The Verge of a Pucker
“Huh. Yeah, we kissed. It was in the supply closet. Where they kept the paper and the radioactive water.”
“What?”
“It was an emergency thing in case of, you know, nuclear war? I’m serious. They had these big green barrels with yellow plutonium stickers on the side and they were made out of cardboard.”
“The barrels.”
“Yeah. And it was uncontaminated drinking water in case of World War Three.”
“They must have expected a lot of thirsty survivors.”
“I guess. Anyway it was a tall closet with lots of shelves and Louise and I were supposed to be getting paper for the teacher but she said what if we were the last two people in the world. Then she dragged me into the corner and kissed me.”
“First time?”
“Yeah.”
“How was it?”
“Amazing. Like fireworks. Her lips were cool. And I remember not knowing where to put my hands, or how to tilt my head. Then she got all flushed and I could feel the heat coming off her body. Like a cloud. She came and then we decided we liked each other but would be better as friends. What?”
“You said: She came?”
“Yes.”
“In the closet?”
“Yes.”
“You kissed her… and she came?”
“Yes. They always do.”
“What?”
“Come.”
“When?”
“When I kiss them.”
“Oh, come on.”
“What?”
“Come on.”
“I know it’s not normal but it’s true.”
“You kiss. They come.”
“Yes.”
“Always.”
“Usually. There are exceptions.”
“Like what?”
“My aunts. My mom. I generally don’t do it anymore.”
“What?”
“Kiss. It’s a pain, to tell you the truth. It seems to embarrass them.”
“I don’t understand. You, you can make a woman come with a kiss. And you got a problem getting dates?”
“Oh, I get dates. I get plenty of those. It’s the other thing I have trouble with.”
“What other thing?”
“The love thing. It’s like there’s nowhere else to go after they come. We’ve jumped to the ninth inning. Sometimes they slap me. Like they think I tricked them or something. Women are real vulnerable when they come.”
“They are?”
“Yeah. And if you’re not close they feel, I don’t know, like, compromised or something.”
“They do?”
“Yeah, so I spend a lot of time apologizing. And, see, they always come but I don’t.”
“You never mentioned that.”
“Why do you think I’m here? It’s always the same. They come a lot and then they go to sleep and when they wake up they’re afraid of me.”
“Afraid?”
“Yeah. Like I invaded them or something. Like they’re just a button I can press any time I want to. I make them feel mechanical.”
“Mechanical.”
“Like a robot. That’s what Joyce said, anyway.”
