**Originally Written for the Chat Book, Truth**
An Accidental Kiss (Part 2 of 5) - Short Story
On September 10th, 2010 I was driving to my high school’s home cross-country meet. Maybe I didn’t have to talk to her. There are usually a few hundred people at a cross-country meet; no one had to know why I was there. In fall of 2006 I was captain of the MHS X-C and Track teams and the OCIAA’s scholar and sportsman of the year. Why wouldn’t someone like me return to support the team? In fact, it was even the truth.
It was as if I was here only yesterday. The park’s grass was overgrown except for the race path mowed down by the maintenance crew. Near the front side of the lake, the tunnel of grass transformed into a dirt path. Sometimes while you are running, you’ll step on a rock sticking out of the dirt as if the ground was six months pregnant. The race wasn’t all on grass, dirt, and cinder. The race starts on a road that runs around the outside edge of the park. It follows the road until a narrow trail appears to the right. You want to be leading by this point or you’ll find yourself fighting flailing elbows, tripping feet, and jagged tree branches. The trail can squeeze a pack of runners
like a toothpaste tube. That outlet of the trail comes out to the grassy field, which follows back to the lake. Spectators line the race path, creating an effect that you are running faster than you really are. It’s a feeling of serene adrenaline that runs through your veins as you fight head to head with the runner at your right shoulder.
From the parking lot I saw a group of girls on the far side of the lake wearing Middie Blue colors. Kim must be in that wave somewhere. I looked towards the field of blue expecting to see her long silky burnt red hair leading her team. All I could see was blue, and flashes of bright orange, green, and hot pink reflecting off shoes left and right. Near the finish line I saw Coach Beam situated in the middle of the guys team giving a pep talk. Aaron was stretching near the edge of the circle. He had incredible natural running talent. At first glance his physique gave an aura of strength, and efficiency: An American Kenyan runner. Mixed emotions fluttered through me like butterflies. He’s the one who exposed me. Though he was a runner of mine and I had watched him grow into a fine young man.
The girls had finally returned and began stripping their warm-ups. Guys joked about if you couldn’t afford playboy, the start of a girl cross-country race was the next best thing. Then there was a migration of spectators from the parking lots to the fields and starting line.
BANG! The gunshot shouted, sending an eerie chill to my feet. I wanted to “go.” I longed to start with them regardless of the fact they were girls; the aspect of racing with my high school team excited me. I watched a rainbow pass by me: Purple and Gold, Green and White, Middie Blue, Red, Black, Orange and Yellow. The colors mixed together slowly. The pace stretched out the individual teams and they all blended together into a tie-dye state. You could close your
eyes and imagine the pounding of their shoes as large raindrops pelting the road. To me, it was such a welcoming sound. My eyes were fixed on the lead runners. As the mob stretched further openings appeared between the once shoulder-to-shoulder group. Kim squeezed out from being boxed and escaped to the edge of the pack. She had been trapped, but now she surged toward the front. Kim reached the lead pack and settled in around 5th or 6th place. Her gait was wide and fluent. Her calf exploded from the ground, propelling her forward, not up. Her knee bent and her heel met her butt before she swung her leg in front of her. Her knee came up, foot perpendicular with the hard ground; ready to hit the ground again.
Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Story. Show all posts
Friday, July 16, 2010
Friday, July 2, 2010
An Accidental Kiss (Part 1 of 5)
**Originally Written for the Chat Book, Truth**
An Accidental Kiss (Part 1 of 5) - Short Story
“Come on, Kim, help me with the dishes.” Mrs. Fogaard said this through clenched teeth. She carried a boatload of dishes with the breadbasket in her mouth. I must admit it was pretty amusing. Kim stopped playing with her dog, Brandy, a Newfoundland and a Siberian husky cross. Brandy complimented the Fogaard’s personality: Gentle but strong.
I stood up from the table and shook Brandy’s head. I grabbed what was left and headed into the kitchen. Not a scrap of food was left. As an athletic family the Fogaards had a healthy appetite. They finished what they had and what was left over. The kitchen counters were full of dishes, so I leaned against the wall for a few seconds and waited for space to open up. No sooner did I placed the dishes down, did I get a face full of bubbles. I gasped, wiped the essence of soap from my eyes and counter attacked with what I had been given. The bubbles flew across the kitchen onto Kim’s head. She turned around just in time to get a second attack to the face, fully into her mouth. Kim spit out the bitter bubbles and came after me. I turned to run. Socks don’t work too well on hard wood floors, I slipped, landed on my stomach and felt Kim jump on my back wanting revenge for my well executed throw.
“If you guys break anything, I’m gonna beat you both,” Mrs. Fogaard said. As much as she was kidding she probably would whack up on top the head if we broke a dish, or worse, a bone.
Kim tickled my sides and feet as I laid helplessly face first on the floor. My arms were tucked under her knees and I had no chance of escape. As I wiggled, I must have looked like a caterpillar in distress. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t breathe. Tickling to me was the worst form of pain.
“Ok, OK, You win!” I yelled laughing and gasping for air between words. I always thought if they used tickling as a form of torture, it could be a very effective technique in the military.
Kim got up and scuttled into the living room. Her show was on: Smallville, Friday July 13th, 2007 : Channel 62, 6:00 PM. She sat down on the curve of the couch. The Fogaard’s couch was about 12 feet long that bent in its middle, encasing the living room into a square. Andy, Kim’s older brother sat on the far side, his head submerged into “The age of Great Dreams: America in the 1960’s” by David Farber. Kim flipped to Channel 62 and was met with a L’Oreal shampoo commercial. I walked toward the TV but made a left detour into the hallway bathroom.
