The First Kiss

I look away when he looks in my direction. Though he is pale, his hazel eyes make his whole face light up whenever I look at it. He talked to me once; I felt like his eyes would take me in and comfort me, keeping me safe from all harm. His buzz cut and modest dress make him appear like he is hiding something. He doesn’t act like the other boys either; he is reserved and carefully chooses his words. He refuses to drink when his friends abruptly offer him alcohol, but I don’t know what it is about him that makes him seem so peaceful but volatile at the same time. His name is Joseph.

For a while now, I have noticed how he has an eye on other girls who are prettier and more comfortable than I am. I have always been a quiet, independent person who—I believe—doesn’t speak unless out of necessity. I am a book reader and I get so swallowed up in them that I cannot pull myself from my reading position for hours. I run through this in my mind as he happens to glimpse in my direction and our eyes meet. I don’t like this feeling of uneasiness; usually I just accept the fact that other girls have all the luck and then there is me who is only pretty to her parents but not to herself nor to others. If only someone knew what I have gone through to get where I am today; the body I have, though scarred with white stretch marks, is the way it is today because of my persistence. But, I don’t want people to pity me. It would just be nice to fill the empty void I feel sometimes when I look at couples who seem so sure of life.

I want to know that I am loved by someone else than my family or close friends; I don’t mean in a physical way, though. It would just be nice to have someone. I laugh at my friends’ comment and try not to look like I am staring; yet his mannerisms and reservation capture my attention. It’s a wonder that no one has noticed him as much as I have now, but that’s probably because everyone else has already admired his quiet beauty and is seeking out those boys who want to have a good time. I would not know how to talk to him or even to anyone, so I just stay in the circle of my friends.

He seems to be getting bored, which is right about how I feel now. I am not confident like the rest of my friends, who seem to be attracting all the boys, so I just find a seat where I won’t be in the way. I wish I could have deep blue eyes and beautiful long dark hair like my one friend; or such confidence and the ability to attract attention with a great laugh or personality like my other friends. I love them all, except I will never be like them. I just need to accept that I am who I am.

Just then, he turns his head to check his watch and looks up when I start to laugh at my one friend’s remarks about her boyfriend. What was that? He smiled at me when I laughed. No. It was probably because one of his friends just started dancing. Yes. That was it. I look away and stare at my water bottle. He couldn’t possibly notice me, so I should just go on and have a good time by keeping my mind off of him. It’s just, I’ve never felt so drawn to someone before. I might find some guys attractive at first glance, but the attraction ends there. I don’t know what it is about him. One of my friends notices that I keep staring over there and gives me a nudge and whispers into my ear that I should go talk to him. Naturally, I decline the suggestion but my other friends catch on and start making “oohing” sounds. Great, my face is super red like it gets when I do presentations—it’s not as bad now that I am in college but whenever I talk about something like this, I can’t help but blush. Great, I probably will attract more attention, and I hate wearing makeup because it makes me feel fake; my ugly face will be in the limelight with the added effect of being tomato-colored. I quickly get up and act calm as I head toward the bathroom. It is empty, so I look at my face and try to relax so that the blood doesn’t keep flowing to my cheeks. My ugly is magnified with this unflattering lighting. People have told me that I am pretty, but probably because they felt sorry for me because I never talk. Why do I never talk?! That’s what I hate about myself sometimes; I feel so insecure at times. A girl who looks like she is about to puke stumbles into a stall; I avoid eye contact and head back out in the calmest manner.

When I get to the couch where my friends were, I see that they are gone—probably dancing in the back yard with some guys they met. I sit down on the couch and check my phone; nine thirty-four p.m. Great, another two or three hours of this agony. I don’t like these kind of situations and I wish I could be back at the dorms with my blanket wrapped around me while I listen to music and reblog stuff from Tumblr. I keep my focus on my phone until I hear my name; my friend wants me to come join them, but I kindly decline. She tries to get me up but I tell her that I’m tired; she understands and happily goes back to the fun. It seems the party has moved to the back yard, but I stay in the living room because I like the peacefulness after a group of people have left a large room.

Just then, I realize that he is still here, also on his phone and also telling his friends to go dance. I smile a little—obviously without showing my hideous teeth—without looking up from my phone; we might be similar. But, a beautiful girl—looks sober—with even skin comes out of the kitchen and wraps her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek. He seems kind of startled but eventually realizes who it is and kisses her back, on the mouth. I knew it; I knew this would happen. Oh well, I should have seen it coming. Pretties are only meant to be with pretties. I get up—not too abruptly though—and walk toward the mass of people who are dancing. I see my friends having a good time and give a little smile to them to let them know that I am having fun and check my phone again. Only nine forty-seven. Awesome. I thought I would be more confident when I decided to go to a different state over five-hundred miles away from home, but I guess not.

