Reese, you'll like it, it's just your thing...depressing. >.<
(Just kidding, it really isn't, I was only making fun of Reese...sheesh....)
The Most Amazing Kiss
Once upon a time, there was a girl named Meg, who lived in a big suburb off a bigger city in a big neighborhood in a big house. Meg had almost everything a little girl ever wanted and needed: her own room, a huge field behind her house, books, games, plenty of food and lots of toys. But there were some things Meg didn’t have, and one thing that she longed for the most.
Meg’s mother was dead, and her father, heartbroken since, was distant and cool to Meg, refusing to freely give away hugs, kisses, and bedtime stories. From the time of her mother’s death, Meg received very few hugs or signs of affection, and only one kiss. Meg missed him terribly, how she used to be, but there was nothing she could do.
Meg was popular, and had no lacking supply of friends at any time—everyone in her neighborhood played with her in the afternoons, and on the playground at gym she wanted for no one. She even had friends that were boys, something unheard of, as boys weren’t “allowed” to play with girls. They played her games, tag and racing and climbing trees, and she played theirs, soccer and football and damsel-in-distress.
But what Meg didn’t have, and was not likely to get, was love. Real, true, unconditional love. Everywhere she looked she saw it…mothers and fathers holding hands, hugging and kissing her friends…bedtime stories and good-night kisses at sleepovers…her best friend’s boyfriend telling her he loved her in quiet, shady places. But not for her. She saw it, but never received it.
When Meg was twelve, grown-ups began to call her “gangly,” which didn’t sound good—she had braces on her teeth, “for later,” and she drew a lot, pictures of angels with broken wings and wild horses and scenes from her many books; she read a lot, too. Many of her friends found that unacceptable, though they never said anything…instead, her boy-friends started picking on her, just a little at first, friendly teasing, and more than once she found that there had been a sleepover and there had not been “enough room” for her, which everyone knew meant that she was not wanted. She still had many friends, and was not disliked by anyone, but she found that their affection was…shallow. Hard to win, but easy to lose. To combat her loneliness, she drew more, read more, talked less, and that only made it worse.
But then, halfway through the year, everything changed.
A new boy came to her school, from who-knew-where, one that the girls called “hot” and the boys “cool.” He had a nice, friendly face, sand-blonde hair, and was sort of tall, but not the tallest in the class. He could play football, soccer, basketball, and run strong and fast—Meg would often watch him, wishing she could do that, wishing she hadn’t left those things behind for her stupid books and pencils. She found her girl-friends talking about him in the bathrooms and hallways, giggling and fixing their makeup, which Meg didn’t have, and heard her boy-friends asking him to come over and shoot hoops, play baseball in the park, watch the football game on Sunday.
It was strange, but Meg didn’t share either of these sentiments…she shared both. She thought she had never seen someone so tall and handsome, like the heroes in her books, and could fully appreciate his power and speed as he played with the other boys. She had found what she was missing. But it never hit her harder than one Friday, before school ended.
She had been drawing an angel, lifting its wings up to the heavens, a white angel, for once—normally they were dark blues or reds, or perhaps a watery light blue or a sea green in her imagination. The wings were not batlike or scaly like a dragon’s, but feathery like a dove’s—she had been watching that boy today, David was his name, and when he jumped up to score a jump shot he looked just like this…and then a shadow fell over her, and she jumped as, to her horror, he was standing right above her.
“That’s a good picture,” he told her—not smiling ingratiatingly as other people had, saying the same words, but watching the drawing as if he could see it move, see the angel flexing its wings and jump into the sky. She mumbled her thanks as he continued to look at it, his head falling sideways a little bit.
“Why’s he frowning?” he asked her. “He looks too serious. Flying is supposed to make you happy, it must feel great, being able to see everything from so high like that…”
She had felt exactly the same way, but the angel had not looked right with the grotesquely sweet smile she had given him. “I don’t know how to fix it,” she heard herself say. “The face, it doesn’t look right.”
He nodded understandingly, and without another word, he picked up her pencil, leaned across her, and carefully erased the mouth, drawing a new one in its place. It was perfect—not too big or small, gracefully curved, lifted in a laughing smile. Seeing it, even in plain #2 graphite, made her smile, too.
“It’s a great drawing,” he told her. “Nice wings.”
And then the bell rang, and he disappeared with the rest. Meg sat frozen for a minute, happiness filling her like a warm, ever-growing fire, and then came to her senses, grabbing the drawing and running out to her dad’s car, refusing to ruin the joyful moment with speech until she was safe in her room that night. Only then did she take out the drawing, smooth its creases, and then completely erase the long robe she had given her angel, like all angels were supposed to have, replacing it with jeans, a blue t-shirt, and Nikes. She finished it at last, giving it sand-blonde hair and David’s deep green eyes. It looked just like him—David, her angel. She carefully dated it, slipped it into a plastic page protector, and placed it into a purple binder, the first of many.
