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“Come on,” he pleads. “I have something I want to show you, but I want to do it alone. I don’t want to ask Tristan to take us. Please?”
I stare into his eyes for a moment and he tilts his head. His brown hair always looks calculatedly messy, the way it’s just long enough to cover his ears yet still sticks out in all the right places. His skin is so smooth; I often find myself wishing I could press my lips to his cheek just to feel the softness of his skin. And don’t even get me started on the metal stud in his tongue. The way he plays with it when he’s tuning his guitar makes the butterflies in my stomach cry tears of joy. I don’t know what Chris sees in me other than the way my hand seems to fit so perfectly in his.
He pulls me a little closer and lifts my hand to his mouth. My heart races as he lays a soft kiss on my knuckles. “Claire, it’s your birthday. And I know you probably haven’t had a whole lot of birthdays you want to remember for the rest of your life, but I want this birthday to be the one you never forget. Let me take you for a ride.”
I stare at his lips as he says these words and that’s when it happens. This is that moment; the moment where everything slows down and nothing is ever the same.
Forever Floating
Chris pulls the motorcycle out of the garage and onto the street in front of the driveway because I’m afraid we’ll fall if he goes down the driveway with both of us on the bike. It’s a regular old racing bike that he picked up from a neighbor’s house on his birthday; the day I went with him to Shayla’s house.
The body is lime-green with a black racing stripe that’s peeling off. He claims he’s already saving up for a new bike. And if he can just score a few well-paying gigs this year, he’ll get it for his next birthday.
“Come on.”
He nods toward the back of the bike as he squeezes the handlebar and revs the engine. The exhaust pipe coughs out a small cloud of gray smoke that smells like gasoline. He pats the seat behind him and smiles.
I double-check the strap on the helmet Chris bought for me a couple of weeks ago, then I grab his waist and swing my leg over the back of the bike. My stomach vaults when my body is pressed against his back.
“Hold on tight!” he shouts so he can be heard over the sound of the engine and through both of our helmets.
I lean closer to him and wrap my arms tightly around his waist. He reaches back and slides his hand down the side of my thigh until his hand is behind my knee. Then he pulls my leg up to prop my foot on the spoke. He does the same with my other leg and I can hardly breathe from the embarrassment as something pulses between my legs. It’s the engine. It has to be rumble of the engine.
He grabs both my hands and pulls them tighter around him, then he gives me a thumbs-up. Now we’re all set. Great.
I close my eyes and lean the side of my helmet against the back of his right shoulder. I let out a soft scream when he takes off, but I’m quiet the rest of the way. He takes it easy on me the whole way there; going extra slow on the turns and easy on the acceleration. But I’m still ecstatic when he arrives at Moore Square in downtown Raleigh.
My thighs are still humming from the vibration of the motorcycle engine as I stand next to the bike, waiting for Chris to remove his helmet. He hangs his helmet from a hook inside a compartment hidden beneath the seat cushion. Then he turns to me and smiles as he reaches for the strap on my helmet. The tips of his fingers are a bit calloused, probably from playing the guitar without a pick. He hates using guitar picks when he’s practicing.
Goosebumps sprout over my arms and I try not to look at his face as he finally gets my helmet strap unhooked. He gently lifts the helmet off my head and I can feel him staring at me. I bite my lip and try to regulate my breathing. This is it. He’s going to kiss me.
I muster the courage to look up into his eyes and he lets out a soft chuckle. “You did good. I think I only heard you scream once,” he says, and I let out the breath I was holding as he turns around and hangs my helmet on the same hook where he hung his.
He locks up the seat compartment, then he grabs my hand and nods toward the park area where dozens of white tents are set up for some type of blues music festival. Closer to Blount Street, there are some animal petting zoos set up with billy goats and lambs. The grassy smell of hay hangs thick in the humid summer air as we pass the animal pens.
“You want to ride a pony for your birthday?” he asks.
“I think I stopped qualifying for pony rides when I stopped dotting my I’s with hearts.”
