Last Kiss

I've known Jake a long time. Back when the two of us used to lay shirtless underneath the apple tree after a long day. We were children really, when the lines of his face left when he was done smiling and the salt hadn't sprinkled into my hair. Before either one of us had kissed a woman.

That’s how it began I suppose, neither of us brave enough to talk to the fairer sex. We told each other everything. After a school field trip where all the boys bragged that they weren’t virgins we admitted to each other that we were and taught each other how to kiss. 

I’ve always loved eyes, men’s, women’s, dogs even; the way they vary and catch the light. The phrase that the eyes are the window to the soul is either a lie or the greatest truth. I have seen some of the most beautiful eyes on men who have hit me and chased me- violent men. It’s either that at their core all men are born beautiful souls, and it was the world that made them violent or the whole thing is bullshit.

The first time I noticed Jake’s eyes, truly noticed his eyes, I yelled at him about an offense I no longer remember. It was raining and my anger was caught short when I noticed a drop fall from his strawberry blonde eyebrows onto his dark lashes. Before that day I couldn’t have told you the color of his eyes, but from then on, I would never forget the way his dark chocolate irises stood hurt. It reminded me of a puppy. 

I saw that face again the day of my wedding. At first, before the music changed to, Here Comes the Bride, they were happy. He was truly happy for me. But when the music changed and the whole church rose to their feet, I saw the depth of his sadness. I turned my head to watch Hailey enter before recognizing what I had seen. When I jerked my head back his focus had turned toward Hailey.  

I didn’t look back to my best man again until the minister asked if I had the ring. He looked sad, or hurt, I wasn’t sure, but only for a moment. When he pressed the ring into my palm the look turned to joy. 

            My love for Hailey is hard to explain. She has a strength and inner fire that somehow manages to warm me yet keep me away at the same time. I know that sounds silly, but if you are ever sitting alone next to a fire and the cold is biting your back and you feel yourself leaning in toward the flames you will know the feeling I mean. You will know the need to keep putting logs on the fire. Even the joy of watching the new wood transform and succumb can detract you from all the effort required to maintain that heat. Eventually, if you stay there long enough, at some point you just grow too tired to put another on. You either turn in for the night or you fall asleep next to the warmth you have built and awake when the coals are no longer enough to keep the night at bay.

Twelve years passed. Most of the last had me waking on the couch. I wasn't sure what was wrong. The dogs were confused to where to sleep. It wasn’t unusual for me to find refuge on the couch from time to time when Hailey’s snoring grew too much. At first, I told myself that I why I kept waking up there, but that didn't explain the lack of sex in our marriage or the growing need for harder and harder pornography or why our hugs felt perfunctory.

Jake suggested counseling. 

            "I didn't hear you slip out of bed last night." Hailey said. She poured herself a cup of coffee and looked at me defensively behind the cup as she drank. Something about the way she said that made me feel even less a part of the marriage, but then she surprised me, “I don’t like to wake up and not feel you next to me.” 

This made me feel some of that old warmth. That feeling must have spread to my face because it caused her to set the cup down and smile.

The smile made me think of the way we used to just throw caution to the wind and bolt out of town even when we didn’t have any money.

            I blurted, “Let’s go to the city."

            She screwed up her face confused. I’m not sure which of us was more shocked. A year before in a fit of rage I told her I was never going to the city with her again. I can't even remember why anymore.

            "I would love to go to the city with you," she said.

            She called her mother and arranged for her to take the dogs for the weekend. An hour later we were on the road. The two of us loved to travel having more than the first page of our passports filled with the stamps of foreign lands. They served as tent poles holding the marriage up.

            We got in late and had we not been so caught up in the spontaneity of the whole thing we probably would’ve just turned in, but instead went to the hotel bar ordered specialty drinks until time slowed down. I held her hand and we laughed. Aside from Jake, she was my oldest and dearest friend. That night, I made love to her. The first time in a long time and I held her close as we slept. 

            After breakfast we decided the first order of business would be the art museum. I couldn't wait to wander its endless walls and discuss the impressionists. Earlier that year I read a book about Kandinsky and was excited to not only see some of his work firsthand, but to discuss his life. Share myself. 

            To her credit she listened to what I had to say, but as the hours went by and our energy waned so did her interest. It made me wish Jake were there. A year before the two of us took an eight-week art class and together and we talked about art and artists until the obligations of life forced us to stop.

Hailey and I left and walked through the icy rain until we found a place to eat. I held the door and grabbed her hand as she passed. I smiled and wiped the rain from her eyebrows. She is a beautiful woman, but it reminded me of Jake all those years before.

We ordered wine. Red for me, white for her. I’ve never been a fan of Picasso so at the museum we had separated for a bit. I didn’t want her to feel rushed. When the entrees arrived, I asked her how she had liked his section. She said it was alright, but it turned out that she spent most of the time drinking coffee in the café. I planned on telling her about some of the powerful paintings I found on the civil rights movement but held my tongue. 

            That night when I made love to her, I poured everything I had into her. I gave and gave until in a heap of sweat I collapsed. I had nothing left.

            The next morning, we woke in each other’s arms. I enjoyed the warmth, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Jake. I wanted his soft eyes, scratchy face, and firm arms. He just had something that she couldn't give me, and it wasn't fair to keep asking her to do so and my heart wept. She looked at me then the same way she did right before our first kiss as a married couple. When our lips met, I knew that this kiss would be our last.