The next day, she abandoned the customary-for-girls skirt and tight-fitting top, instead wearing her old jeans and a plain white t-shirt, lacing up her old, abandoned tennis shoes and pulling back her hair. During recess, she walked right up to the boys, picking teams for basketball, and said, “Can I play?” They had stared at her with raised eyebrows, but then her David, team captain, said, “Sure, you can be on my team.” Beaming, she waited patiently for the game to start, and when it did, stole the ball immediately, shirked her guard, and scored two points for her team. Several boys whistled. In the duration of the game, they started passing it to her, and she them, and they won. David was impressed, too, and after that, she started playing the boys’ games every day.
Of course, this didn’t go down too well with the girls, or even the boys, for that matter…in team sports she was okay, because she helped them win, but in individual events, like races and one-on-one’s, she always came in first, second or third, and, being a girl amid guys, this was unforgivable. And the girls felt abandoned and betrayed and refused to talk to her, leaving her, again, all alone.
But this time she didn’t mind, because now, she had David. David came over to HER house now to play basketball or watch football or something, and also to climb trees, play tag, do homework, and draw. He was very good, better than her, and helped her with difficult angles and textures and things…every picture he contributed to, even one they drew together, went into the purple binder. He became her best friend, and she became his.
It was all too good to last, however…in March of seventh grade, he told her that he was moving away. Why or where, she never knew…all she knew was that after the school year was over, he would be gone. He swore to her that he would come back to the high school here, no matter what, but it was too long. Her heart was broken, and stayed broken until the end of May.
The end of the school year was supposed to be happy and fun—sadness was for the eight graders, who would be going their separate ways, but not a single one of them cared to think about that sort of thing. Except for Meg and David. While everyone else was eating ice cream and cheese dip and cake, they sat high in a tree, back-to-back, not saying a word; their misery was mutual.
“I don’t want to leave,” David said at last.
“I don’t want you to, either,” said Meg.
“Hey, Meg…” David said slowly, and they turned to face each other. But instead of saying anything, he took her hand, pulled her close, and kissed her. It was the most amazing kiss there ever was, better than fairy tales, storybooks, and movies…it was perfect. And for the first time in her life, someone told Meg that he loved her in a shady place, and then someone told her he would miss her as he helped her back down to the ground, kissed her swiftly on the cheek when no one was looking with the swift reassurance that he’d see her in high school…and someone waved goodbye before his car sped off, and left her all alone.
The very last day in May, Meg’s father had to go up to the school for some reason, and she went along, very much against her will—all she wanted to do was find a dark place, draw a little, and cry a lot. She drifted to the playground, swaying back and forth on an old swing, her heart cold and sad where it had been shorn in two…and then she saw the tree, the one where David had said goodbye, and without thinking at all, she ran to it. She sat high in the tree, in the shade, wishing David was next to her again…she could almost hear his voice telling her he loved her, feel him sitting back-to-back with her…she turned to face him…and then…
…and then the world spun and went black, and she heard a crash, a scream, shouts, and many other confused sounds…and then a soft, monotonous beep, beep, beep…
She found herself in a hospital bed, but couldn’t remember why…they told her that she had fallen from a tree in the school playground, had broken her arm and bruised her head and legs pretty badly, but she was all right now…she found it alarming and a little frightening that she couldn’t remember falling, or being in a tree…or for that matter, anything much at all. Everyone else found it alarming, too. When she admitted this, her dad kissed her for the first time she could remember, and the doctors shook their heads. They said memory loss was common with head injuries…memory loss…that didn’t seem right…she recognized her father, and this hospital, and she knew enough of what she looked like to know that she looked awful now…how could her memory be gone?
But she understood what they meant, a few weeks later when they let her out of the hospital. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and was surprised—she was much older and had metal on her teeth, and her hair was long and curly…and her room was decorated differently…the calendar was on a different date, a later year…and then she realized that she had lost two years’ worth of memories. Maybe more. The last thing she could remember was drawing a picture on the margins of her homework, an angel, dated back to the middle of fifth grade.
There were many new pictures now, of many different things, mostly angels…she did not like some of them, they were too dark and evil-looking…and then she found a purple binder, with dozens of plastic-protected drawings in it. They were all beautiful…she didn’t know how to draw like that…did she? All so amazing…except one that was just weird. It was the very first one, an angel in track shoes and jeans…what sort of angel looked like that? But its face was perfect…a face she found in many other drawings that she didn’t recognize. This picture was either titled or signed, “David.”