He laughs and lifts my hand to his mouth to plant a kiss on the backs of my knuckles. “I — That’s why I like you.”
Suddenly, he looks nervous. As if he almost blurted out something he thought he’d regret.
I squeeze his hand twice before he looks at me. “I like you, too.”
He chuckles as he shakes his head. He knows I know what words almost slipped off his tongue. That perfect pierced tongue. And now he knows that I feel the same way.
Oh, God. Please let him kiss me today.
We get to the booths and that’s when the fun begins. Chris chats up the vendors at each booth and we learn all about the various types of blues music, from bluegrass and acid blues to R&B and Canadian blues. I never realized how many different genres of blues music there were. The vendors play their music, some of them have musicians in their tents playing. Chris buys me the CDs he thinks I like, or that I should like. He’s a little pushy when it comes to introducing me to new music. Then we sit on the grass and watch a few bands play on the big stage.
Around six p.m., when Jackie normally gets home from work, Chris’s phone rings and he pulls it out of his back pocket. But it doesn’t look like his usual phone. It’s a brand new smartphone.
He answers the call, then he passes the phone to me. “It’s for you.”
I’m a little hesitant as I take the phone. “Hello?”
“Happy birthday, sweetie!”
It’s Jackie. Something about hearing her voice today gets me all emotional.
“Thank you.”
“How do you like your new phone? I hope it’s a nice one. Chris wouldn’t let me pay for it.”
I stare at Chris, then I hold the phone a few inches from my face to get another look at it. “This is mine?”
“Of course! He didn’t tell you. Oh, Chris. Always trying to be so sneaky.”
I smile at Chris and blink a few times so I don’t cry. I’ve never had a cell phone. And I haven’t gotten a birthday present in a few years.
“Thank you,” I whisper again because I don’t know what else to say.
“You’re welcome, sweetie. I’ll see you two tonight. Don’t be home too late. I have a beautiful cake for you.”
I press the red icon to end the call, then I hold the phone in my lap. “I thought you were saving for another bike.”
“I’ll still get my bike. I’ve just gotta do a few more gigs. No problem.”
His smile is so soft and his brown eyes are so hopeful. I can see that all he wants to know is that this gift made me happy.
“Thank you…. This has been the best birthday… I’ve ever had.”
He reaches up and brushes away the tear that’s about to fall from my eye. “You deserve the best.”
I smile and take a deep breath, then I hold out the phone to him. “Can you autograph it for me? So it will still be worth something when you’re rich and famous.”
He smiles as he reaches up and softly places his index finger on my lips. “I’d rather put my signature here.”
My heart pounds as he leans toward me. This is it.
His lips land softly over mine and I breathe in the cinnamon scent of the churros we ate earlier. His lips linger there for a moment and I have to remind myself to breathe. Then he kisses me again, parting his lips just a little bit this time. With each kiss, he opens his mouth just a little wider. Until, finally, he slips his tongue into my mouth.
The first thing I taste is sugar, t
hen cinnamon, then the soft metallic flavor of the metal stud in his tongue. That’s when I know this is real.
His tongue brushes against mine and I try to mimic everything he does. And I think I’m doing pretty well when he lets out a soft moan. This spurs me on and I reach up to hold the back of his neck.
We kiss like this, just sitting on the grass under the oak trees, for a while. But it’s not long enough. When he finally pulls away and lays a soft kiss on my nose, I think my lips are a bit numb.
“Happy birthday, Claire.” He plants another kiss on the corner of my mouth. “I love you.”
My entire body feels so light and warm, like a hot-air balloon ready to take flight.
I wrap my arms around his neck and lay my head on his shoulder. “I love you, too.”
Forever Addicted
I tumble out of bed and drag myself out of my bedroom and into the hallway. When I push open the bathroom door, my eyes widen at what I’ve stumbled upon. Claire is standing next to the toilet, holding her new cell phone over the toilet bowl. Her lips are pressed together in a hard line across her delicate face.
“What the fuck?” is the first thing that slips out of my mouth.
“I don’t want this thing anymore.”
“Please don’t drop it in the toilet.”
