GHOSTKISS
You’re not here, and I’m not there
I’m a girl, alone in her room
And you’re a myth
A possible future
A ghost of my desires to come
I breathe slowly and close my eyes
Tilt my face to the ceiling
And wait for the kiss
Of ghostly lips on flesh
Dream mouth on real
Fantasy tongue tasting mine
Tantalizing and imagined
Because I wonder
What a kiss is
How lips taste
How a tongue feels
Will I know what to do
Without being shown?
A more worrisome question arises
One unique to me:
Can you stutter, in a kiss?
Can you fumble
In the throes of desire?
You’re just a ghost
A neverknown fraction of what-if
And you cannot teach me what I wish to know
Until you become real
And kiss me and kiss me and kiss me
Jason glanced at me, then back at the page, amazement in his eyes. “God, Becca. That’s…I don’t even have words. Magical. That’s not just poetry, that’s word magic.” He looked back at my notebook and seemed to be rereading. “How do you know how to make the perfect words go together? I know all these words on their own, but…but I could never put them all together like this, into a poem.”
I ducked my head, heat on my cheeks. “Thanks. I just…the words just come out. I think I write poetry because it’s a way for me to be coherent. Eloquent. I have to work to speak clearly. Every single sentence I speak takes effort to not stutter. Poetry? It’s just effortless.” All the while he’d been talking about my poetry, I’d been scripting that speech, planning it out, forming the words in my head and practicing them. He started to flip the page, but I took the notebook from him, gently but firmly. “I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to let you just…peruse my private thoughts. Reading that is like reading my mind. I’m just—just—just n-not ready for that y-y-yet.” I heaved in a deep breath to slow myself down.
He smiled reassuringly, and showed not one iota of impatience or embarrassment at my stupid stutters and blocks. “It’s fine, Becca. I understand completely. Thanks for sharing that with me.”
“You showed me yours, so it’s only fair I show you mine.” I grinned to play up the double entendre.
Jason smirked. “True. They do say that turnabout is fair play.” His hand rose up my side again, inching closer, daring higher.
“Tit for…tat…” I could barely breathe as he neared my breast. I wanted his hand there again.
He cupped me through my sweater, and I could breathe again. Then, as if physically tearing himself away, he moved his hand and rested it on my thigh, and my pulse slowly returned to normal. “We should probably go,” he whispered.
“Yeah, probably.”
“I don’t want to, though.” He buried his face in my hair and sniffed. “You smell good.”
I laughed. “Thanks? I don’t want to go, either. I like it here. I can see why this is your favorite spot.”
“You should see it in the daytime, when the sun is out. All the way out there,” he waved toward the front of the truck, where the hill fell away into an open field, “is all flowers. It’s beautiful.”
“You should bring me here during the day sometime, then.”
He nodded. “I will.” He grinned at me, and I was reminded, apropos of nothing but his smile, how beautiful he really was, his face all hard lines and strong curves and perfect angles, and such green, green eyes. “And anyway, this isn’t my favorite spot anymore.”
I wrinkled my brow in confusion, although I had an idea what he was going to say. “It’s not?”
He shook his head and tightened his grip on me. “This is. You, here, with me. In my arms.”
I smiled at him, unable to formulate a response other than to burrow closer to him.
After a few more minutes, we reluctantly cleaned up our midnight picnic, and I slid off the back of the truck while Jason bungeed the cooler in place again. I settled in the passenger seat of his truck, cranking the volume up on a fast-paced song with a lot of honky-tonk to it. I bounced in my seat, enjoying the fun, light-hearted music and the feeling of happiness welling up so hot and potent inside me.
Jason drove me home, stopping at the entrance again. “I wish I could just take you home. Walk you to your door and kiss you goodnight.”
“Maybe someday,” I said. “I don’t like it, either. You know it’s not that I’m embarrassed by you or anything, right? If I didn’t know for a fact Father would ground me for life and actually lock me in my room at night, I’d tell him about us. Introduce you.”
He shrugged. “I know. Just be careful getting home, okay? I’ll wait until you’re in your room. Text me when you’re safe, okay?”
I opened the truck door, but his hand latched around my wrist and drew me back. He pulled me closer and closer, shoved the console up and out of the way, the Mountain Dew bottle tumbling to the floor. I wrapped my arms around his neck, stuffed my fingers into the stiff, soft spikes of his hair, let myself lead in to the kiss.
When I was breathless and dizzy, I pulled away.
“God, Becca. Kissing you is…it’s seriously the best thing ever.”
I touched my lips, knowing they were swollen. “It’s dangerous, I think.”
“What is?” Jason asked.
“You and me kissing.”
“Why?”
I met his eyes, let him see all my roiling emotions. “Because I never want to stop. I could kiss you until I suffocate.”
He nodded. “Me, too.” He let go of my wrist, trailed his fingers along my cheekbone and down my jaw. “You’re beautiful, Becca. So beautiful.”
I shook my head at him. “You’re ridiculous. But thank you.”
He frowned at me as I slid to the ground and held the door in preparation to shut it. “Why am I ridiculous?”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with discussing my insecurities. “You just are. It’s sweet of you to compliment me, though.”
“It’s not a compliment. It’s the truth.” His gaze shifted a bit, some kind of awareness sneaking into his expression. “Wait. You’re not insecure about yourself, are you?”
I twisted a curl around my finger and focused on not stuttering. “I’m pretty sure every girl on the planet is insecure about something, Jason. Some just hide it better than others.”