As I walk back into the living room, I see that a few people have re-entered; naturally, I head to the bathroom to avoid having to talk to someone—and besides, the couch is occupied. The stall, where I used to eat lunch when I didn’t really have any friends in ninth grade, is my solace for a few minutes; I lock the door and just stand there. Why does this stuff always happen? Just then, I get a text from one of my friends asking me where I am; I answer that I am in the bathroom. They immediately ask if I am okay and I just reply “yeah.” I am that awkward person at the party who doesn’t know what to do without her friends. I should have said that I was feeling sick and tired from my exams when they asked me if I would come. I was being stupid and thought I could do it; I don’t even like parties or drinking.

When I leave the bathroom, I see all my friends are sitting on the floor with their new guy friends; they’re in the middle of a joke when one of them notices me and beckons me to join them. I sit next to her and she introduces me to all the guys, who just wave at me when they say hello. Then, they go back to their conversation. I just listen to them and finally give a yawn, which, apparently is loud enough that my one friend catches it. She tells me that the real party begins at midnight; I give her a small smile and perk up a little to show that I’m still interested. I don’t know why I haven’t noticed him until now, but one of the guys keeps peering at me; he hasn’t said a word in the past thirty minutes. I don’t want to do anything stupid, so I just continue to sit there like I have and try not to look at him even though he seems familiar.

He’s very handsome—probably vain—with his clean cut dirty blond hair, dark eyebrows over big light brown eyes, and fairly muscular arms; he’s probably staring at my unsightly body—maybe, maybe not. Focus on what your friends are saying, not on him; but I can’t. What is with me tonight? I usually just notice boys and then don’t think twice of them; but, tonight I have already been overthinking the situation between two attractive boys who will forget me the next day. That feeling of longing is in my stomach again, and I try to push it away but I can’t help but notice how stern his look is on me. I think his name is Charlie. Is it bad that I feel he is being cruel to me by staring at me, like I am some animal who doesn’t belong here? I get up to fill my water bottle and quietly tell my friend I will be back in a few minutes.

I feel like someone is walking behind me; I turn my head slightly and see that he is casually walking in my direction. I continue to the kitchen where a few people are talking over the loud music. As I fill up my bottle from the faucet, I hear a solid voice ask me what my name is again. I turn around and he is leaning against one side of the kitchen’s doorway. The dancing starts again in the backyard and the few people in the kitchen move toward the music. That leaves us two; I feel so nervous that I feel my face getting a little red again, which I try to fight off—keep it together, it’s just a question. I answer “Julia” and look back to the faucet as I continue to fill up my bottle. Is this a sick joke? I look up and he seems to be contemplating something—I don’t know what though. He suddenly looks up and seems embarrassed. “Sorry,” he says; “it’s just you remind me of someone.” I answer “oh” and start to move towards the door to rejoin my friends, but he stops me with another question. “Um…actually…I didn’t want to ask you that; I actually was wondering if you knew anyone named Jessie? I thought I had seen you in her class, but…”

I answer yes and begin to tell him that she’s a great person. He assents and looks down at the floor for a few seconds and then looks up again. “Cool. I actually just needed to know because my friend wanted me to find out more about her. Well, thanks…” The awkward pause becomes even more awkward when he looks at me, staring into my soul with his lush brown eyes. He opens his mouth but then pauses. He hesitates and then says something peculiar.

“Look, I…we met during orientation and…since then, I…uh have liked…seen you around a lot.” His hand gestures seem to be vainly attempting to push away the awkward.

“Oh…” I say. I don’t know exactly what he is trying to say, but I think I have an idea.

He looks tense and walks out of the doorway towards me a little more, yet cautiously. Maybe he isn’t as arrogant or confident as I took him to be. He looks down and grunts a little. All the while, I am twisting the cap on my bottle and trying to act casual. I look up at him and tell him that we should get back to the party. As I pass him, he gently touches my shoulder, which—regrettably—twitches.

“Wait…sorry, I just wanted to ask you if you wanted to dance. I didn’t mean to ask you your name...Um, look, I like you…and I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date sometime?” His voice subsides.

