My next first kiss, my Mr. Big first kiss, changed my life. I thought I knew love, I thought I knew tingles and butterflies, sacrifice and pain. I thought I knew a lot of things. I didn't know anything. I discovered fighting and screaming meant something. I discovered an unwavering love of being the big spoon and sharing a leg pillow. I became a professional synchronizing sleeper. I learned how to cook and how much I love cooking dinner for my man, that's right, my man. I became a cleaning expert, including the ability to dust a drum set without making a sound. I know the adorableness that is sitting on a boy's lap while he plays the drums and kisses my neck. Nothing has ever made me smile the way picking up a gallon of milk for the two of us made me feel. Our things. Our yard. Our cat. I like speaking in plurals. I like reading the same book and talking about it, watching a tv series together. Having potlucks with our couple friends, backyard barbecues and drives through the mountains with the windows down and a fresh bag of dried mangoes.
Our date night was a monthly trip to Floyd County. We'd go to the art gallery and thrift stores, buy pearl handled pocket knives and groceries from all the local markets. We had lunch at a little restaurant called Odd Fellows where we split chimechangas and drank tea out of mason jars. We'd stop at the fabric store and buy fabric for curtains we'd never make and pillows for the couch. On the way home we'd take the Blue Ridge Parkway and sit on the grass and watch the clouds go by. I've never loved silence more than when he was with me. When he'd fall asleep on the drive home, holding my hand and squeezing it every once in a while to pretend he was awake. I knew he wasn't and i didn't care. My arm went to sleep more than once because I didn't want to take it out of his.
Then there's the other side. The side where I laid in my bed and cried for weeks. The side where he thought he could have every girl in the world, Bahamas, Colorado, Thailand, Virginia, North Caroline, and still have me, waiting there, when he was tired with whichever girl he thought was "the one" that time. The side of him who lied to my face without flinching, promised me the world, promised me perfection and honesty, then slept with my best friend.
Or should I focus on the good side? The one that went on adventures with me every night, the one who gave me confidence and pride, the guy who made all my problems go away simply by kissing my nose and calling my beautiful. The one who proposed to me so sweetly, innocently, spontaneously, truthfully. Perfectly. The guy who taught me what it feels like to have a best friend. My first best friend. I still remember the day he told me I was his best friend. I remember what I was wearing, where we were laying, the look on his face when he said "I finally understand what my parents were saying when they told me they were each other's best friends", what it felt like when his dad told him to marry me. The love of a family when we had dinner with his parents in our house, him and his dad playing chess in the living room while his mom and I drank wine and talked in the kitchen, the chili on the stove.
Or the pain when I found out he was sleeping with my best friend. Knowing all the things I was talking to her about were used against me, to get him, to use me to make him hate me, to choose her. The pictures of her in his kitchen. The pictures of her wearing his sweater, the sweater I used to wear. Her sleeping with him in our bed, the places I called my home forever changed, damaged. Having dinner with their friends. Kissing her, holding her hand. Her making my bed. Petting my cat. My Jimi. I wanted to shave him when she left. I wanted her off him. Off everything. Out of my life. I wanted to kill her. I wanted her to know the betrayal I knew, of telling your best friend about the boy you love to have her slide in when you were out of town and take everything you had worked years to build. Then, when it all hits the fan, having no one, no one, to talk to about how bad it hurts because it is your best friend who did it.
What about how he used to throw rocks at my window to get me to let him in at two am, drunk and tired of the girl he left me for. About how hard it was to turn away. About how I knew he was out there, wanting me, while I laid on my bed, tears streaming down my face, a pillow covered in black mascara. Or the night I let him in, he sat on my stairs, I walked past him to go get a sweater from my room. He grabbed my leg and pulled me back "I'm worried if you walk away you'll never come back. You can't never come back". Something he doesn't even remember saying, something I'll never forget, his clothes, his smell, his plea. My heart breaking. Thinking about the girl, thinking about me, thinking about his lips forgetting mine. Knowing that is the way it should be. Knowing that the strength I needed to push him away I did not posses.
What would you do?
We met through my roommate, who was trying to woo him, ignoring the fact that she was already seeing two people. The first time we really hung out it was with my roommate, him and his friend, Ryan. We went to the park to take pictures for photography class, which Mr. Big and I were both in. Turned out we both had the same camera. We spent the day walking though the park, taking pictures. When it came time to have lunch we went to Mr. Big's mom's ice cream parlor and got panini's. Which led to us going to his parent's house to take a dip in their hot tub. Of course, my roommate bailed on us to go to her first boyfriend's house. So, it was just Mr. Big, Ryan, and I, taking shots of Jim Beam and chasing them with Dr Pepper. When his friend got drunk and went to bed it was just the two of us left. He gave me his bed and was going to take the couch, but it was a king size bed so I told him he could share. So we brought the Jim Beam to bed and stayed up, not taking shots and talking. We laid down with the space of at least one person between us. Which slowly turning to half a person, a quarter of a person, no person, spooning. His arm wrapped around me, holding my hand, his face pushed into the back of my neck. "I don't remember the last time I just cuddled" is another one of those things he said which I will never forget. Another one of those instances which shows how well guys can say exactly what you want to hear. We never kissed, we never did anything.
Following that night we slept together for two weeks. Never kissing. Just watching Adult Swim and cuddling. In my dorm. in my twin bed. So close there was space on both side of us. We made a twin bed feel like a king. We didn't want space. We wanted close. We talked about family, how important our grandfathers were to us, the sight of him crying, reminiscing about their influences, the pain of their death.
The night of our first kiss was the same as every other night, my roommate spending every night at her boyfriend's house, giving us privacy. We were in my bed, watching tv and cuddling. It was extremely hot that night. The windows were open but made no difference. I had a glass of water. He was complaining, oh so adorably, about the heat. So I poured my water over him, nose to nipples. Which prompted him to grab me and flip me on the bed, making my uncontrollable laughter all the more intense. And he looked at me. And I looked at him, my cheeks burning from smiling so wide. And he kissed me. And I lost all feeling in every part of my body, my heart stopped, my ears rang. The world faded out to perfection. I felt nothing but his lips, his hands, his breath. His heartbeat. it was one of those moments when you know you've just had your last first kiss. The one that means more than breathing.
I was never a girl who believed in love. No soul mates or fate. The most I hoped for was good sex and someone who answered the phone when I called. He changed that. Everything about him changed that. I knew there was more. I knew I could have it. For the first time in my life I felt special.