Her fall from the tree had sucked away most of her summer, so by the time she had reoriented herself with the world, which took about a week and a half, school was starting again. Everyone had heard about her injuries and kept asking her questions, calling her “Meg,” which bemused her…she liked to be called “Megan,” not any cutesy nickname, didn’t they know that? But no…they were surprised to hear it. Still, they went along with everything, not persisting if she couldn’t answer their questions or call them by name, because she just couldn’t remember who they were. Life resumed as normal…her teachers were patient in re-teaching her everything, which didn’t take long, as that seemed to be stored in a different place in her brain…everything was going great.
But sometimes, at night, she would have strange dreams, in which a mysterious stranger with a blurred face kissed her and told her that he loved her. The dream seemed familiar—not surprising, as it kept coming back—but the only thing that really stood out was the kiss. She woke up with her lips tingling as if they remembered what she could not, and with the overwhelming longing to have that dream again, but for real this time. She had to find HIM, so he could give her that amazing kiss again…
It was not going to happen, however—she did not have a boyfriend. Her friends told her she didn’t, looking a little confused, and none of the boys treated her too differently. Well, differently from each other—actually, every single one of her friends talked to her and looked at her in odd ways, ways she did not like…she had become unpopular somehow…but she had a plan to change all that.
MEGAN’S plan was simple—she would dress like girls were supposed to, apparently, in miniskirts and tops that made her cold just looking at them on the rack. Then, she would go up to a boy at random and flirt her heart out…her braces had been removed early in the year, and she let her hair hang free in its loose chestnut-brown ringlets, so it was easy. She’d ask boys over to her house, say yes to any offer to a date, flatter them and talk nice to them…anything to get them to kiss her, for real.
But no…none of them were HIM.
She often disappointed whoever it was…if they were nice to her, she’d give them a week, tops, before she threw them away, like old, abandoned tennis shoes. Some of them seemed to think that first base should immediately be accompanied by second, and they received a slap to the face before she walked herself home. And some of them, like her, thought that kissing was far enough, and there was nothing left to do.
She’d gone through most of the boys in her grade that year, who were everything from total jock to total nerd, but didn’t find a single boy that could even come close to the one from her dreams. All she got was a stern talk from her father about “going too fast,” a bunch of sullen boys with her handprint on their cheeks, and a reputation for being “easy until you try and pass first.” She was no longer unpopular—on the contrary, her friends both male and female were impressed by this trick, of which she never explained herself, and liked her again. Slowly, they forgot that she couldn’t remember sixth or seventh grade, that she had been…different, somehow, and that her name had changed…and she forgot, too.
And then high school came along.
For Megan, it was just another batch of boys to seduce and then throw away…but this time, it was a little different. There was four years to go, and it wouldn’t take long to go through them…what would she do if she couldn’t find HIM? What would she do? It was with increasing panic—hidden, of course—that she went through her freshman year, and by the time summer came, she was out of boys. With the faint hope that new ones would come next year, she spent a miserable summer alone.
Sophomore year didn’t offer too much hope…there were only two new boys, and by the time the first week was over, she’d already nixed one. The other was very handsome, strong too…he looked vaguely familiar, and for the first time in ages, she felt a thrill of hope. Maybe he was the one…?
She started casual, introducing herself to him in her math class, finding that his name was Shae. It was an unfamiliar name, certainly, but she decided at once that she liked him…maybe if he wasn’t HIM, she would stay with him anyway…he treated her nicely and with respect, and talked to her like an equal. It was a nice change, and she wouldn’t have ruined it for anything…but she had to see if he was HIM.
She took it slowly—first they became shaky acquaintances, then eventually good friends. She found that they had a lot in common, and liked to talk to him, but she tried not to get too much into the artsy drawing conversations with him…guys didn’t find that attractive, she knew. She turned up the flirting after a while, surreptitiously at first, then increasingly more obvious as it still showed no effect. She didn’t know what to do if that didn’t work…just one kiss, what could it hurt him?
An unfamiliar feeling came over her after a couple of months every time she looked at Shae, which was beyond bad, beyond awful…she couldn’t get connected with him, because if he wasn’t HIM, she’d have to throw it all away…but she couldn’t help it. Shae became her best friend, her only real friend, though more than once he had to shove her away, because she had gotten “too close.” He didn’t seem to like her continuous attempts to get him to kiss her, though it was absolutely necessary—still, he didn’t say too much about it. He never asked her to back off, or why. She liked it that way, because, truthfully…she had no idea why.