I stand there awkwardly; frankly, I am shocked at such a question. This has never happened before, so I don’t know what to do. I just nod and say yes in the calmest way I can while I hold my right hand, which is quivering a little. This has to be a joke. We walk back to my circle of friends and I give my one friend my water bottle, and then he takes my hand and guides me to the backyard. As we reach the mass of people, I see that a lot of them are dancing provocatively.

“Um, I don’t really like doing that…” I say.

“Oh. Well do you still want to dance? I mean we could just talk or something.”

I don’t like the idea of talking to him. “No we can dance, just not like that…if that’s okay.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s cool.” He gently pulls me to a spot away from the pit of people to an area on the grass where only a few people are talking. He puts his right hand on my waist and entwines his strong, warm fingers on his other hand in mine. He then starts to move his feet; I feel so stupid when I look down and try to mimic his movements. He laughs a little and I blush to my dismay. I look up right at the moment when he is staring at the ground at our feet. He suddenly looks up and we make eye contact; goodness, he is attractive. This must be a joke; he wants something, and he is looking for any girl who is insecure. If that’s what he wants, he’s not getting it; not from me, anyway. I start to feel that longing again and then I frown because I know this is too good to be true.

He stops—a little too abruptly—and looks like a confused puppy. “What’s wrong? It was my dancing, wasn’t it? My friends say I shouldn’t show off so much.”

There it is; the arrogance—is that what it is?

“Nothing, sorry. It’s just…do you really like me or?...you don’t have to pretend...”

He looks even more confused and then he smiles a little, his fingers still entwined with mine. He looks down at the ground and then back at me with those eyes.

“You really don’t know?”

I’m confused at his answer. “Know what?”

“Wow, I feel so corny for saying this, but you have no idea how lovely you—I mean...Could we…go talk somewhere private?”

Oh no, “private” means something that I don’t want yet. I am skeptical. I guess it shows because he immediately reacts. “Oh no, I hope you weren’t thinking that I was suggesting…sorry.” He is so apologetic.

I change my expression and say, “sure.”

We walk out of the backyard through a gate and reach the front of the house. He is still holding my hand. I hope my friends aren’t worried; they probably aren’t since they are preoccupied. We sit on the steps under a large window. I think it’s eleven, but strangely I wish it was nine thirty again. This can’t be real; something’s up.

He clears his throat. “Look, I think that you are beautif—…what I’m trying to say is that I really like you and I just thought you would want to know that you have an admirer…”

I don’t know how to respond, so I just sit there staring at the ground. I am trying to figure out what he wants from me. He is still holding my hand; in fact, it seems like he doesn’t want to release it for the fear of losing something. He smells nice and his voice is so calming. I cautiously look up at him; he is staring at me like he knows something that he won’t tell me. I look down again. I hear him snicker a little and then he uses the fingertips of his other hand to gently push my chin up to the level of his own face. I probably look so confused and shocked now; I probably look so unappealing. What is happening?

I hesitate. “Charlie…what—“

Then it happens; he releases my hand and uses both of his hands to caress my face until he tilts his head and leans toward me. He plants a tender kiss onto my mouth; I receive it with closed eyes. It all happens so quickly. He quickly pulls back and looks away. I stare at my hands and then I look up at him; his eyebrows are furrowed. He looks up with a contrite face.

“I’m sorry, I should have—I came off too strong.”

“It’s okay…” But it’s not; he took my first kiss away from me without my consent. I look away and back towards the window. I see my friends all peering through the glass; they quickly look away when they realize that I have seen them. I look back and I know my face is getting red. He stands up and offers his hand, which I kindly take. When I get up, his hand does not let go and he stares at me. He seems like he is about to say something, but he just bites his lip.

“I’m sorry…can we start over?”

Something starts in me; I don’t want this to be physical. “Yeah…besides, I would at least like to know what your favorite color is.” I stand more confident, which seems to startle him a little. I don’t know how this happened; besides, I only remember meeting him once. This all seems so abrupt. I blush a little at my remark, but he just laughs a little and then stares at me again, which scares me a little.

“Sorry…” He releases my hand and pulls out his phone. “Could I have your number?...Only if you still want to go out…”

“Um, yeah…” I give him my number and he flashes a genuine smile at me as he finishes sending me a message so I can register his number. My friends come out of the house and immediately come toward me with wide, playful eyes. They tell me that we should go because it’s getting late—even though it is only eleven ten. I hesitate and say goodbye to Charlie, who takes my hand again and gently squeezes it before he lets it go. I know that we are leaving early to talk about what happened between me and him. I don’t know why, but I feel suspicious still; yet, that feeling seems to be subsiding as butterflies fill my stomach when we drive away from the house. I long for his strong hands holding mine again.