First Kiss

The date has been going well. You've both been talking and laughing, the conversation comes easily. There have been compliments given and received. It's fairly obvious that you are both enjoying each others company, and that this won't be the only date. But it's getting late, and you've walked to a front doorstep. Coffee has been offered, and rejected, because no one wants to rush things.

You've both said how much you've enjoyed yourselves, and that you want to see each other again. And then, for the first time this evening, there is an awkward pause. You're standing close, holding hands. You both look at each other, intently. Neither is ready to make a move and both desperately want to. One of you looks away, but looks back almost at once. You barely realize you've leaned in closer together, but you are aware that you're now very close. Intimately close. Hearts are beating, nerves are buzzing. In this one moment, everything is possible. In this one moment, everything is anticipated.

And while you are both bursting to kiss, there is that tiny part that worries, "What if they are a bad kisser?" "What if my breath stinks?" And then someone, or both lean forward, lips brushing lips, parted slightly. This is nice. This is perfect. Tongues gently tease and retract. Someone cups the others cheek, and you're both drawn into a tight embrace. You feel warm, and your tummy does flips and you think, "Don't let this end!" But you have to, eventually, because no one can kiss forever.

The time comes to part, but you do so unwillingly, and you're still holding hands, or are holding hands again, you can't even remember. And "goodnight" is whispered softly, and one of you goes inside, while the other walks down the steps and off, into the darkness, while both of you are thinking, "Yay!"

Change

She looked down from the balcony, watching his tiny figure cross the parking lot and get into the car. She sighed. Life had suddenly become so complex. Before, things had been simple, hadn’t they? She had gone to school, studied, played, grown. She had had friends, boyfriends, lovers. She began a career, owned a home, saved her money. And now he had entered her life. Everything was out of balance now. She loved him. That much was clear. And she was fairly certain that he loved her. He certainly behaved like a man in love – not like the many men or boys whom she had dated before.

They had only craved sex when they touched her, talked to her, danced with her. He craved her touch, her companionship, her whole being. They had wooed her with flowers, candy, romantic flourishes sold as such. He wooed her with thoughtfulness, kindness, and sincerity. They had sought her as a conquest, to be loved and lost. He sought her as a prize, to be treasured and kept for a lifetime. This meant love, didn’t it?

But being together meant life changes. Living together would involve one or both giving up their current homes, the secure nests they’d each built as a harbour from the world. One, or both, would have to change their location, move to a foreign place, perhaps even change jobs or careers. They’d have to make major decisions about finances, about plans for the future, begin thinking as “we” instead of “me”. It wasn’t going to be easy.

She sighed, and moved back into the warmth of the apartment. She looked around her at all of the things. TV, VCR, DVD, stereo, laptop, ipod, stacks of books and papers, pictures, photos, paintings, plants, souvenirs from the countries she’d traveled to, cds, her favourite mug with the tea still steaming inside. These things were familiar, comfortable. She knew how to program the VCR to tape a show, how to change the colour settings on the TV, how to find the subtitles on a DVD. His things would all be slightly different, foreign, bizarre. Would she ever be able to feel comfortable watching a soap opera on his TV that had, until now, only been used for rugby games?

Maybe she was being silly. First of all, it was just stuff. She’d learned years ago that stuff was just that. Stuff could be replaced, or not, and one could continue to survive. Secondly, people did this kind of thing all the time. Other people seemed to have no problems with the idea of finding a mate, finding that elusive person to love, and settling down with them. Why was it so hard for her to imagine? What made her so different, so independent, that this idea scared her? Ok, scared was going a bit far, but it certainly intimidated her to the point where she wanted to put off thinking about it. Delay the decisions that may be inevitable.

What would it mean to become part of a couple? Would it really entail giving up her independence, her freedom, her self? She had seen so many friends lose themselves to a relationship. Become different people. Half people, whose lives depended fully on the other person. Decisions couldn’t be made without both brains, occasions couldn’t be attended without both bodies. She dreaded that kind of dependence. She hadn’t been dependent on anyone but herself since reaching adulthood, and she was proud of that.

And then what? If they did end up merging their lives into a single space, moving in together and truly committing to one another, what happened next? Were children part of his plan? Did he want to create offspring, like most other living creatures on this planet?

This was all moving so fast. Her head was spinning. She sat down on the sofa. She had never wanted kids. She had actively avoided becoming pregnant since she first became sexually active. She had secretly prayed to a god she wasn’t sure she believed in on several occasions when her period had been late. And that one fateful time the condom broke, she had terminated her pregnancy without hesitation, without remorse, without considering any “alternatives” because to her, there had been none. What if children were a major part of his dream? Would they end like Monica and Richard on Friends?

Deep breaths, she told herself as she sipped her tea. This was getting ahead of herself. They hadn’t even decided to live together yet, and here she was, ending their relationship in tragedy. Perhaps they’d have an irreconcilable rift over ice cream flavours next week.

