know.  You were about to be dead-zo.  Like literally.  I was going to kill you."  He laughs, nervously.  (He knows I meant it.)

   Those are my favorites.  Bobby McGee and Mr. Fantasy are both on the list.  Any guesses which they are?

Nobody Does it Better

   One walks away from the other feeling empowered.  Invincible.  Leaving the other feeling desolate.  Deprived.  (Neither of us is ever unscathed.  And we're never both okay.  I guess that's the problem with letting someone in.  It's never going to end with both of you whole.)  "I trust you.  I promise.  I trust you one hundred percent."


   This time it was I, late at night, who confessed, as I have before, that it needs to be over.  He should have seen it coming, but he didn't.  I understand.  He drops hints too, when it's his turn and I never notice them.  Or I do, but I ignore them.  Why do we think ignoring the signs will change the future?  If anything, that will only guarantee it.


   It takes awhile for me.  I toy with the idea for too long.  I can never do it as cleanly as he can.  He's less invested.  He can so easily be absorbed in distractions.  I just focus singularly on loss.


   I come right out with it.  He laughs.  "You're really drunk, aren't you?"  I'm not.  Fortunately.  Another drink and I wouldn't have had the spine.  Another couple and my assertion would have escalated into aggression.   
   "I'm sorry."  He doesn't get angry.  "It's up to you."  "Do you think this is fair to me?"  "No."


   That night I fill page after page with the same two words.  There are filler sentences, but I can really only comprehend a single thought.  I'm devastated.

   It isn't just the present we're losing.  "I just wish you were here."  It's the past.  "I want to kiss you badly."   It's the future.  "I want our boat to have a fireplace.  And be just like the Titanic."  "You know that sank, right?"  "Well, just like it except that part."

   The next morning is positive.  I'm excited to find out what I'm going to do next.  "It's like anything is possible now.  I'm devastated, but I feel so optimistic.  Like anything can happen.  I needed to do it.  I put it off for way too long."

   We last a week.  You come back first, which surprises me, because I left.  I guess you didn't think I'd come back.  Maybe I wouldn't have.

   "I'll be there."  "I'll believe that when I see it."  "I mean it!" "Maybe someday you'll actually prove me wrong."  "I will.  I'm going to."

   My head's way too smart to believe that, but too romantic not to want to.  In any event, I'm smiling.  And tonight, that's enough.

Tangled up in Blue

   I've been swimming this year.  It started because I accepted an invitation to the pool from my Lithuanian friend and I've always liked swimming.  So I went.  I had no idea I would keep going, or what I would find in the water.  (I'm more likely to search for meaning in books or music.  I certainly wasn't looking for anything in a swimming pool.)
   I found Rita.  My grandmother, who died my senior year of high school.
  Death was no stranger to me and hers wasn't entirely a surprise.  She lost a short battle with a cruel disease.  But leukemia didn't just take Rita from me.  It took my heart.
   She was the most wonderful, wicked woman I have ever met.  Strength incarnate.  She lived to eighty seven and every year she cut her own Christmas tree, hauled it into the house and decorated it.  She always got the most pathetic looking tree.  That just made it better, somehow.
   And every summer she swam.
   Rita's pool was above ground and four feet deep.  It was secluded in her forest-y backyard completely surrounded by trees, which guaranteed it remain ice cold into August.  While we gasped and shivered, squealing and giggling as we dipped in our toes, Rita was in the water every day.
   Tonight the water is particularly cold, and I am taken back to those summers.  It takes my breath away, literally.  I make my way to the last empty lane, each step accompanied by a sharp intake of air, frequently emitting short squeals to express my discomfort.
   I submerge myself entirely under water and start the breast stroke.  Strong arms and legs and cupping the water, technique she stressed as I floundered in her cold little pool summer after summer after summer.  Careful, deliberate strokes.
   I frequently find myself under water smiling.
   It's so rare to think of her and smile.  Focusing on her for any significant period of time unfailingly results in tears.
   I reach through the clear, icy laps, while my head glues patches to the bottom of her pool lining.  There were so many holes.  It would have been more practical to buy a new liner.  She told everyone for months afterward how my hair shone in the sunlight, streaming out behind me as I struggled on the bottom of the pool.  I felt a twinge of pride every time I overheard her tell the story, and touched at the affection in her voice. It was rare to hear such softness from a woman so fierce.
   And I am twirling in her kitchen with its Fred Flinstone floors, showing her my dress, like I did every Sunday.  I'm enveloped in her strong, thin arms as she reaches around to spank me.
   That's Rita; no display of affection would be acceptable without just a hint of sass.
   Memories linger as I dry my hair in the locker room and I find myself stifling tears.  I force them away and focus on something else.
   But the closeness to her stays.  And tomorrow night, I'll be under water smiling at her again.
   Sometimes we find healing in the most unexpected places.

The Naming of Things

I guess introductions are the best place to begin.  I'll start with myself because I'm the author, and I'm a narcissist.  (Just kidding!)  (Kind of.)

Lime Tree:   I have delusions of grandeur. I am way beyond a daydreamer.  I'm adventurous, goofy, and absurd.  I either talk way too much or don't say anything.  I am equally likely to be found on the middle of the dance floor as the corner of the room.  Wearing either a beautiful dress or a dirty flannel.  My belongings are either obsessively organized as in complete disrepair.  I'm not very familiar with middle ground.  I can be ambivalent because I want everything.


1, 2, 3, 4 and 5. The sisters, in birth order.

1:  33, Always available to make me laugh and able to sympathize with any plight.

2: 31, Always available to laugh, and provide direct, reasonable advice that I am more likely to need than want.

3: 29, Always available to dress up and go somewhere fancy or to lie on the couch and watch TV for unbelievable amounts of time.

4: 26, Never without a plan or a system, can always make me laugh.  Very matter of fact and easy to talk to.

5: 21, Possibly the most ridiculous person in the entire world.  Makes me laugh until I cry.

Bobby McGee:  My best friend.18, Oldest of three, Republican, Fundamentalist Christian, versatile musician, builds log cabins in forests for fun, is always prepared for an adventure, bearded, outdoorsy, shares my love of anything antique, vintage or homemade.

Mr. Fantasy: 21. The rollercoaster.  Tall, dark and handsome.  Forever on again/off again.  Will never grow up, will never settle down.  Musician, athlete.  Romantic, capable of being the sweetest person in the entire world, and then shortly thereafter the most insensitive. (Only to again be sweet!)  Bearded.  Impossible.  Infuriating.  Can always make me laugh, except when he's making me furious.  (Sometimes even then.)