ABOUT THE KISS.

A BOY AND GIRL TALK ABOUT A KISS AT SCHOOL IN 1962.

I think about you a lot.
Do you? Yes, especially
when you're not near.
John looks towards the

sports field at the school.
Why about me? I don't know.
Elaine has let the words
out, but they're like

uncontrollable hounds.
I guess I think of you, too.
Do you? He nods his head;
sees a blackbird go in a hedge.

What do you think about?
You. What about me?
He looks at her, sees her eyes
like large puddles behind

her cheap-bought specs.
Did you mind? Mind what?
Me kissing you? She feels
his eyes on her; she tries

to hold the words in some
kind of order. No; I didn't mind.
He looks away; sees other
kids at play. I didn't mean to

upset you, just kind of happened.
What did? The kissing, the kiss.
She feels unsure; wonders
whether the kiss was meant

or not. Did you mean to kiss me?
He looks at her again; he sees
how dark her hair is close up.
Sort of, wanted to. He's not good

at words with girls; they make
his words come out all wrong.
Unexpected, she  says, the kiss.
He nods, sees how soft her lips

( up close) now seem. Not kissed
a girl before. He watches her
scratch her head; her fingernails
seem chewed. Not been kissed

before; not by a boy, she adds.
She wants to say more; tell him
how it makes her feel inside;
how since the kiss, she's felt opened

up like an oyster in someone's palm,
waiting to be sucked out and in, but
she doesn't, she just stares at his nose
and a few protruding light brown hairs.

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

I feel I should be munching on popcorn whenever I read these little vignettes. Your descriptive nature is something I most admire about your writing, Terry. How I wish I would have thought of the "oyster in someone's palm"...its quite lovely and endearing.

[Terry Collett]

Thank you, Kelly. Popcorn, ah, yes, takes me back. Now my daughter, Edelle, is the popcorn lover.