Lucky Lemon #7
He should have never been there in the first place. When he walked in, I thought it was a childhood friend. I was about to jump from my place on the floor, when I heard his laugh from the foyer. He was not supposed to be there. Still crouched on my knees at the edge of the coffee table, I was stunned.
“It’s your turn.”
“Wha—oh!” I nabbed the die off the table as he walked into the room. He looked good, his whispy blond hair tousled just right and wearing that pale blue and green striped button up I loved. I moved my piece and sheepishly said, “Hey, thought you weren’t coming.”
“I’m not staying for long. Just waiting for Drew to call, we’re supposed to hang out. I told him to call your phone. ‘S that okay? I had to get out of my house.”
“Yeah, sure, uh, just join a team I guess.”
None of us were old enough to go out to a bar for New Years’, so we had a get together at my house. We played board games and drank while watching Dick Clark on the new television screen.
The whole night was awkward. I relegated myself to the opposite side of the room. I missed his laugh and the bright smile on his face. The way his blue eyes sparkled when he was truly happy. We finished with games and as 11:45 passed, we brought out a couple of bottles of champagne.
I tried to get it open. I used all the strength I had in my arm. I twisted, I pulled, I strained, and my face turned bright red as I huffed in and out. Embarrassed, I grabbed a bottle in either hand and waltzed into the living room. “Boys, a little help?” There were only two in the room, as one was indisposed, and as one of the two was gay (and equally as strong as I), he offered to help. Two seconds later, the bottle had been easily popped open and we all took a glass as we watched the taping of the ball falling and counted down together.
And then it is midnight. My plan to stay away has failed, and I am standing next to him. He, the man who broke my heart, is staring down at me at the stroke of midnight on New Years’. In the tension, the room disappears and there is only us, standing and staring. He’s reading my soul through my eyes and I am lost in desperation to know what is happening. I long for those lips, for the kiss so sweet from the year before. A simple sweet kiss at midnight followed by a “Happy New Year.”
But the moment ended. With a “I guess Drew’s not gonna call.”, he swigged the last of his champagne and went to put his glass away in the kitchen. I tried to hide my disappointment, but it’s harder to cover the heart on your sleeve when your best friends are there and can see through the glass sweatshirt you’re wearing. They knew.
After an hour, everyone was gone. Everyone but him. Having an excuse to stay out extra late, away from his over-controlling parents, we laid down and talked about life. I could hear it in my voice. All the pain, thick as molasses, weighing down my words. There was a lull in a conversation of which I don’t remember the words only the sounds. It happened. Lips brushed in a holy palmers kiss that would’ve made Shakespeare cry with joy. “Happy New Year. I figured at least someone should get kissed tonight.”
“It’s your turn.”
“Wha—oh!” I nabbed the die off the table as he walked into the room. He looked good, his whispy blond hair tousled just right and wearing that pale blue and green striped button up I loved. I moved my piece and sheepishly said, “Hey, thought you weren’t coming.”
“I’m not staying for long. Just waiting for Drew to call, we’re supposed to hang out. I told him to call your phone. ‘S that okay? I had to get out of my house.”
“Yeah, sure, uh, just join a team I guess.”
None of us were old enough to go out to a bar for New Years’, so we had a get together at my house. We played board games and drank while watching Dick Clark on the new television screen.
The whole night was awkward. I relegated myself to the opposite side of the room. I missed his laugh and the bright smile on his face. The way his blue eyes sparkled when he was truly happy. We finished with games and as 11:45 passed, we brought out a couple of bottles of champagne.
I tried to get it open. I used all the strength I had in my arm. I twisted, I pulled, I strained, and my face turned bright red as I huffed in and out. Embarrassed, I grabbed a bottle in either hand and waltzed into the living room. “Boys, a little help?” There were only two in the room, as one was indisposed, and as one of the two was gay (and equally as strong as I), he offered to help. Two seconds later, the bottle had been easily popped open and we all took a glass as we watched the taping of the ball falling and counted down together.
And then it is midnight. My plan to stay away has failed, and I am standing next to him. He, the man who broke my heart, is staring down at me at the stroke of midnight on New Years’. In the tension, the room disappears and there is only us, standing and staring. He’s reading my soul through my eyes and I am lost in desperation to know what is happening. I long for those lips, for the kiss so sweet from the year before. A simple sweet kiss at midnight followed by a “Happy New Year.”
But the moment ended. With a “I guess Drew’s not gonna call.”, he swigged the last of his champagne and went to put his glass away in the kitchen. I tried to hide my disappointment, but it’s harder to cover the heart on your sleeve when your best friends are there and can see through the glass sweatshirt you’re wearing. They knew.
After an hour, everyone was gone. Everyone but him. Having an excuse to stay out extra late, away from his over-controlling parents, we laid down and talked about life. I could hear it in my voice. All the pain, thick as molasses, weighing down my words. There was a lull in a conversation of which I don’t remember the words only the sounds. It happened. Lips brushed in a holy palmers kiss that would’ve made Shakespeare cry with joy. “Happy New Year. I figured at least someone should get kissed tonight.”
posted by Anonymous at 4:35 PM
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