Walt Darling And A Brief History of Kissing - Chapter One
The Almost First Kiss
< Introduction | The Almost First Kiss |
Sixth-grade me wore shorts in February and sang on the swings behind the school where recess ran back and forth and the teachers watched from the bench in the shade. Then, one day all the boys ran to the field past the gravel to play soccer, while all the girls huddled under the slide and played Kiss Marry Kill. No one ever swung or slid or hung or see-sawed again.
Playing goalie a week into the recess rearrangement, I dove to block a kick. I missed, but my fingers brushed the ball as it flew past. When I rose from the dirt, my knees smeared in blood and the crumbled Texas soil, everyone cheered. After that, whenever the two captains - the twins who played soccer in the select league all summer, fall, and spring - divided the boys into teams, I was picked first.
While the boys and girls separated to play during recess, we paired up from the classroom to the playground. If a girl smiled at me, I would ask her to be my girlfriend. Sometimes, a girl asked me to be her boyfriend. “Going together,” meant we held hands walking to and from recess and said, “I like you.” After my celebrated dive, I had “gone out” with three girls.
There were rumors some kids did more than hold hands. Samantha heard from Jared who heard from Kim that Mason - who was almost a year older than me - that when he had helped Becky get down from a table, he had slid her against his crotch as he lowered her to the ground.
Once, walking home from school, Mason asked if I believed in Santa Claus. I lied and said I did, because I didn’t want to ruin his Christmas. I should have asked him for advice on romance.
None of us knew it at the time, but everything we said and did was already sorting us into who we would be the next year when we arrived at Workman Junior High, and maybe even the rest of our lives. Respected or dismissed? Handsome or weird-looking? Funny or annoying? Winning or losing? Our every decision would have running repercussions.
A week before the field trip to the Dallas Museum of Art, Erica Goodluck asked me to be her boyfriend.
I said yes.
Walking to recess, our knuckles touched. Walking back to class, our fingers interlaced.
"I like you," I said.
"I like you," Erica said.
On the morning of the field trip, when everyone shuffled into the school bus, I sat beside Erica on the wide plastic seat.
Erica’s eyes stared into mine. My smile flashed. I wiggled my fingers.
A soft chorus echoed, first whispering from the seats nearest us, before the urging rose in volume all the way from the front of the bus to the emergency exit in the back.
“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”
Erica grinned and squeezed my hand. She smelled phenomenal - like hand-soap, but better - like lilies.
I pulled at the collar of my shirt.
Why do bus windows never fully open?
My classmates’ demands grew louder. “Kiss her! Kiss her!”
I swallowed. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. I kissed Erica on the cheek.
Soft snaps. Gentle stomps on the floorboard of the bus.
More whispering. “Kiss her!”
I did kiss her, I protested. You all saw!
“Kiss her on the mouth!” someone said.
Thousands of fingers gripped the sides of the seats as my classmates leaned into the aisle for a better view. Heads peeked over the top of the rows. The teachers looked forward out the large window at the front of the bus.
My friend Andy, two rows ahead, his legs dangling into the open middle, caught my eye and nodded his approval. His thumb up in support, his entire posture signaling, “I believe in you, Walt. You can do it.”
Erica, her head turned towards me, said nothing. She ran her fingers along my own. I rubbed circles into her palm with my thumb. I leaned in, closed my eyes, and pressed my puckered lips to hers.
I expected the Fourth of July. Pink and red balloons to rise and block out the grey metal roof of the bus. Every seat and lunch bag shot and covered in confetti. Streamers cascading down, entangling us all, fluttering out into the road.
Where were the clapping hands of my classmates? Where was the celebratory roar of my peers?
Was my little heart striking a beat of exaltation or of panic? Could Erica be “the one?”
I leaned back and looked around the bus at the expectant eyes. All my friends staring. Waiting for more.
Someone hissed, “Slip her the tongue!”
Bursting from the seat behind me, the Woody Woodpecker laugh, “Ha-Ha-Ha-Haaaa-Ha!”
Andy looked down at the treaded aisle running the length of the bus.
“Don’t be a pecker!” someone said and giggled.
“Peck peck peck,” another whispered.
I looked at Erica. She said nothing but her eyes, her lips, her face all conspired to declare, “It’s okay with me if it’s okay with you.”
“Peck peck peck.”
