More Than a Kiss by Saxon Bennett, Layce Gardner Page A

don't
know.  It's interesting in a messy kind of way."
    "Keep
looking."
    She
looked at Jordan.  Jordan was clearly enraptured with the painting.
    Amy
looked at it again, determined to see something.  She tilted her head to the
left.  She still couldn't discern any shapes, any type of anything.  She
thought it looked like a colorful tornado.  Or maybe a bunch of different
paints being flushed down a toilet.  Or a rainbow caught in a whirlpool.
    She
looked back at Jordan and studied her profile as she gazed at the painting. 
Amy asked, "What do you see?"
    Jordan
took her time answering, "Ecstasy.  Surprise.  Gratitude.  Joy.  Elation.
Happiness."
    "All
that?"
    "And
more.  So much more."
    "Hunh,"
Amy said.  Clearly she wasn't up to snuff on modern art.  She looked back to
the painting and tried to see what Jordan had described.  "But those are
feelings."
    "True."
    "So,
you're telling me that you're seeing emotions when you look at this
painting?" Amy asked.
    Jordan
looked at Amy and smiled.  "That's what art does.  It shows you
emotions."
    “Oh.”
    "Close
your eyes again," Jordan said.
    Amy
closed her eyes, wondering where Jordan was going to take her this time.  But
instead of taking her by the hand, Jordan kissed her.
    Amy
savored the feel of Jordan's lips on hers – the tingling, ecstatic, joyful sensation
of a simple kiss.
    "You
can open your eyes now," Jordan said.
    Amy
did.  She followed Jordan's gaze back to the painting.  And this time, the
colors swelled to life.  They danced and twirled across the canvas.  And she
felt it.  The feeling was tiny at first, no more than a pinprick.  It centered
in her chest then grew larger and larger.  It was warm.  Was she glowing?  She
felt as if she were lit from the inside like one of those paper Chinese
lanterns. 
    Amy
didn’t know how to describe it.  She had no words for this feeling.  It was
more.  More.  So much more than a kiss.
    “Maybe
I do see a little something,” Amy whispered with her eyes still glued to the
painting.

Car, Duct Tape, Art
     
    Jordan
and Amy stood on the museum steps, each wanting to spend more time with the
other, each unwilling to let the afternoon go.
    Amy
said, "I can't believe I've never visited here before."
    "I
come here all the time.  At least once a week.  I find it very inspiring. 
Especially the children's art.  They have such freedom.” Jordan led the way
down the steps and to the bicycle rack where she had locked up her bike.
    Amy
said, "So, when you're painting, which comes first, the color or the
emotion behind it?"
    "It's
hard to explain.  Colors can make me feel, but feelings make me see colors. 
It's a matter of translating the feeling into color and onto the canvas. You've
heard of the expression 'seeing red?'"
    "Sure,
when somebody's angry," Amy said.
    Suddenly,
Jordan's face turned a bright crimson.  She clenched her fists and spun in a
circle, punching the air, stomping her feet, and saying, "Damndamndamn!  I
can't believe it!"
    Amy
laughed at Jordan's antics.  "I know what anger looks like," she
said.  "You don't have to show me."
    "I'm
not showing you.  I am angry!" Jordan said.  "Look!" She
pointed at her lime green Trek bicycle.  Both tires were flat.
    "Oh
my God," Amy gasped.  She moved in for a closer look.  "The tires
have been slashed.  Who would've done such a thing?"
    "I
have a good idea." Jordan fumed and paced away from the bike.  Petronella
had obviously followed her again.  When she saw her kissing Amy, she'd taken
out her revenge on the bike.
     Jordan
wiped her hand over her face, took a shaky breath and collected herself. 
"Sorry I lost it like that."  Now, she was embarrassed.  She didn’t
want Amy to think she needed anger management classes, but this clandestine
vandalism was getting old.  Petronella haddemolished
her car, now her bike.  What was next?  She’d be reduced to roller blades?
    "I'll
give you a ride home," Amy said.
    "Okay,"
Jordan