Status: Fresh out of the oven
One of the Boys
Chapter Sixteen
I sat on the closed toilet seat below the low slanting ceiling, staring at the black and white tiles as they merge into a grayish hue for half an hour. Sometimes I looked up towards the closed bathroom door, when I heard a suddenly loud tone of voice come through the attic apartment's thin walls. Generally however, the conversation Eric and Kingston were having in the small living room was a constant buzz that interrupted the silence of the night rhythmically. And rocking my back to the rise and fall of their voices, lulled to sleep the small child in my arms.
I had wanted to excuse myself as soon as I recognized Kingston however, Eric asked me to hold the girl and go into a room down the hall, while he talked. I don't know why I agreed, probably too numbed in shock to respond accordingly. I should have bailed, I shouldn't have taken her in my arms. There was only a bedroom with a wooden desk and a bathroom down the hall. Though with a peak into the bedroom I could see that King hadn't even entered it, it still felt too intimate to trespass.
While rocking the baby, I thought of her father and how he hadn't even noticed me, his eyes blinded with grief and liquor. He looked older now, for certain, his face held more lines, and his skin was less taunt. He was now fully formed into a man. Yet there were still elements present. The very ones I have always secretly cherished; his intense eyes, as though he was constantly staring into the sun and that strong chin that projected outwards marking his profile. He's hair was in the same style and he still wore the same cologne. The one he's been buying ever since I gave him a sample bottle years ago.
Kingston Maximus was the childhood friend of my youngest brother- Kip. Though they are both now twenty eight, I've known him since my birth. It use to be that where ever Kip went King went too, and I followed. There are embarrassing stories that my mother loves to bring up a dinner parties. Kip and King changed my diapers when they were eleven, and I drenched them. Kip and King helped Mum bath me and King loved giving me a foam beard. When I was four I went through a stage where I would never do anything King didn't like to do. He always hated peppers, and I've never eaten one since. I was in love with him by the time I was six and he was sixteen and always hanging around my brother. I would cry and throw tantrums if they didn't let me join them in Kip's room, and I always had to sit next to King when we watched a movie.
Due to a change in friendship circles King came around to see Kip less and less. By this time I was eight and he was eighteen, and I was now conscious that following him and Kip around like a lost puppy was inappropriate. However that didn't stop me asking him to kiss me goodbye every time he left. On the lips. Kissing was something that I became obsessed with at eight years of age, and because of King's good nature he could never send me away, always compromising by giving me a kiss on the cheek. My brother was exhausted by my infatuations, but Mum and Dad found it cute how annoyed I got when he left the house having only kissed my hand, or forehead or cheek. "All my friend's at school have been kissed." I tried to explain. "No one wants to kiss cute Lucy in your class?" he asked me patiently every time. And I would always reply, "They have asked, but I want to kiss you!"
Then came the day they were leaving for university. King came to see my brother a few days before he left, and that's when I struck. I had sneakily watched Titanic, against my parent's will, and my desire to kiss him had grown. So when the time came that he put his coat on to leave and say a final good bye, as Mum snapped pictures of him and Kip, and Dad gave them both final pieces of advice for college life, as per tradition he bent down to kiss my cheek wet from crying, I took his face and gave him the biggest kiss I could remember from all the television I've watched. On the lips.
Needless to say my Dad apologized for my behavior and pulled me from the room, while my brother comforted the shocked King guiding him to his car, and my mother giggled over the photo she had taken of me getting my very first kiss. In my room dad asked me why I had done it, when I knew it was wrong. I remember, till this day, sitting calmly in my bed, a big smile adorning my face, as I said "He'll have to marry me now. We've kissed. It's official. We'll have babies next!" My father visibly blanched and spent the next two days lecturing me.
Over time I did grow more mature and cringed in remembrance of my actions when ever a family member felt the need to tease me and bring it up. But I realize I must have always carried a child size torch for him in my heart, because when he was twenty one and I was eleven he invited my brother to his wedding, and I felt betrayed and cheated. The invitation was for the whole family, but I refused to go. Deep down the eleven year old part of me still felt that the kiss should have sealed our faith together.
