Fraught with Meaning

Back then,everything was. The way someone said "hello" or even looked at me meant something. Maybe it still does and I'm just not as aware of it now. Or maybe now I have other things on my mind like if I paid that last phone bill or if I can take Charlie on a walk before it gets dark, or how many points does that cookie from Von's have in it (8!)?

Anyway, the fact that the boy had been so unaware of me, ignoring me to the point that he didn't even have the kinesthetic realization that I was right behind him, hurt me much more than the physical pain of being hit in the eye. And really, it wasn't the eye anyway, it was just under the brow bone. You know that place where hardly any skin covers the bone? So there's not much padding between the object (his elbow) and the bone? Where, if one is hit, the nerves just get smashed up against the bone? Yeah, that was the place.

In my weird mind I thought maybe he would feel so bad about hurting me that he would give me more attention for the rest of the night to make up for it.

Nope.

Again to the bathroom with the girlfriends to clean up my mascara and reapply eyeshadow (did I really carry eye shadow around with me?), and try to look decent again. Out to where the boys were already sitting and laughing and ordering pie without us.

Next thing I know, my guy has offered to drive another couple home, "because it's on the way." This was the first moment I thought that maybe he was just a little bit nervous around me too. Yeah! That was it. Could it be possible? Was he worried about being alone with me?

However, whatever the motivation, I was not happy about the other couple being in our car. And here's the weird part. Instead of dropping off the other two first, the girl was dropped off, then boy-of-dreams drove to my house. With the male half of the other couple still in the car. We were never going to be alone.

We get to my house, and I'm realizing this evening really sucked. The boy just said yes to me because I caught him off guard, and was too chicken to even tell me the truth, that he wasn't interested in me. All three of us got out of the car, and the other boy threw his boutonnière into the bottlebrush tree in front of my driveway. I guess his night didn't go too well either.

I was kinda just standing there, hoping dorkhead (the new name I'd given my date) would at least walk me to the door, but he just kept kidding around with his friend.

I was going to have to walk up the god damn driveway alone, with the two goofballs of the world watching me. I'd probably trip, because I do that quite often, and they'd laugh at me, and talk about it later.

"Hey Beck, where're you going? I'll walk you."

So finally, the manners nazi from dinner remembered what he was supposed to do.

All my hopes for the night had gone nowhere. This boy wasn't interested in me, had no idea of the love I had for him in my 16-year-old heart. All that pure adoration, unsullied by cynicism or reality. He could have any girl he wanted. What did I think, he was going to choose me? A nerdy, klutzy, goofy girl? How idiotic could I have been?

At the porch, we said goodnight. He leaned forward for the obligatory hug, I patted his back...

His lips were on mine.

(wha..uh...um...)

Unexpected development. I pulled away, surprised, and slightly annoyed. He was going to make the whole night better with a kiss? What the hell? (Thrilled. I was thrilled. Competing feelings in my brain began to wrestle).

"That's it." I said. Proud that I had overcome my feelings of joy that he. was. actually. kissing. Me.
I backed off.

"Beck..."

So much for my moment of strength. He leaned in again, and this time it was a real kiss. I felt my shawl fall off my shoulder, I felt his hand on the bare skin of my back. My fingers went to the hair at the base of his neck, and I could smell his scent. Just him. No cologne, just his almost-a-man scent. This was my first real kiss, and it was everything it was supposed to be. Hoofbeats of horses and bells ringing and thunder.

I can still feel it now.