Much to her disappointment, nothing changed between her and Shae…he was still kind and courteous to her, a best friend, but no more…and she was still definitely NOT his girlfriend, or anything of the sort. Eventually, she grew tired of waiting for him to catch on, and took the initiative herself.
“Hey, Shae,” she said, one day at his house as they sat on the porch sipping lemonade. “So, maybe, this Friday…you want to see a movie with me?”
“No, thank you,” he said, almost at once.
“Why not?”
“I’ve got other things to take care of…thanks for asking, though.”
“Well then, how about we go some other time? Or, you know…just go get some ice cream after school…”
“No thanks,” he said simply.
“Well—”
“Just drop it, Megan,” he interrupted, his voice almost gentle, stopping her before she went too far.
She gave forth a frustrated sigh, deigning to do something she never had before— “Look, Shae, I really like you…can’t we just…”
“No.” He held out an arm to stop her from scooting closer, which she had been attempting to do. There was no doubt; his voice was as cold as ice. “I’ve heard about you, Megan,” he told her. “I’m not that kind of guy.”
She stared at him, lost for words…he’d HEARD about her? What was THAT supposed to mean? All she’d been doing was looking for HIM…she wished she could remember HIM…or did he never exist at all?
That thought, and the thought of wasting three years on this stupid game all for nothing, was too much for her, and without a word to Shae she stood up, drink abandoned, and ran away. He called after her but she didn’t listen…instead she took off to her house, locked herself into her room and, tears smudging the makeup on her face, took out the purple binder and looked at the pictures. These were special, though she didn’t know why or how…there was that face again…it looked so familiar…if only the pictures were in color, then she could single out the boys she knew and maybe this time it would work…but in her dreams there was no color to the boy’s hair, eyes, or skin…everything was just blurrily green and brown…she could feel her lips tingling again…David…the boy who drew the picture…or the boy that WAS the picture…where was he now?
If only she could remember…
Finally, she stopped crying, and after some thought she decided that she would go see Shae again, tell him she was sorry, and maybe he could make her feel better…she brought the purple binder along, for moral support, and slipped on a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans and pulled her hair back before she walked down the quiet street by herself. She knocked on Shae’s door, but this time his mother opened it, and said that Shae was outside, in the back, before noticing the tear streaks on her face…Megan nodded and slid off through the side gate instead of answering the standard “are you okay?” sorts of questions.
The light on Shae’s back porch was on, and as she drew closer, she saw that he was sitting on the porch swing, and it looked like he was drawing something…only it was an odd surface, like a tile, and occasionally he dipped the end of an old rag in a small bowl of water and wiped a charcoal line away. But when he saw her coming, he set the tile and charcoal aside and stood up, coming to greet her with a concerned look on his face.
“Hey, Megan…are you okay?”
She nodded, wiping at her face, though she knew it would do no good, and replied, “I’m fine,” her voice pretty much back to normal.
“Here,” he told her as he led her over to the swing, dipping the end of the cloth into the water and handing it to her. She nodded her thanks and wiped her face with it, hoping fervently that all the makeup was gone—she was tired of wearing it, and she was tired of being someone she wasn’t. She didn’t want to make him kiss her anymore…she wanted to…to draw…to get some charcoal and a tile and draw like that…it looked like fun…
“You look good without makeup,” Shae told her unexpectedly. “Why d’you wear it?”
“I don’t know,” she sighed, sitting beside him on the swing, though she kept her distance. “Shae, I’m really sorry about all this…you’re my best friend, and I shouldn’t’ve treated you like that…I’m sorry…”
He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, smiling at her. “I was gonna say the same thing…I didn’t mean to be so awful, Megan, really…school’s just been getting a little annoying, you know?”
She nodded understandingly. “I just…” For some reason, she felt like pouring out her heart, and did. “I just wanted to find…someone…I can’t remember who he was, but I miss him a lot…I just wish I could remember what he looks like…”
“I know the feeling,” he told her. She looked up—she hadn’t been expecting that. “C’mon,” he added, standing up and offering a hand to her. “I want to show you something.”
She agreed and took the hand, letting him lead her where he would…but then she froze, realizing that he was heading straight for a huge oak tree. “There was this girl, once,” he had been telling her as he led her along, “and we loved to climb this big tree, and…Megan?”
He was watching her curiously, wondering why she’d stopped. “I fell out of a tree,” she explained, her eyes set high up in the sprawling oak. “When I was thirteen…and I broke my arm and hit my head, and I don’t know why, but all I can remember is…”
She stopped; why had she been about to say DAVID? Who WAS David?