I want to go back here.

I'm almost done with Korea. Then it's back to this enchanting part of the world for a while - yay!

Blocked :(

I haven't written anything fictional in a while. I'm stuck on the story - don't really like the dialogue at the end of the last segment. Having a hard time believing guys even have hearts (except Ken, of course, who is an anomalie). I'm hoping my trip to Thailand and it's neighbours inspires me again. I'd really like to finish this story. I want to know what happens ;)

If anyone has feedback on the previous sections of story, I'd love to hear it...

Really Part 12, the other part 12 was really part 11

She set out in the early dawn. The air was not yet cool - she doubted it ever became cool here - but it lacked the intensity of the days heat. She knew well that this was a short respite and that once the sun topped trees, the heat would rise again.

Her pack was lighter. She'd shed some of her burden the night before, by purging the items she never used, but kept for memories sake. She no longer felt the need for these ties - perhaps they had been tying her down, rather than grounding her as she'd hoped.

Her step felt lighter, too. She was unsure of where to go next, but thought that if she just took the first train out of town, it would take her the right way.

She arrived at the bus station and looked around. It was much smaller than the one in the city, and therefore less chaotic. Only two counters existed for tickets. She looked at both, and then eenie-meenied for her choice. Making her way over, she stepped around the usual assortment of dogs and parcels.

She stopped suddenly. Her heart lurched in her chest and a curious sick feeling spread through her limbs, emmanating from her stomach. She felt the panicky urge to bolt, but was rooted to the spot in the same instant.

Picking up his ticket and change from the counter was Jason. One more second and he'd turn around. He'd have to make eye contact, he couldn't help but see her.

His eyes opened wide in shock as he saw her. She stared back, unsure of what look her face was expressing. He went pale, then red. He put his head down and pushed forward into the crowd, trying to avoid her, pretend he hadn't seen her.

"Jason, please!" she called out to him. He paused, but wouldn't turn to face her. "Jason" she paused. What could she say? "I'm sorry. I never meant..."

He turned around, eyes brimming with tears, face struggling to remain neutral.

"Can we talk?"

"What is there to say?" Another pause.

What was there to say? What could happen? His plane left in two days and she knew she wasn't going with him; her path did not lead to Japan.

"I don't know." She felt at a loss. Seeing him so hurt, so angry, so distant, she longed to hug him, to hold him to her.

Watching her face crumble weakened his resolve to stay strong, angry, cold. "Maggie" he said softly. She looked up to see him crying quietly and the tears she'd been forcing back crept out and slid down her cheeks.

A short while later, they sat in a small cafe, sipping smoothies and avoiding eye contact. Neither knew what to say, where to go from here. Being together had always been so effortless and now there was a huge gap, an awkwardness between them. She wondered if this was how it would always be now, if they'd ruined the natural chemistry by their respective flights.

Jason took a deep breath, as though about to say something, but remained silent. He shifted in his seat and seemed about to start again. Again he didn't speak. The third time, Maggie jumped in.

"Jason, you can just say it. I won't run this time." She smiled, hoping to encourage him. He shifted in his seat again and took a fourth deep breath.

"Ok. Maggie, why did you run away at the restaurant? When I looked up and you were gone..."

"I'm sorry. I was just..." she stopped.

"I thought you felt the same way. I'd never have said..."

"I did. I do, I mean, I." She stopped again.

"Maggie, I fell in love with you. I know it's fast, and it might seem stupid, but it's true. I love being with you, I love how you make me feel. I love the way you notice tiny details like dew on a spiders web. Everything about you makes me want to grab you and hug you and kiss you. And when you ran off... " he tailed off.

"You ran off, too."

"I was too embarassed to face you. I was...well, I was a chickenshit. And I thought that's what you would want. But why did you run off?"

"I panicked. Pure and simple. I was having these feelings for you that scared me, and when you said that we should live together in another country I just...I was overwhelmed. I didn't know what to feel. Part of me wanted to say yes, and ride off into the sunset with you, but then I felt so afraid of the uncertainty of it all. I was afraid of things happening all over again."

"So instead of telling me this, you ran away."

"I needed air. I needed to think."

"I could have given you time. But you took off."

"I'm sorry, Jason. I was completely absorbed in my own panic. I didn't stop to think about what it would do to you. It was selfish and cruel, and I regret it very much." She looked at him intently, but he looked away.

Part 12 - untitled continued at last

The day was hot, cloying, damp. Clothes stuck to the body and hair frizzed out in awkward curls and strings. No one moved but the cicadas buzzing and humming in the trees. Even the few passing cars seemed quiet, as the making noise in the intense heat was too much effort. Behind the cicadas was the fainter drone of air con units pumping refridgerated air into empty stores and rich people's houses.

A few people sat in plastic chairs of bright primary reds and blues, pulled in under awnings or trees. Their movements were slow - bringing cold drinks, glasses dripping with condensation to their lips while ice cubes clinked and waned. Occasionally one would summon the energy to comment on the heat, or an empty glass in need of refilling.

