It was a long week and I couldn’t stop thinking about Kyle and the letter. So when Friday rolled around, I hadthose kind of butterflies. The does he like me, does he not ones. Do you know hard it is to be cool when all you can think is OMG, I’M NOT MADE OF BRONZE, TAKE ME IN YOUR ARMS AND KISS ME, YOU SILLY FOOL??
Kyle also really likes to talk about that Saturday night. We’d wrapped up curtain call and people were leaving, calling their ‘good nights’ to one another across the dressing room, the lobby, the parking lot. We would be ending the run soon and the cast was getting nostalgic. And I was on my way to a birthday party. Kyle must have felt concerned about me attending a wild party that late at night and alone because he and his roommate R informed me that they would be following me to this party. It was my friend S’s 28th and let’s just say, parties at S’s house did usually involve cake or balloons. When we arrived sometime after 11, the entire house seemed to be on its 9th tequila shot. I walked up the stairs and into the kitchen, Kyle and R in tow, at which point, we were greeted by a large man in chainmail with a sword (S spent her summer weekends working at the Renaissance Festival and well…if your job is that cool, who wouldn’t want to bring it home with them?). In fact, it seemed like the majority of partiers were dressed to the sword hilt in various and assundry pieces of armor. This wasn’t so unusual for a party at S’s and I forgot that I had brought unsuspecting guests into the medieval realm until I turned to see a very surprised R and Kyle being embraced by a pirate and a knight. We sat in a corner of the room, near the drinks, and I perched on Kyle’s knee. (Yeah, okay, I was looking for ANY reason to get close to him!)
And there was that feeling again…that feeling that we had been doing this always, that when I woke up tomorrow, I might not be able to remember if we had sat like this once or 687,000 times. Someone who had possibly just taken their 10th tequila shot pushed past our chairs and my face pressed closer to Kyle’s. He looked at me and I just knew he was going to kiss me. “Not here,” I said brazenly, like he was Leonard Whiting and I was Olivia Hussey, because I really, really did not want to associate our first kiss with chainmail and booze. (Although, apparently, I have anyway). It’s another weird example of somehow knowing before we knew. Somehow…in the back of my mind, I thought, this is going somewhere long-term and I have to remember it. We said our goodbyes pretty quickly and as R headed for the pick-up, Kyle walked me to the door of my van. I opened it and climbed up onto the step. When I turned around, I was taller than he was. I put my arms around his neck. And he kissed me.
First kisses can be terrible. They’re nervous, sweaty things with bad timing and ill-placed noses and awkward finishes. Not this one. This one, I can objectively say, was perfect. There was like a choir and bells and a twenty-four gun salute and it was awesome. He kissed me again and R honked his horn and began cat-calling loudly.
“See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”
TO BE CONTINUED