Free After the Kiss by Terra Elan McVoy Page B

screaming for you to turn sappholesbo too.
    mystery mail #3
    it takes four days after its arrival for you to finally look at it: lacy victorian thing showing a gray furry kitten wearing a pink satin bow. someone has sprayed it with rose perfume.
where are you, kitten?
in green pen is the only thing scrawled on the back. you know without looking—the postmark’s from chicago.
    unwanted memory #3: first date
    it was one of your only real dates—not like those afternoons when you hung around the art institute waiting for his shift to end so you could walk around together, or when he simply managed to “run in to you” while you read and did homework at ruby’s after school. for this one he took the elevator and rang your doorbell. for this one he had flowers. you weren’t sure if it was weird for him to meet your parents, or if that’s what was supposed to happen. you hadn’t really had boyfriends before—only boys—and weren’t sure you wanted one—only wanted him—so you had to just take your cues from him, from mom and dad. you had your hair down for once. you were wearing a dress. and sure when you came into the living room, when your mom lifted her smile to you like that, you felt a little like there should be a live studio audience breaking into applause. but he shook hands with your father and you knew you’d never seen someone more handsome. you were blushing all over your body and you noted to yourself even then how you could feel the glow of your heart moving at the edges of your skin. it was scary and it was wonderful and he took your hand right in front of them and you followed him down the hall. how it turned into this you couldn’t remember—him talking to you, you talking to him—it simply turned and there you were, golden and falling. dinner. candles. his straight teeth. yournervous giggle. when you got home mom had arranged the flowers he brought—lilies—in a vase and put them on your dresser. you lay on top of the covers still in your clothes. you put your hands over your swirling heart and inhaled deeply. you almost fainted from the dizzy perfume.
    disappearing act
    it’s not like you’d established a pattern. but having someone who was maybe really here in the same town as you had definitely demonstrated its appeal. the catcher wrote you, you thanked him, he sent you something funny, you sent him something funny back. you wanted to keep it simple and light, and that’s what it was. you wanted to be able to just see where it went, and that seemed to be how it was going. but then there was that moment on the deck, that moment you went blind and he was seeing for the both of you, guiding you to a place you didn’t want to go and yet weren’t ready to turn back from, where everything was deadly still and yet dizzily swirling at the same time. and you felt like it was different, but it could still be clean. so you thought by now he would say
something
about it, but instead there’s this weird dirty silence you don’t understand. you’re trying not to care but find yourself caring—checking your inbox, looking for footprints in the sand, traces of presence, overturning stones where there’s nothing underneath. each time, nothing. and it brings a kind of crazy feeling back in you, this feeling of searching. you feel your skin crawling. you feel yourself starting to pace.
    lopsided bowls
    like you’re in kindergarten or seventh grade, mom’s picking you up after school and won’t tell you where you’re going. ellen’s kicking around, waiting with you, wearing friday drifty eyes and smiling into the sunshine, so when mom arrives and ellen bounces up to her, suddenly it’s a mommy-daughter-friend date and you’re hoping mom’s not going to embarrass you. ellen’s chattering away like they’re old pals and you are astonished how always-easy she is, like luli,