A child approached a shop, a bill clutched tightly in her fist, strands of hair escaped from her ponytail were sticking to her sweaty plump face. She pushed the door and a bell chimed within. A few minutes later she appeared again, the bill replaced with a vibrant pink stick of ice that had already begun to glisten as the frost melted.

A small dog trotted across the road and began sniffing and routing around bags of trash baking in the sun. A cat slunk from under a car and disappeared like a liquid shadow around a corner. A few other dogs lay panting in the shade, their eyes half-lidded, but ever watchful.

She walked slowly down the hill, lingering in the sparse shade offered by the young trees lining the road. Glancing in shop windows, stopping to peruse the toys in a sidewalk bin, the shiny plastic and bright colours still alluring despite her age. At the bottom of the hill she could see the ocean, vibrant blue beneath the cloudless sky. A light wind ruffled the surface, and further out she could see the while lines of crashing waves. She passed an open door and the air con spilled out on to the street, momentary relief, then back into the swelter. The strained sound of a distant radio broke through the white noise of fans and cicadas, and a sleek car covered in flashing lights passed her, it's windows rattled with the thumping baseline.

A bakery pumped the smell of bread and sugary icing onto the street, but her stomach wouldn't be brought out of its heat-induced strike. She swigged from her now tepid water bottle and continued on.

By focusing on the minutia; identifying, describing, categorizing what she saw and felt, she could keep her focus, keep her mind off the past. There was no use remembering the moment she first realized he was gone, her panic at being once more abandoned. No amount of scrutinizing would bring him back to discuss her reactions, nor turn back the time so she could change them. There are very few hard and fast rules in our existence, but one of them is that we currently have no way to undo what has been done, or unsay what has been said.

Reaching the end of the road, she leaned against the railing and looked out to sea. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is supposed to be calming, soothing; people buy cassette tapes of waves crashing to help them relax. Instead, she felt restless, stirred. Her instinct to move on, some might even say run, was provoked by the sight of wide, ever moving water, and the possibilities of what lay on the other side. But for the first time, she felt that she wasn't moving from something. This felt distinctly different.

Before, she'd always felt as though things were unfinished, that she was leaving to escape, to leave behind something that she didn't like. But she'd realized now that she couldn't leave it behind. Like the monsters of nightmares, her problems and hangups relentlessly persued her, and reared their ugly heads when she felt she'd finally freed herself.

She needed to stop the aimless wandering. She needed to ground herself, because she couldn't expect others to ground her. She stared across the sparkling blue at the indistinct line where the sea becomes the sky and smiled.

No answers yet, but she knew they were there. And now she finally decided to seek them out, to stop regretting the past and take control of herself. She realized she could only ever be what she made of herself. It was time to stop the wallowing and take the first steps towards her future, whatever it may hold.

Of course, it had taken a while to get to this point. At first, she'd lain in bed for hours, not wanting to think or move or be. Finally her brain had taken over. Enough is enough, it said sharply to her heart. You're hurt, I get that. But our stomach is hungry and our whole system needs water, inside and out. I am too smart to be wasted on replaying the unfortunate events of yesterday. You and I both acted poorly, but we need to get up. We need to eat. We need to shower and we need to move on.

Her heart had protested this, but since her brain held more sway with the rest of her body, she did what it said. The shower did feel good, and drinking water felt better. It helped to remove the foggy pain in her head that had been tormenting her almost as much as her memories. Even better, it gave her the energy she needed to finish dressing and leave the hotel room in search of food.

Who needs him anyway! her brain chanted defiantly, and began singing a rousing chorus of I Will Survive in an attempt to drown out the heart's sad response, we do. We liked him.

She found a restaurant that served western style breakfasts all day, and ordered eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. While she ate, her brain continued it's attempt to win over her heart by extolling the virtues of independence, and reminding her she'd survived worse heart break before. Besides, she scolded herself, before the conversation last night you thought it was over in a few days anyway. So, while it happened a little earlier, and on not great terms, we were expecting to be alone again. So let's get on with it.

The next day she packed her bags and left the hotel, catching a train to a seaside town recommended in her travel guide for it's beautiful beaches and friendly locals.

Gray

Endless days of gray. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the sun. There was, of course, a brighter spot in the solid gray mass above her, but she hardly thought of it as sunshine. She knew, in her distant memory, that she had seen it once, as a little girl.

One morning she'd awoken very early, her sleep disturbed by a big spotlight heating up her bed. She'd rushed to her window, and saw a fierce white disk in the sky, which itself was a bold blue colour. She'd yelled for her mother, who came running, in fear of trouble. They had stood and watched for what felt like ages until the thick clouds overpowered the sun once more. Then they'd gone to the kitchen and had pancakes, and watched the news broadcasts about it all day, until a more interesting story pulled the focus.

That was more than 20 years ago now.