Of course, faith is never sealed with just a kiss, and now eight years later I am sitting, him seeing him for the first time since that kiss ten years ago, rocking his baby learning that the wife he had been married to for seven years is divorcing him. But most of all I keep thinking of the way his eyes had washed over me not really seeing, as he quickly turned back to Eric to say he had signed the papers.
He had not even recognized me.
I had wanted to excuse myself as soon as I recognized Kingston however, Eric asked me to hold the girl and go into a room down the hall, while he talked. I don't know why I agreed, probably too numbed in shock to respond accordingly. I should have bailed, I shouldn't have taken her in my arms. There was only a bedroom with a wooden desk and a bathroom down the hall. Though with a peak into the bedroom I could see that King hadn't even entered it, it still felt too intimate to trespass.
While rocking the baby, I thought of her father and how he hadn't even noticed me, his eyes blinded with grief and liquor. He looked older now, for certain, his face held more lines, and his skin was less taunt. He was now fully formed into a man. Yet there were still elements present. The very ones I have always secretly cherished; his intense eyes, as though he was constantly staring into the sun and that strong chin that projected outwards marking his profile. He's hair was in the same style and he still wore the same cologne. The one he's been buying ever since I gave him a sample bottle years ago.
Kingston Maximus was the childhood friend of my youngest brother- Kip. Though they are both now twenty eight, I've known him since my birth. It use to be that where ever Kip went King went too, and I followed. There are embarrassing stories that my mother loves to bring up a dinner parties. Kip and King changed my diapers when they were eleven, and I drenched them. Kip and King helped Mum bath me and King loved giving me a foam beard. When I was four I went through a stage where I would never do anything King didn't like to do. He always hated peppers, and I've never eaten one since. I was in love with him by the time I was six and he was sixteen and always hanging around my brother. I would cry and throw tantrums if they didn't let me join them in Kip's room, and I always had to sit next to King when we watched a movie.
Due to a change in friendship circles King came around to see Kip less and less. By this time I was eight and he was eighteen, and I was now conscious that following him and Kip around like a lost puppy was inappropriate. However that didn't stop me asking him to kiss me goodbye every time he left. On the lips. Kissing was something that I became obsessed with at eight years of age, and because of King's good nature he could never send me away, always compromising by giving me a kiss on the cheek. My brother was exhausted by my infatuations, but Mum and Dad found it cute how annoyed I got when he left the house having only kissed my hand, or forehead or cheek. "All my friend's at school have been kissed." I tried to explain. "No one wants to kiss cute Lucy in your class?" he asked me patiently every time. And I would always reply, "They have asked, but I want to kiss you!"
Then came the day they were leaving for university. King came to see my brother a few days before he left, and that's when I struck. I had sneakily watched Titanic, against my parent's will, and my desire to kiss him had grown. So when the time came that he put his coat on to leave and say a final good bye, as Mum snapped pictures of him and Kip, and Dad gave them both final pieces of advice for college life, as per tradition he bent down to kiss my cheek wet from crying, I took his face and gave him the biggest kiss I could remember from all the television I've watched. On the lips.
Needless to say my Dad apologized for my behavior and pulled me from the room, while my brother comforted the shocked King guiding him to his car, and my mother giggled over the photo she had taken of me getting my very first kiss. In my room dad asked me why I had done it, when I knew it was wrong. I remember, till this day, sitting calmly in my bed, a big smile adorning my face, as I said "He'll have to marry me now. We've kissed. It's official. We'll have babies next!" My father visibly blanched and spent the next two days lecturing me.
Over time I did grow more mature and cringed in remembrance of my actions when ever a family member felt the need to tease me and bring it up. But I realize I must have always carried a child size torch for him in my heart, because when he was twenty one and I was eleven he invited my brother to his wedding, and I felt betrayed and cheated. The invitation was for the whole family, but I refused to go. Deep down the eleven year old part of me still felt that the kiss should have sealed our faith together.
Of course, faith is never sealed with just a kiss, and now eight years later I am sitting, him seeing him for the first time since that kiss ten years ago, rocking his baby learning that the wife he had been married to for seven years is divorcing him. But most of all I keep thinking of the way his eyes had washed over me not really seeing, as he quickly turned back to Eric to say he had signed the papers.
He had not even recognized me.