A Bit of Prose
She thought of it more frequently, though she saw him no more often.
She was sure she was embellishing. She inserted more meaning to his shy gaze upon her as he commanded that she close her eyes. Perhaps she mirrored her own affectionate expression in her fantasy.
She hadn’t been expecting him.
The memory was dreamy, so she knew it was not honest. She imagined a soft and earnest Sufjan Stevens song should have accompanied the moment.
She imagined the complexity of her amused anticipation catching in her throat as she complied. She couldn’t quite remember how she felt, but knew that, from all her pop-culture references, she was about to receive a gift. Her first surprise from her first love she had long given up on. She gave more meaning to the moment every time it snuck into her consciousness, which was recurring with more frequency, almost urgency, but always seemed to be untriggered.
She remembered he wasn’t alone. Maybe this was part of the narrative she created. Their friends did not hang too close, only he stood before her, outside her front door. Had he walked? Did they drive by? She almost couldn’t bear the silent seconds of waiting, then she felt his lips on her cheek. His hands on her face and a kiss on her cheek. Maybe he hadn’t actually touched her, apart from his lips gently brushing her skin.
She wondered- did she laugh? Did she do anything to express her disappointment in his cowardice? Whether it was the closest he could come to expressing his love of her, or a signal that she’d never be anything more than a child in his eyes, she felt it was a cop-out.
A way of indirectly addressing a connection that their friends had long speculated on. Had he never explained himself? Had she ever mustered up the courage to ask? She might have just blocked out the answer in favor of the romance of an ambiguous and inexplicably tender encounter between teenagers.
She suspected now that it had just been something for him to do. A break in the monotony of the twilight of childhood. Maybe some excitement in between paintings and skateboard tricks.
As the memory dissipated she put on Elliott Smith and drifted into another familiar one-sided romance.
She was sure she was embellishing. She inserted more meaning to his shy gaze upon her as he commanded that she close her eyes. Perhaps she mirrored her own affectionate expression in her fantasy.
She hadn’t been expecting him.
The memory was dreamy, so she knew it was not honest. She imagined a soft and earnest Sufjan Stevens song should have accompanied the moment.
She imagined the complexity of her amused anticipation catching in her throat as she complied. She couldn’t quite remember how she felt, but knew that, from all her pop-culture references, she was about to receive a gift. Her first surprise from her first love she had long given up on. She gave more meaning to the moment every time it snuck into her consciousness, which was recurring with more frequency, almost urgency, but always seemed to be untriggered.
She remembered he wasn’t alone. Maybe this was part of the narrative she created. Their friends did not hang too close, only he stood before her, outside her front door. Had he walked? Did they drive by? She almost couldn’t bear the silent seconds of waiting, then she felt his lips on her cheek. His hands on her face and a kiss on her cheek. Maybe he hadn’t actually touched her, apart from his lips gently brushing her skin.
She wondered- did she laugh? Did she do anything to express her disappointment in his cowardice? Whether it was the closest he could come to expressing his love of her, or a signal that she’d never be anything more than a child in his eyes, she felt it was a cop-out.
A way of indirectly addressing a connection that their friends had long speculated on. Had he never explained himself? Had she ever mustered up the courage to ask? She might have just blocked out the answer in favor of the romance of an ambiguous and inexplicably tender encounter between teenagers.
She suspected now that it had just been something for him to do. A break in the monotony of the twilight of childhood. Maybe some excitement in between paintings and skateboard tricks.
As the memory dissipated she put on Elliott Smith and drifted into another familiar one-sided romance.
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