After Kim attacked me, my bladder became angry and needed a quick release. I washed my hands and found Kim, not watching her show but in the back foyer on the phone. Kim was sitting on the corner of the couch huddled beneath a blanket. She had tears swelling, while some rolled down the tips of her eyelashes. “That was Aaron. Tell me the truth. You? Nicolette?” Kim’s face became flushed with blood. I could see the pressures building. She didn’t want to believe it. Neither did I. I couldn’t explain why I cheated on Kim. Was it because I was weak against the temptations? Or not want to disappoint her best friend’s lust? I felt an unfamiliar pressure that pulled my arms from their sides and made my vision cloudy. I couldn’t look Kim in the eyes. Things escalated too quickly and I wanted everything to stop, to give me a timeout. “You just destroyed something that could have really lasted… Just get out. Please Leave.”
“Kim, really, I want to talk to you about it.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Kim, I Love You.”
“Leave, Please, Just Leave me alone!”
“Kim…”
“GO AWAY!”
I walked out into the Kitchen where Mrs. Fogaard was cleaning the rest of the dishes. “David told us what happened between you and Nicolette. Mr. Fogaard and I just wanted to tell you how disappointed we are.”
I heard a clunk. My heart dropped. I’d rather she yell at me for being a sneaky two-timing whore. Her words hit me with a freight train packed with Guilt and Shame. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fogaard. I don’t know what to say.” Time mixed with water and oil and seemed to swirl around me.
“You don’t need to tell me that you’re sorry. Tell Kim. We’re just disappointed.”
* * *
An Accidental Kiss (Part 1 of 5) - Short Story
“Come on, Kim, help me with the dishes.” Mrs. Fogaard said this through clenched teeth. She carried a boatload of dishes with the breadbasket in her mouth. I must admit it was pretty amusing. Kim stopped playing with her dog, Brandy, a Newfoundland and a Siberian husky cross. Brandy complimented the Fogaard’s personality: Gentle but strong.
I stood up from the table and shook Brandy’s head. I grabbed what was left and headed into the kitchen. Not a scrap of food was left. As an athletic family the Fogaards had a healthy appetite. They finished what they had and what was left over. The kitchen counters were full of dishes, so I leaned against the wall for a few seconds and waited for space to open up. No sooner did I placed the dishes down, did I get a face full of bubbles. I gasped, wiped the essence of soap from my eyes and counter attacked with what I had been given. The bubbles flew across the kitchen onto Kim’s head. She turned around just in time to get a second attack to the face, fully into her mouth. Kim spit out the bitter bubbles and came after me. I turned to run. Socks don’t work too well on hard wood floors, I slipped, landed on my stomach and felt Kim jump on my back wanting revenge for my well executed throw.
“If you guys break anything, I’m gonna beat you both,” Mrs. Fogaard said. As much as she was kidding she probably would whack up on top the head if we broke a dish, or worse, a bone.
Kim tickled my sides and feet as I laid helplessly face first on the floor. My arms were tucked under her knees and I had no chance of escape. As I wiggled, I must have looked like a caterpillar in distress. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t breathe. Tickling to me was the worst form of pain.
“Ok, OK, You win!” I yelled laughing and gasping for air between words. I always thought if they used tickling as a form of torture, it could be a very effective technique in the military.
Kim got up and scuttled into the living room. Her show was on: Smallville, Friday July 13th, 2007 : Channel 62, 6:00 PM. She sat down on the curve of the couch. The Fogaard’s couch was about 12 feet long that bent in its middle, encasing the living room into a square. Andy, Kim’s older brother sat on the far side, his head submerged into “The age of Great Dreams: America in the 1960’s” by David Farber. Kim flipped to Channel 62 and was met with a L’Oreal shampoo commercial. I walked toward the TV but made a left detour into the hallway bathroom.
After Kim attacked me, my bladder became angry and needed a quick release. I washed my hands and found Kim, not watching her show but in the back foyer on the phone. Kim was sitting on the corner of the couch huddled beneath a blanket. She had tears swelling, while some rolled down the tips of her eyelashes. “That was Aaron. Tell me the truth. You? Nicolette?” Kim’s face became flushed with blood. I could see the pressures building. She didn’t want to believe it. Neither did I. I couldn’t explain why I cheated on Kim. Was it because I was weak against the temptations? Or not want to disappoint her best friend’s lust? I felt an unfamiliar pressure that pulled my arms from their sides and made my vision cloudy. I couldn’t look Kim in the eyes. Things escalated too quickly and I wanted everything to stop, to give me a timeout. “You just destroyed something that could have really lasted… Just get out. Please Leave.”
“Kim, really, I want to talk to you about it.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Kim, I Love You.”
“Leave, Please, Just Leave me alone!”
“Kim…”
“GO AWAY!”
I walked out into the Kitchen where Mrs. Fogaard was cleaning the rest of the dishes. “David told us what happened between you and Nicolette. Mr. Fogaard and I just wanted to tell you how disappointed we are.”
I heard a clunk. My heart dropped. I’d rather she yell at me for being a sneaky two-timing whore. Her words hit me with a freight train packed with Guilt and Shame. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fogaard. I don’t know what to say.” Time mixed with water and oil and seemed to swirl around me.
“You don’t need to tell me that you’re sorry. Tell Kim. We’re just disappointed.”
* * *
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