First Kiss

FIRST KISS

“Are you on your way to your mother’s, my love? The weather seems to be taking a turn.” He spoke clearly into the phone to relay his declaration of love and the hint of concern. I heard ownership and an unsolicited weather report.   

“Yes, I’m on my way.” I was running late, and it couldn’t be helped. My class had run long and my walk to the stop was hampered by my desire to be anywhere but with my mother, who would enthusiastically want to converse about him, the older man from across the pond. We had been dating for several months now, and Mother was obsessed. Today is a ‘must stop by’ kind of day. She will unload a ton of her motherly wisdom onto me before I can cross the threshold, before I have a chance to say ‘hello.’ She’ll warn me of my obstinate temperament and my refusal to say ‘I love you.’ She’ll ignore the words ‘I don’t love him’ and insist that it’s some character flaw I inherited from my father’s side of the family, as with every other time in the last month that we’ve had this conversation. I can excuse my older gentleman from across the pond because he hasn’t known me my whole life, but I wonder why Mother doesn’t know me at all after twenty-seven years. Neither of them really has a clue, and I don’t know how to be that someone who wants to clue them in. 

“You want a mind reader, and they don’t exist.” That was my mother’s response when I complained about my needs not being met. 

“My love, you just have to say the words and I will do it, but you can’t expect me to read your mind,” he responded when I gave him my sulky silent act for a whole day. 

Neither of them would ever believe how I got the evidence that proved their assumptions about   mind reading wrong. I don’t know that I fully understand what happened. Two strangers on what had suddenly become a rainy evening at a bus stop, a bus stop in a big city. 

 ∞ 

When I ran to the stop and ducked under the canopy, not quite soaked, but looking like a damp contestant in a wet T-shirt contest, she made room for me on the bench. She closed the gap once I sat, offered me the dry shirt that she had removed as soon as I landed on the seat. She was wearing the most flattering lacy bralette I’d ever seen. And so, I stared. She saw me. 

“It’s okay. The lady at the store said you can wear it as a top.” She struck a pose and smiled before shoving the long-sleeved V-neck tee my way. I took it, and hoped my face told her that I was grateful. “You’re welcome.” With that, she gave a wink, a self-assured smile, and stood to untie the denim jacket she had around her waist. She put the jacket on, “Sorry, I can’t give up the authentic Gap denim. Not a thrift store find, and kind of my favorite.” I thought to tell her that I had one too, but I didn’t. “You look like you already own one.” The words formulating in my head never managed to make it out of my mouth. I continued to stare. “I bet you have one in white, too.” I did, but I never said a word. She just shook her head as if she was proud of her intuitive skills, and not at all fazed by my embarrassing silence. 

I held the soft cotton and paused because I wasn’t sure if I should try to wipe dry or just change into the borrowed shirt which would get wet when I slipped it on. She noticed.

“You can have it. Do what you want. I’m a thrifter, so I have dozens. They usually only cost me a couple of bucks. But my boyfriend reminds me that the bucks add up.” I listened as I glanced around before removing my wet shirt and donning the dry gift. “It looks better on you than it did on me.” She smiled, not flirting but like a person who has a backstory that could have left them bitter but instead had made them kind, thoughtful. “But you’re one of those women who looks good in anything. People tell you that all the time, right?” 

“Actually, every other day, my mother reminds me I’m five pounds from being fat because I’m borderline short.” Mother is, of course, the perfect height and in her day she could have been a pin-up girl. She reminds me of that, as well, as if it’s something to be proud of. “My boyfriend is more focused on me wearing more clothes. You know, less cleavage, less thighs, and generally more material all around. He’s a bit on the conservative side.” Finally, I found my words, but I couldn’t hide the uneasiness that I felt when I mentioned him. She noticed.

“How did you end up with someone like that? Are you like that?” She slid closer and her eyes were intense, looking inside of me. I couldn’t lie.

“He’s quite handsome, and he has an accent. He’s sweet, a few years older. My mother says he makes me better.”

“Better than what?” She waited, watching with those dark, yet bright eyes.

“Better than I was before him, I guess.” I should have been hesitant to admit that but it slid out easily. I guess I wasn’t surprised when the word ‘regurgitate’ came to mind.

“Were you a terrible person before? Serial killer or grifter? Should I be scared right now that you’ll fall back into your pre-conservative boyfriend ways?” Then she giggled. A genuine girly giggle. She giggled and then she kissed me. A sweet gentle kiss on the lips. Then she just looked at me, she studied me, an inch from my face. I could smell the coffee on her breath and the aftermath of a fragrance she must have sprayed on this morning. I just stared back, not knowing what to say or do. She noticed. “I’m supposed to say I’m sorry and you’re supposed to let me off the hook by saying something forced but sweet.” I parted my lips but realized I was off cue, so I closed them and waited. “But that’s what your life is like every day, I’m guessing.” She kissed me again, with more intensity. And then she touched my thigh and whispered in my ear. “You are amazing. Perfectly amazing.” I found myself thinking: is this what it feels like when your heart skips a beat? Mine was racing or dancing or just trying to escape its cavity. The wet shirt that I had removed earlier was strangled between my clenched fingers. My breathing…or maybe I was holding my breath. She kissed my neck and the hand that was on my thigh was now on my right breast. And now, with legs crossed, my only thought was I hope the bus would be later than usual. 

∞

“You okay?” I was. But all I could do was nod my head, a head that was slightly spinning at what had just happened. My older fellow from across the pond would never understand this pleasure, unplanned, forbidden, and full. “I didn’t mean to take advantage. That’s not what I intended. It’s just that you seemed to need that. And I’m not a lesbian or bi or anything. I don’t identify as anything other than just me.” She framed her face with both hands and smiled for an imaginary photo.  ‘But you are beautiful and lovely. And it’s raining, or at least it was.” She laughed a little when she noticed that it had stopped at some point during the kiss. “What can I say? I’m human.” There was a palm’s up shoulder shrug and then an ingenue’s smile. 

“No explanation necessary. Thank you.” Words came out, but I sounded like my mother’s trainee. I didn’t sound like someone who had just had an orgasm at a bus stop with a stranger who happened to be a self-professed heterosexual female. I didn’t sound like someone who had just experienced an internal explosion. Instead, I could hear the guilt in my voice. It was not the guilt of a cheater. It was the guilt of someone who had just enjoyed something they didn’t deserve, something not earned but stolen. I had reached into the work fridge and drank someone else’s perfectly chilled San Pellegrino, but I was finally satisfied. She knew. 

“You deserve to be content. Everybody deserves a Mega-Millions moment.” She leaned in and cupped her mouth like a school girl with good gossip, “even if it didn’t cost a dime.”

“Thanks.” We sat quietly until the bus came. It was much later than usual. I suppose because of the rain. In my head, I did the non-math on the odds of winning without playing. Having never bought a lotto ticket in my life, this was truly the closest I would probably get to a win. A stolen kiss at a bus stop in a big city.   

“You can keep the shirt.” When she reached the top step of the bus, she turned to tell me that. And then she waved, scanned her card, and headed up the aisle. I knew that I had not made a new friend. Instead, it was like any other chance meeting at a bus stop. You have a conversation until the bus comes and you never see that person again. Only this time, I walked away with two things I hadn’t asked for: a new used V-neck tee and an explosion that blew up everything I had been trying to duct tape together for these past few months, or maybe for my whole life. Both given to me by someone who saw me and kissed me… and knew me.