I swallowed. First kisses seemed so much easier and fun in cartoons.
The bus braked and we all lurched forward.
“All right,” the teacher said. “Exit and line up.”
Erica and I were split into separate groups. I welcomed the reprieve. While my classmates marveled at the Monets and Cézannes, I searched the open corridors for an exit. But where would I go? I was trapped. My future foretold. There would be no canoe on a private lake with singing birds and a charming Jamaican-accented crab. A live band wouldn’t be playing ‘Earth Angel’ as I danced, holding her close, my hands on her hips. I wouldn’t even have The Beach Boys singing over the radio.
This was it. I would have no other first kiss.
My group viewed oil on canvas. We paused to admire “The Icebergs” and “Lighthouse Hill.” Eventually, we walked through the Greek and Roman vessels towards the exit. Outside, the entire sixth grade class gathered on the long concrete steps in the shade of the building as we waited for the bus.
Erica sat beside me. The wind blew her hair. She pulled it back and smiled. I took a big breath and grinned. The smell of lilies was one of the only flower scents I could identify. I was glad to know that if I closed my eyes I would still know it was Erica sitting by me. She traced a smiley face on the back of my hand.
It was just me and her and the rest of the class that stood over us, circling and chanting:
“Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”
I protested, “The teachers will see.”
“We will make a human wall,” someone said.
My classmates narrowed the gaps between them. A wave of knees enclosed us. Erica looked at me, waiting. I squeezed her hand. I puckered my lips. I leaned in. I closed my eyes and stuck out my tongue. I licked the corner of her mouth and most of her cheek.
“Eww!” she said, scooting away.
I opened my eyes. A phalanx of fingers pointed. A crowd of mouths laughed.
Erica was wiping her face.
“We’re broke up,” I said, pushing up and backing out through the human wall. “I’m dumping you.”
I turned and ran until I saw Andy, standing near the open door of the bus. He waved me over. Slumping down near the emergency exit, he put his arm around my shoulders.
“It’s okay, champ,” he said. “Next time will be better.”
“I didn’t really even like Erica that much,” I said.
“You’ll be all right, champ,” Andy said. “It’s no big deal.”
If only we had known how wrong Andy was.
(End of Chapter One)
Yes, this is the first chapter to what I’m hoping is a monthly-ish serialized story. Is it romance? Is it coming-of-age? Is it humor? Is it existential love-sickness unto death? Will it grow into an epic exploration of how imagination wrecks our ability to enjoy the actual moment? Yes, yes, yes, yes, and maybe we’ll see? Comments are open so feel free to tell me to add more sound details, more taste details, more touch details, and/or more inner angst details. Not every chapter will have kissing.
The Great Substack Story Challenge 2 continues! It’s a collaborative fiction relay, featuring the work of ten different authors, each responsible for a single chapter in a complete story, each to be written in only a week. I wrote the first chapter. Simon K Jones continues the story this week at
Hey Wil, I liked this one and it was paced well. Few small thoughts I had:
1) Does Andy need to be named? The punch at the end was a little lost on me because I'd already forgotten who he was. Maybe just go with "best friend"?
2) I think there's more opportunity to probe on "This was it. I would have no other first kiss." You do an awesome job with describing all the things that didn't happen, and how crazy expectations would obviously never be met, but perhaps to Meg's points you could just come out and have the narrator say "I was disappointed" or "I blew it" or whatever you think Walt's feeling. Of note: I remember being disappointed in my first ever real "French kiss" because it happened so abruptly with someone I didn't even really know or like. Kind of a bummer even 30 years later.
3) The end feels a little rushed. Not sure exactly what it needs, but maybe another beat or two would capture the emotion.
All in all, I dug it. These are just some gut reaction thoughts.
Me again.😊Here's my sidebar comment, reconstituted for your reader community:
I went back and read your Intro chapter after I had an epiphany about what was missing for me from today's installment - the fabulous voice you gave us in your introduction!!!! Where's that guy?? Grown up, wiser, wittier, finally loved by someone Walt!!! He's telling the whole story, right? Am I right?
Because you could keep some of the distance from "feelings" in chapter one if your plan is to attack this Wonder Years style, where we get to watch the coming-of-age action but are guided by the emotional tone of the voiceover. And if that's the case, you just need more voiceover. A play-by-play from the guy who played the game. Yes? NO? Maybe?