Wednesday, February 08, 2006
Kissing Beth Fisher
The first time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered the errant hair the wind had blown against her lips; and how he delicately took it in his fingers and tucked it behind her ear as he leaned forward, bringing his open mouth and anxious eyes toward hers; and how that perfectly executed maneuver allowed his hand to curl around the back of her neck, taking hold of more of her golden wavy hair and coaxing her forward with this small embrace; and that small moment of delicious hesitation as they each seemed to ask, as their lips hovered inches from joining, “Are we doing this? Do you want to,” both of which were answered with a silent, satisfied yes as their lips met and the sweet, chemical taste of her lip gloss flooded his senses, the taste of success, the end of yearning and the beginning of something like possession.
The third time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, his mind backed up to the moment before that stray hair landed on her glistening mouth, to that moment when her eyes met with his and asked him “Aren’t you going to?” as she fidgeted with the buttons on her navy blouse; and how that was all the invitation he needed; and how at that moment the wind guided her hair in such a way as to blow open the door to the opportunity he had always sought.
The fourth time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered how the crickets seemed to vanish and the street light ceased its humming as they kissed in the park; and how when they both came up for air it was but for a moment, taken out of necessity rather than doubt; and the soft smiles and giggles that followed as they both recognized that what had just happened was only a beginning; and how they recommenced with renewed vigor and confidence; and how the feeling bubbled up from his stomach to his chest to his flushed face: anything was possible.
The seventh time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered how she pulled him closer and how her lips met his with more and more intensity, as though she feared the end would arrive before she was finished; and how her fingers tightened in his hair, her nails scratching his head but not hurting him but rather conjuring a dozen scenarios in his imagination in which he would welcome a small amount of pain from Beth Fisher’s nails; and how they all, in that moment, seemed not only possible but imminent.
The eleventh time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he backed up in his mind and remembered how she struggled to release her seatbelt as she moved to kiss him again; and how they laughed at her fumbling attempt to free her arm from it as the fog on the windows started to obscure the cars in the parking lot outside.
The sixteenth time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered how he shuddered at the feeling of her breasts as they brushed against his chest; and how she seemed to be surprised but flattered by his sincerity; and how she smiled and guided his hand over her green sweater and rested it on her right breast.
The eighteenth time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, his mind retreated and spent a solid minute remembering the coy look in her eye as the wind blew her hair onto her nose; and how she knew it was there; and how her look dared him to move it for her, challenged him to do his worst; and how he felt that, though she might make a similar face in the future, she would never make this face for anyone else as long as she lived; and how it was meant for him and only him; and how, if he could freeze only one instant out of their kiss and carry it with him, he would not hesitate to choose this instant and relish receiving that unrepeatable look for all his days.
The nineteenth time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered feeling that he was in the middle of a moment that he would come to compare other pleasurable moments to; and how, while he couldn’t be sure, and though they would never discuss it, he felt that Beth Fisher felt exactly the same way.
The twenty-second time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered the look in her eyes as they acknowledged the end of the kiss; and how they seemed to be disappointed that this was all there was, but must have known that to pursue any further would compromise the perfect singularity of this moment in the park; and how inside they must both have chosen the moment and its integrity over clouding it with repetition; and how appropriate it all seemed, knowing the beginning, middle and end, declaring it, owning it; and how they separately must have rejoiced in the knowledge that no one else could make it any different.
The twenty-third time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, it seemed to be devoid of detail altogether, his memory as foggy as a bathroom mirror. He yearned for the moment to smack him like a wave and wash over him, but his mind was barren. No mention of hair or lights or crickets or even the taste of lip gloss could cause his mind to connect them to Beth Fisher. He considered creating new details about the moment in the hopes that a false memory would compel the real memory to object and thus reveal itself. And that was the first time Jacob Kellerman remembered not kissing Beth Fisher.
The third time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, his mind backed up to the moment before that stray hair landed on her glistening mouth, to that moment when her eyes met with his and asked him “Aren’t you going to?” as she fidgeted with the buttons on her navy blouse; and how that was all the invitation he needed; and how at that moment the wind guided her hair in such a way as to blow open the door to the opportunity he had always sought.
The fourth time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered how the crickets seemed to vanish and the street light ceased its humming as they kissed in the park; and how when they both came up for air it was but for a moment, taken out of necessity rather than doubt; and the soft smiles and giggles that followed as they both recognized that what had just happened was only a beginning; and how they recommenced with renewed vigor and confidence; and how the feeling bubbled up from his stomach to his chest to his flushed face: anything was possible.
The seventh time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered how she pulled him closer and how her lips met his with more and more intensity, as though she feared the end would arrive before she was finished; and how her fingers tightened in his hair, her nails scratching his head but not hurting him but rather conjuring a dozen scenarios in his imagination in which he would welcome a small amount of pain from Beth Fisher’s nails; and how they all, in that moment, seemed not only possible but imminent.
The eleventh time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he backed up in his mind and remembered how she struggled to release her seatbelt as she moved to kiss him again; and how they laughed at her fumbling attempt to free her arm from it as the fog on the windows started to obscure the cars in the parking lot outside.
The sixteenth time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered how he shuddered at the feeling of her breasts as they brushed against his chest; and how she seemed to be surprised but flattered by his sincerity; and how she smiled and guided his hand over her green sweater and rested it on her right breast.
The eighteenth time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, his mind retreated and spent a solid minute remembering the coy look in her eye as the wind blew her hair onto her nose; and how she knew it was there; and how her look dared him to move it for her, challenged him to do his worst; and how he felt that, though she might make a similar face in the future, she would never make this face for anyone else as long as she lived; and how it was meant for him and only him; and how, if he could freeze only one instant out of their kiss and carry it with him, he would not hesitate to choose this instant and relish receiving that unrepeatable look for all his days.
The nineteenth time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered feeling that he was in the middle of a moment that he would come to compare other pleasurable moments to; and how, while he couldn’t be sure, and though they would never discuss it, he felt that Beth Fisher felt exactly the same way.
The twenty-second time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, he remembered the look in her eyes as they acknowledged the end of the kiss; and how they seemed to be disappointed that this was all there was, but must have known that to pursue any further would compromise the perfect singularity of this moment in the park; and how inside they must both have chosen the moment and its integrity over clouding it with repetition; and how appropriate it all seemed, knowing the beginning, middle and end, declaring it, owning it; and how they separately must have rejoiced in the knowledge that no one else could make it any different.
The twenty-third time Jacob Kellerman remembered kissing Beth Fisher, it seemed to be devoid of detail altogether, his memory as foggy as a bathroom mirror. He yearned for the moment to smack him like a wave and wash over him, but his mind was barren. No mention of hair or lights or crickets or even the taste of lip gloss could cause his mind to connect them to Beth Fisher. He considered creating new details about the moment in the hopes that a false memory would compel the real memory to object and thus reveal itself. And that was the first time Jacob Kellerman remembered not kissing Beth Fisher.
