enough. Especially now.
***
It’s past midnight and I’m nowhere near tired.
I’m strumming my guitar in my bedroom. I’ve got some Wilco tabs set out on the stand in front of me. I’m struggling with plucking the chords because it’s almost impossible to concentrate on anything but her.
I have this huge grin stuck on my face. I’m relieved no one can see me looking so stupid. Because I can’t wipe it away. First I thought she was crazy. Now I’m crazy about her.
There’s a knock at my bedroom window. I set my guitar down and I don’t have to open up the blinds to know who it is. I walk out the sliding back door of our basement and my feet hit the dry, prickly grass. It’s warm out, and the night air feels like an oven. Dylan’s standing there under the light of the moon in shorts and a T-shirt and these really furry slippers. I’m not the only one who isn’t tired.
I grin and walk up to her.
“Do you want my phone number?” I ask. I figure it’s about time we exchange them.
Dylan shakes her head and tells me she hates talking on the phone. It’s too impersonal.
So you prefer old-fashioned stalking,
I want to say. I tell her she can knock on my window anytime she wants. I hope she makes it a habit.
Dylan looks shy. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s usually dangerously confident. I ask her what’s wrong. She looks down at the ground and fidgets with the drawstring of her shorts.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she confesses.
“Why not?” I ask.
She smiles at me. It’s this sweet, innocent smile, and it makes my heart stammer.
“You didn’t kiss me today,” she says. “And I wanted you to.”
Bells are ringing in my ears. She’s standing there waiting for me to make a move. I consider apologizing for this inexcusable mistake, but instead I save time. I close the distance between us and lean down and press my lips against hers. She smells like soap and shampoo and fresh air. She wraps her arms around me. I lift her shirt up and touch her warm skin. Oh, my God, I swear it’s velvet. Instinct takes over.
We stumble through the basement door and I manage to close it without taking my lips off hers. It’s hard to walk backwards and kiss at the same time without knocking our heads together. She’s tall but I’m taller, so I lift her up and carry her to my room. We fall down on the bed and she pulls at my shirt and I pull hers up over her head. The room is spinning.
I turn the light off and catch my trophies out of the corner of my eye and I think of all the awards I would give to her. Best Kisser. Best Lips. Best Everything.
First Love
Dylan
I tell Gray I love him at Tommy’s Café.
I think it’s only appropriate to pick the most random ambiance to express my feelings. It makes for a better surprise. After commenting on the diner décor and arguing over whether a chocolate chip–bacon omelet would be disgusting or delectable, I announce:
“I love you and fried eggs and you more.”
Gray chokes on a mouthful of biscuits and gravy and has to slam a glass of water before he can speak. I pretend to ignore his choking reaction and continue to ramble on about school and classes and where I want to go to college or maybe not go to college at all, just travel for a while.
I start making a list of where I’d like to travel because I’m incapable of any inner dialogue. Gray needs me to backtrack, so he holds up his hand to cut me off.
“Wait, what did you just say?” he asks. We stare at each other for a few seconds, the word
love
volleying back and forth between us, like a mental tennis match.
He needs the confirmation. I decide to play dumb.
“About what?” I ask. I take a sip of orange juice and wait for him to be more specific, but he steps around the word as if he’s on thin ice.
“What did you say before you were talking about college?” He gives me this impatient stare. He’s acting as if I just hit him with the heaviest word in the human vocabulary.
***
It’s past midnight and I’m nowhere near tired.
I’m strumming my guitar in my bedroom. I’ve got some Wilco tabs set out on the stand in front of me. I’m struggling with plucking the chords because it’s almost impossible to concentrate on anything but her.
I have this huge grin stuck on my face. I’m relieved no one can see me looking so stupid. Because I can’t wipe it away. First I thought she was crazy. Now I’m crazy about her.
There’s a knock at my bedroom window. I set my guitar down and I don’t have to open up the blinds to know who it is. I walk out the sliding back door of our basement and my feet hit the dry, prickly grass. It’s warm out, and the night air feels like an oven. Dylan’s standing there under the light of the moon in shorts and a T-shirt and these really furry slippers. I’m not the only one who isn’t tired.
I grin and walk up to her.
“Do you want my phone number?” I ask. I figure it’s about time we exchange them.
Dylan shakes her head and tells me she hates talking on the phone. It’s too impersonal.
So you prefer old-fashioned stalking,
I want to say. I tell her she can knock on my window anytime she wants. I hope she makes it a habit.
Dylan looks shy. I’ve never seen her like this. She’s usually dangerously confident. I ask her what’s wrong. She looks down at the ground and fidgets with the drawstring of her shorts.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she confesses.
“Why not?” I ask.
She smiles at me. It’s this sweet, innocent smile, and it makes my heart stammer.
“You didn’t kiss me today,” she says. “And I wanted you to.”
Bells are ringing in my ears. She’s standing there waiting for me to make a move. I consider apologizing for this inexcusable mistake, but instead I save time. I close the distance between us and lean down and press my lips against hers. She smells like soap and shampoo and fresh air. She wraps her arms around me. I lift her shirt up and touch her warm skin. Oh, my God, I swear it’s velvet. Instinct takes over.
We stumble through the basement door and I manage to close it without taking my lips off hers. It’s hard to walk backwards and kiss at the same time without knocking our heads together. She’s tall but I’m taller, so I lift her up and carry her to my room. We fall down on the bed and she pulls at my shirt and I pull hers up over her head. The room is spinning.
I turn the light off and catch my trophies out of the corner of my eye and I think of all the awards I would give to her. Best Kisser. Best Lips. Best Everything.
First Love
Dylan
I tell Gray I love him at Tommy’s Café.
I think it’s only appropriate to pick the most random ambiance to express my feelings. It makes for a better surprise. After commenting on the diner décor and arguing over whether a chocolate chip–bacon omelet would be disgusting or delectable, I announce:
“I love you and fried eggs and you more.”
Gray chokes on a mouthful of biscuits and gravy and has to slam a glass of water before he can speak. I pretend to ignore his choking reaction and continue to ramble on about school and classes and where I want to go to college or maybe not go to college at all, just travel for a while.
I start making a list of where I’d like to travel because I’m incapable of any inner dialogue. Gray needs me to backtrack, so he holds up his hand to cut me off.
“Wait, what did you just say?” he asks. We stare at each other for a few seconds, the word
love
volleying back and forth between us, like a mental tennis match.
He needs the confirmation. I decide to play dumb.
“About what?” I ask. I take a sip of orange juice and wait for him to be more specific, but he steps around the word as if he’s on thin ice.
“What did you say before you were talking about college?” He gives me this impatient stare. He’s acting as if I just hit him with the heaviest word in the human vocabulary.
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