Rose Petal Kisses

Lurking in the back of my mind, slowly inching its way forward to the very core of my constant thoughts, was a dull ache. An ache like I was going to lose something, the feeling squirmed and clawed at me until I pinpointed what was causing this: Christmas Break. The holiday was just around the corner and that meant I wouldn’t be seeing Stormy for two weeks, until next year. The very thought made me ill.

I tug at the collar of my faded brown jumper, the thing feels like it’s strangling me and I just want to run away; run away from this building dread, these unfaithful thoughts, from my unhappy parents, my fearful brother and my restless best friend and his wrathful girlfriend. Food can barely be held down and the tray is hardly picked at before I dump everything into a trashcan nearest our table. I excuse myself to go outside and catch some fresh air.

Everybody feels so crushingly close and it’s all I can do not to scream at them all to shut up, shut up, shut up.

When I finally reach the refreshingly crisp air, I crouch low by the side of the building, taking in deep, steady breaths.

Since last night, everything has suddenly felt like a crushing weight, as if someone has placed a truck on my chest and keeps squealing the tires relentlessly. My lungs feel as though they’ve been squeezed dry and left me gasping for oxygen as the walls creep up on me. Cold tendrils wrap themselves around my neck, causing chills to run up and down my arms.

For a second I feel like I am going to sick up all over the frozen ground, but I hold my own and drink in more air. Eventually, I have toned myself down to a quiet murmur of thoughts, feeling ready to face the rest of the day.

All I had was Biology, Art and then Math. If I could get through the rest of that, wait until everyone has gone home so I can place Stormy’s rose petal in her locker, I could go home with some piece of mind. Possibly curl up in bed and sleep the entirety of this week and Christmas Break away.

As I sat in Art, Stormy’s presence slithered up my spine and down my chest like moisture trailing down the side of a chilled glass in the middle of July. My thoughts swelter around her, a nest of hornets attacking something that has disturbed them, following her every movement, every intake of breath, every batting of her eyelashes. I can’t seem to control my mind, it’s as though everything is warped and highlighted, as if I will never see her again after this week.

Her gaze shifts on me, only for a moment, and my breathing slows, as though she knows that I’ve been watching her, thinking of her. Observing as she worked tirelessly on the same oil painting that she has been toiling on for a month. Apple-green eyes slide over me easily as she turns back around from adding more paint to her brush.

At that second, I desire, hunger, to have her talk to me, whisper in my ear, graze her lips on my cheek. Mouth partly open, as she gently bites down on my bottom lip before pressing her soft lips to my own-

I snap out of my reverie when the bell rings and I realize I didn’t get a single thing done. A piece of paper with three lines on it and nothing more. I’m surprised the professor hadn’t said something to me.

The rest of the day is like a blur, even as I trudged to Matt’s house. He promised that he had some liquor, his parents were gone for the night, and the idea of washing away my thoughts sounded a lot better than the possibility of dreaming them at home. I hoped that Tom would be alright and our parents wouldn’t argue, just for this night alone.

And even though there is school tomorrow, I didn’t care, and maybe I’m being dramatic about not being able to see Stormy for two weeks after this week, I didn’t care. I wanted her, but I didn’t have the balls to leave Sarah. No. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the balls to leave Sarah, I didn’t have the fucking guts to ask Stormy to be my girlfriend. She was too good for me, everything I’m not and then some.

As I kissed the rose petal and pressed it into the ventilation slots at the top of her locker, I thought about how she touches this very same metal, stands in this very same spot, everyday. I wondered what she thought when she found these petals. The first genuine smile of the day succumbs me, and I can’t seem to scrub it off, even after I have walked into Matt’s house.

The wafting smell of cigarettes and stale beer swallows me, the smells are comforting and I find myself in a hollowed out daze. Matt is sitting on the couch, smoking a fag and limply holding a beer bottle; he grins at me and waves for me to sit down next to him. I return the expression and weave my way over to him, past all the furniture and boxes, careful to step over children toys, that Matt’s little brother Dan, tosses around.

He hands me a bottle laying next him and throws a bottle opener onto my lap.

A spiral has erupted from my mind and climbed up into my eyes, flickering by like an old video that has splotches popping up every couple of minutes. My fingers wrap loosely around the bottle of beer, they feel unattached, as though they’re just floating there and being held up by an invisible force. I don’t understand why I’m feeling like this, so detached from everything, everyone. Yet, there’s this small string, a small green line that is suspending me in the air, keeping me from plummeting into total pitch darkness. I know, in the pit of my gut, that this thread shouldn’t be touched, it’s something delicate that will wilt at the mere pressure of my breath.

There’s a bubbling sound pressing into my ears, growing louder and wilder as I claw my way into consciousness. Muffled speaking penetrates my hearing until I recognize Matt is repeating my name, telling me to wake up because… because apparently there is a really awesome zombie movie on.

But I just want to go back to sleep. Maybe Stormy will show up.

I shouldn’t keep torturing myself by dreaming about someone I will never have. My stomach hurts at the thought and a throbbing pain thrums through my brain, a sharp prick with a needle.

I force myself to sit up and keep my eyes open, somehow I make through the entirety of the movie, even laughing at, and pointing out incredibly exaggerated, certain parts; while Matt protests and says: “how would we know if it’s unrealistic or not if we’ve never experienced a zombie apocalypse?”

Suddenly, it feels like old times again, the summer before I discovered Stormy two years ago. Discovered her at an ice cream parlor, attempting desperately to keep her mint chocolate-chip ice cream from spilling over the side of her cone.

I’d always wondered how I had never noticed her before, but that night, I had looked through my old school-yearbooks and guiltily grasped why: she had ben pudgy, had had a rat-nest of mousy-brown hair and braces that looked like they could have eaten someone. The only reason I had even learned her name was from an off-hand comment Sarah had made to Charlie, and ‘Stormy McClellan’ were the only two words I had caught. From that day forward, I was infatuated with her.

From the movement of her hips, to the curve of her shoulders, to the two small hills of collarbone that pop out when she pulls her shoulders together.

The next day, after seeing Stormy, I began looking for her everywhere. Sometimes I’d catch myself looking over my shoulder, maybe a glimpse of vibrant green hair, or a sparkle of a septum ring.

Until one day, a week before summer break was over, I had accidentally bumped into someone.

“Oh, ‘ey, sorry, sorry,” I muttered, stepping back and staring down at the body, hunched over and crouched low to the ground. They were wearing a navy blue hoodie and some sort of furry hat with pointed ears on it. Once they stood up, my breath caught in my throat; of all the people to run into, it had to be Stormy. She beamed at me like being tripped on was a normal occurrence. “Uh-uh-” I stammered, but she looked at total ease.

Tugging at the ears of her hat, she said, “It’s okay, I shouldn’t ‘ave been tying my shoes in the middle of the sidewalk, but then I found this really uh- oh never mind, anyway, ‘ave a good rest of ya day.”

And like that, she trampled off, giving me a brief wave as she grew smaller.

Sitting on the couch, in the dark, next to Matt and watching a marathon of horror movies, I didn’t understand why these memories cropped up. But I settled with them and replayed them over and over for the rest of the night.