I feel like a bucket of warm spit right about now.
The best course of action in such a case is to write.
Write about something you take little to no interest in that happened four years ago.
Here goes.
…
The process had to be mind-numbingly simple. Humans more or less do it naturally, and I had seen it executed successfully in movies all the time. If anything, film is a pretty good example of the regular person’s aptitudes and abilities, says I:
Both parties involved would lean forward, close their eyes, and let lips do as hands do—preferably while waves crash against the cliff or fireworks flare in the background.
So during my junior year of high school, I asked this poor, patient girl to close her eyes while I leaned forward and went over the process in my mind.
- - -
Lean forward.
Close eyes.
Plant embrace ‘pon her lips.
She swoons instantly.
Everyone in school begins chanting my name, applauding my monumental success.
Morehouse and Harvard fight over which school is allowed to present me an honorary doctorate.
I have the best day ever.
- - -
This process running through my head, I began breathing harder and feeling lightheaded while making my way to her face. I was moving slowly in the name of effect for some strange reason; and after inching forward for what seemed like just long enough, I remember opening one eye briefly to make sure I wasn’t
(1) trying to kiss someone who was bending backwards in pure terror, or
(2) about to lip-lock a plunger conveniently placed in front of the girl’s face by a cartoon character from the 1950s.
I was about five inches away. Hm. I never was a good estimator of distance, I said to myself; And since she’s had her eyes closed long enough, I might as well hurry this up. I mean this is high school. We have important places to be, as we are important teenagers dynamically making our way through this world.
Or something.
Sure I was nearing my goal, I began breathing harder than any upstanding citizen should. And then trying not to make it seem like I was breathing hard by holding my breath. And then deciding that was stupid, and exhaling just enough to avoid implosion due to air pressure.
Finally, my mouth came into contact with something.
Thank God.
Except not really. It could probably count as a kiss, if the area of the mouth you wipe food from can still count as the lips. That would be like counting Tallahassee as Georgia.
- - -
And with that, I had dishonored my father and his father before him.
I had failed at leaning forward and touching mouths.
Even birds can perform a task as simple as that.
Let me say that again.
The animals that die by flying into glass could have pulled this mission off more swimmingly. Granted, she would have had to have food in her mouth, but that wasn’t the point.
Well, time to resign.
Time to apologize and dissolve into the background. If I put all of my time and resources into growing a beard and learning Spanish, maybe I can steal away to the west, open up a bar, and make an honest living South of the Border for a decade. I’d emerge during a high school reunion having only answered to the names “Monterrey Joe” and “Pinche Negrito” for the better part of my adult life. It would be a fitting alternative.
- - -
Of course, I was getting ahead of myself. I had to make an exit first.
And before making an exit, I had to stop staring at her nervously as if I had just broken every piece of glassware in her house.
Her expression at first was shocked. I was awful at reading expressions at the time, so I fully expected a swift knee to my Southern region and a restraining order.
No such luck. In a split second, her expression faded from surprise and into the prettiest smile I’ve ever seen on her face. She looked at me as if I were a puppy going through a sneezing fit.
She placed her hands on my cheeks and stood on her tiptoes as we both experienced my first kiss.
I can honestly say I underestimated how soft and warm another person’s lips would be. I was blushing. I could feel myself blushing, so I was visibly red. That effectively makes me look less masculine than a guy who posts narratives of romantic encounters on tumblr.
Nonetheless, she told me I was cute, and then went to her class.
I think I floated to mine.
My memory’s hazy.
Now I have to stop being a sentimental twit.
I’m getting too old for that.
