Today’s Prompt: Describe your first kiss.

    —–

    I joked with him about it once, ages before it happened. I’d like to say it was a psychic moment for me.  I told him there’d be a scene in the movie about us, in an airport.  I thought the roles would be reversed, me parking the car, him with the carry-on bag slung over a shoulder.  I told him the song that would swell in the background would be Ben Folds’ “Landed”.  I got some parts of it wrong.  I was partially mostly psychic.

    We hadn’t spoken in a very long time, we were no longer friends, no contact.  I had requested it, regretted it, stubbornly did nothing to change it.  I moved, I cut my hair, I dumped some other friends, I made some other friends.  I flew to New Jersey and I only told three people.  I stayed up all night and I drank just enough to not be stubborn anymore, but not enough to be brave.  I drank enough that when Matt Nathanson’s “Come on Get Higher” played, I wanted to dance, but not enough to forget whose voice I missed.  I drank enough to believe but not to forget.

    At 2am, I got a text message from him.  I was pretty sure.  I’d deleted him from my contacts and had to just assume.  I miss you and I hope you are well.

    I composed easily a dozen replies and ultimately sent just “Yeah?”  (Enough to not be stubborn anymore.  Not enough to be brave.)

    Yeah.

    “Now what?” I managed.

    I don’t know.

    “Do you know where I am?”

    No.

    “New Jersey.  Pick me up at ORD tomorrow.”

    What flight?

    I resumed contact when I landed.  “On the ground.”  I headed for the first outside door I could find, assuming he’d be circling, I’d wait at the curb.  I didn’t get that far, because he was there, standing right there, wearing that sweater, wearing the coat with that collar, taking my bag from me.  A minor detail, standing there in the airport, unless you’ve done a pickup at O’Hare and then you’re reading this and mentally finding parking and deciding Oh she is not worth THAT.

    In the movie, this where the “Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on” part of the Matt Nathanson song will swell loud and dramatically and there will be a kiss and my bag will hit the floor and you’ll hold your breath just a little bit without realizing it.

    In reality, we went to dinner and pushed food around our plates and didn’t talk about how we still hadn’t answered “Now what?”  We went for coffee, laughing nervously at how obvious it was we were both just stalling saying goodbye again.  In line at Starbucks, I faced him and leaned, I worried it would be barely perceptible, and he was there already.

    Was it the first pair of lips to touch mine?  No.

    It was my first kiss that: sated, filled, healed, questioned, answered, promised, took off, landed.

    And so, due to the multitude of ways I could end that sentence, it was my first kiss.  Yeah?  Yeah.