White socks to be exact.
I met Socks when I was in the first grade. He was my brother's best friend. Two years older than me, 90 degrees hotter. He was my first crush. I baked cookies for him, played paintball to lay beside him in the dirt, followed my brother around for him.
It helped that our families were friends. We went on summer vacation together, to the amusement park almost every weekend, and to backward barbecues at each other's houses more often than we ate alone. Our parents would drink beer and talk while I pretended I was great at basketball to impress him, more often than not getting kicked off the game for being an annoying little sister.
Once I got into high school my crush became more sophisticated, more elegant. I would turn on MTV so when Real World came on it would lure him into my bedroom, where the two of us would stay up all night throwing a little plastic ball back and forth and talk about nothing. I would leave his favorite candy bar sitting on my desk so when he walked past my room he would see it and think it was my favorite, too. Truth was I hate it. But it was all I ate, leaning on the hope that he would one day see me eating it and know, as I knew, that we were meant to be together.
He must never have seen me eating it, because 12 years passed before he noticed me as a person and not his friend's little sister.
When I was accepted to a college near his things started to change. We hung out the summer before I left. He drove me around town in him Jeep Cherokee and bought me lunch at McDonald's. It was everything I ever dreamed and more. Never in my life, not before, not since, has a boy made me feel more filled with butterflies on crack. He was my ideal. He was my life long dream. He was Socks.
And he was mine.
Once college started we started. Now, instead of a little sister I was a girl with boobs and a smokin' ass. For the first couple of weeks it was magical. He was a cuter, older boy who went to a nice school, with parents who adored me. Hell, I rode my first roller coaster with him mom when I was in the third grade. The Avalanche. We knew everything about each other, except all the fun bits we were about to learn.
Our first kiss is more important to me than any kiss before. This was my real first kiss, the one that sent fireworks through my body and tingled in every inch of my being where tingles are fun to have.
It was a week night after class. He came over to watch a movie in my dorm room. My roommate was at her boyfriend's house so we had the room to ourselves. My TV was having issues so we watching Pulp Fiction on my tiny computer screen.
We did the nervous dance of sitting beside each other on the bed, then slowly making excuses and tiny movements to get close enough that our sides were touching. Before I knew what to do, I feel his fingers wrapped around mine and HOLY SHIT WE'RE HOLDING HANDS! Which, as you all know, is one of the best feelings in the world, a boy you like taking your hand and squeezing it and not letting go. And you sit there, and you pray, and you make a pact with a god you barely believe in to somehow make a bottle of crazy glue appear and magically drip itself between your intertwined fingers so this feeling will never go away. For that, my friend, a girl would sell her soul.
And we sat like this for a while, ever muscle in my body tense with my eyes trying to focus on the peripheral image of him without being insanely obvious. Then, every touch setting my body in flames, he cups my chin and turns my face to his. Get in my head right now and hear the exploding crescendo when his lips, those lips that i've known so well, those lips that I've memorized and kissed pillows in search of for years, those lips finally touch mine, squeeze into mine, open mine, and fireworks go off in the pit of my stomach and I could die. Right here. Right now. And there wouldn't have been a girl happier to die, knowing her last thought, sight, touch, smell, was him and only him. My dreams realized.
And we pull away, smile at each other, and finish the movie, not a word spoken, not a word needed.
That was our first kiss. Pure and simple, perfect.
No comments:
Post a Comment