Shae was staring at her, a sort of sad look crossing his face. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. “I didn’t know…you don’t have to—”
“No,” she interrupted. “I want to. C’mon, let’s go.”
She started the ascent up into the tree, and he followed close behind, giving her a boost whenever she got stuck…he told her that he’d climbed this tree a million times this year, since they moved here, and how this girl, who was an AMAZING drawer, used to love drawing oaks…SHE’d sit there for hours drawing every leaf…SHE also drew angels, and—
“Angels?” Megan interrupted, to clarify. Her heart started pounding…her binder, which she’d brought with her, was full of angels, including that weird one with the track shoes.
“Yeah, angels…the wings were great, and SHE was only…twelve or so? Yeah, but SHE was really good…SHE said she’d come to this high school, but I haven’t found HER…”
He stopped climbing, panting a few branches above her head, but she caught up with ease…they were very high, and suddenly Megan felt a little queasy…they’d been about this high when she’d fallen…wait a minute…THEY?
“…and SHE drew me a picture before I moved, I still have it…I keep it up here, because the tree SHE drew me in was a lot like this one…here…”
He took a plain red folder from a hole in the tree, the only one, and opened it, taking out an old piece of plain paper. There was a drawing on it, of a boy sitting in a tree and reading, with big, feathery wings…and it was signed, “David”.
“Was her last name David or something?” Megan inquired.
“Oh, no…that confused me too, SHE never signed her pictures, SHE’D just put the title…I’m David, it’s my middle name, I used to be called by it in middle school because I thought Shae was too girly, but I don’t anymore…Megan?”
For Megan was staring at the drawing without even blinking, and then, so suddenly that Shae had to catch her before she fell, she jerked open her binder and opened it to the first page.
“Does this look familiar to you?” she asked him, showing it to him. He frowned slightly, his head falling sideways a little bit.
“Yeah, SHE was drawing that, back in sixth grade, only it didn’t have jeans then…I helped HER with the mouth…where…is this…?”
He reached over and turned the pages, one by one, an odd look on his face. “This is Meg’s,” he said, and Megan raised her eyebrows. “I remember some of these…”
And then he looked up at Megan’s surprised expression and smiled. “And you thought you could hide forever, Meg…why didn’t you tell me earlier? I’ve been looking all over for you!”
This strange statement caught her by surprise. It took her a moment to stammer. “S-Sorry, but…we haven’t met before…have we?”
Shae frowned. “C’mon, Meg…it’s me, David…don’t you remember?”
She slowly shook her head. His frown deepened, and he looked almost angry.
“That’s not funny, Meg, c’mon…I SAID I’d go here with you, back at the end of seventh grade, and I am, I don’t know why YOU didn’t say anything but I was looking everywhere for you…”
Uh-oh…how to explain this? “Um…s-sorry, but…I don’t remember…”
His face fell, and he turned away. “Oh,” was all he said.
“Wait…did you say the end of seventh grade?” she asked him hesitantly.
“Yeah…you remember now?”
“No, I can’t…see, I, um…I fell…”
“Out of a tree. Yeah, you told me.”
“But I hit my head…I can’t remember seventh grade…or sixth, or some of fifth…”
He said nothing, but slowly, he turned to face her. “You can’t?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no…” he said softly. “I had no idea…I’m sorry, Meg…”
“My name’s Megan,” she interrupted him. “I don’t know why everyone keeps calling me Meg, my real name is Megan, that’s what I’d like to be called…”
“You said Meg looked better at the bottom of a painting,” he told her. “Ages back. It was in sixth grade. And, there were too many Megans in your class. Can you really not remember?”
“No…but wait…if YOU can…there wasn’t anyone named Shae in my class…”
“I told you, David’s my middle name, I went by that…that’s what you called me…it’s my dad’s name though, and he…he died…so I didn’t want his name…Meg…did you really…you really can’t remember?”
“No, nothing…”
“So…so is that why you’re…different?”
“Different?” She frowned. “How?”
“Well, everyone I talked to said you’ve kissed every boy in class, and you dress different…I don’t remember you being like that…”
“Oh…” She blushed. “I, um…all I can remember is…is somebody kissing me…a boy…so that was the only way…I could find him…”
David smiled. “I missed you, Meg,” he told her. Meg smiled too, and felt a warm, happy feeling she had never known before, except in dreams, as she leaned towards him…
“David…” she said slowly. “I’ve been looking for you…”
“So’ve I,” he told her, his arm encircling her waist. He pulled her close and whispered, “I still love you,” as he kissed her, and it was, by far, the most amazing kiss she had ever experienced.
THE END.
(“You’re a good kisser,” she told him.
“So’re you,” he agreed, smirking. “You been practicing?”)
