Submitted this piece into a writing contest/local highschool publication. I don’t know if it’s been accepted, but the whole thing is true…(except the EXACT dialogue)
The Kiss
Michael Palmtag
If you have never been to North Carolina there are a few things you should know. First, North Carolina is significantly more humid than most of the United States. Secondly, North Carolina is very green- trees everywhere. Thirdly, there are very few big cities as we are used to here on the West Coast. Rather, the large cities in North Carolina are a suburban sprawl with the gaps separating small shopping centers and nice hotels stuffed full of thick greenery. It was in North Carolina’s capital Raleigh, a particularly large suburban city, where my story begins.
Our cross country team had after many hours of careless preparation, finally flown out to the largest cross country meet on the
East Coast, hosted in Carry, N.C., a town right outside of Raleigh. It was more of a continuation of Raleigh’s suburban sprawl then a separate town. We had arrived a day early to this meet, so we could have time to prepare and adjust to Raleigh’s immeasurable humidity. That evening before the actual race, there was to be a pasta dinner. And as the shuttle carrying Jose, Nathan, Keli, Ivan, Jeremy, Coach Ibarra, myself, and a number of other runners from our hotel squealed to a shuddering halt in the parking lot of a multi-story Marriot hotel, I had yet to realize what North Carolina had in store for me. The line to get into the picnic area was very long; so when I finally gave my meal ticket to the girl who was collecting them, it had gone from late afternoon to twilight.
“You need to fill it out,” said the girl as I had began to amble down the ramp towards the feed with the rest of the herd.
“What?” I stuttered.
“The ticket, you need to fill it out for the raffle,” I spun on one heel, whipping the other leg around in a pretty good imitation of Charlie Chaplain, and walked back to the table. I smiled at her stupidly; the girl had straight shoulder length light brown hair, intense green-blue eyes, thin eyebrows, and a slender frame over which was draped an oversized white “Great American Cross Country Festival” T-shirt. She was very pretty by most standards but not beautiful in any strict sense. I continued to gaze at her forgetting about the raffle ticket until she pointedly slid it across the table.
I sputtered the first thing that came to mind, “So long night, eh?”
“Yah,” she said, “The Great American hasn’t been this big in years.”
“I take it that you’ve been volunteering, here a while, then?” I asked.
“Yah, since I was a freshman, Senior now. Where are you from?”
“California, my name’s Mike,” I said offering her my hand. She took it.
“Courtney,” she said. We continued to talk until the last of the line had gone by. While chatting, I tried to flirt with her, and she pumped me for information for her school’s newspaper. I say it was a fair trade.
I was about ready to leave to go get some food, when she sensed the end of the conversation and said quite plainly, “Hey, after the races tomorrow, there’s a dance, do you want to go? With me I mean.”
I thought about it for a moment. I had not a thing to wear besides my pajama-pants and some jeans. I had no idea how to dance, though I’ve heard it doesn’t matter. But my alternative was a lonely night in a small hotel room, with my homework, so I agreed.
The rest of that night and day went by in a flash. I won the raffle –a nice grey sweater, went back to the hotel, stayed up all night, woke up early, and ran well at the race that morning. Our team did great too. We got 5th beating out 4 nationally ranked cross country programs, which of course meant we had to do a lot of cheering and back-patting.
After my race, I rode back to the hotel and cleaned up a bit. I arrived late to the dance, but I was wearing my best: my running shoes, a pair of jeans, a clean black t-shirt, and of course socks. The dance itself was being held in an amphitheater downhill of the covered outdoor picnic area where the pasta dinner had been held the previous night. And it was in that picnic area where I planted myself. Looking down upon the dance floor fluorescent lights, strobes, scantily clad runner-guys and runner girls, pounding bass all of it drifted up to me. I looked around for Courtney, and the cold tendrils of nervousness and anxiety gripped my gut. Where was she? I couldn’t see Courtney anywhere. Shrugging off the anxiety, I ambled down to the dance floor. I might as well there wasn’t much else to do. As I approached the floor, my fear began to cement. I couldn’t see her in the group of bystanders who surrounded the throng of dancers. Cold tendrils wrung a few drops of sweat unto my brow.
“Hey! Mike!” I spun to see Courtney jogging lightly down the hill towards me. Again I stood a moment or two admiring her figure, which was tastefully concealed-or revealed depending upon your definition- by a pair of tight jeans, and a black blouse.
“Hey, Courtney, I’d… I’d begun to get worried 'bout you!” I stuttered in a vain attempt to sound facetious.
“Silly boy,” Courtney smiled throwing me one of those womanly looks of omniscience. Behind her was walking a group of local teens,
whom Courtney introduced to me. We talked a bit in the grass before one of the girls, who was holding the arm of a very tall and
thickly built young man, suggested that we start dancing.
I was a bit worried about the prospect of dancing, considering that I’d only faked dancing once before, but a combination of Courtney’s encouragement and my own self-inflating pride carried my feet to the dance floor. And it was great fun!
Strobes, fluorescent lights, fit runner guys with their shirts hanging open dancing with equally fit girls baring their teenage midriffs. It was quite a spectacle to observe, but trust me it was an even more amazing thing experience. The music pounded in my ears, barely intelligible, though I did recognize some songs that were popular in the west coast, some Usher, some Greenday, but some songs, though… were quite outlandish. A hip-hop version of the Hokey pokey, with the MC telling everyone to take “One step to
the left”, played over the pumping speakers more than once.
But most of my fun came not from the other dancers, or the lights, or the crazy music, but from the brown haired honey in front of me. We danced for what was simultaneously an eternity and an instant. We didn’t dance dirtily, with all the crotch grinding, or like celibates avoiding each other’s touch, we just had fun. We Danced. I never noticed that I did not know a single dance move. My body flowed to the music and Courtney’s own motion.
“Oh danmit. It’s almost 10:00.” Courtney had whipped out her cell phone.
“Do you turn into a pumpkin at ten? The dance doesn’t end for another hour and a half.” I wittily commented, but despite the
remark, I really did not want this night to end.
“No, not that, I’ve just got a strict curfew." Courtney said, as she hurriedly stuffed her cell phone into her purse.
Thoughts flew through my mind -Courtney was leaving? I would probably never see her again? Well at least I had fun… Do something
you dunce!!
“So,” I began as nonchalantly as possible, “Can I walk you to your car?” I raised an eyebrow inquiringly, but I was on the verge of shaking with anticipation. Her eyes flickered for but a moment as she struggled with her purse.
“Yes,” she said sliding the purse strap over her shoulder, “You most certainly can.” I flashed her a toothy grin, and joined her as we walked out of the throng of dancers. I slipped my arm around her waist as we cleared the dance floor. Courtney smiled up at me and stepped into my grip.
“So what do you want to do after high school?” I bantered. Apparently Courtney was the future valedictorian. We chatted aimlessly about such topics. Wandered up into the picnic area. Up the ramp. Into the parking lot, stopping right before her car.
“Well, this is my car,” Courtney said matter-of-factly pointing to the grey Honda CRV.
“It is a nice car,” I commented, but my eyes didn’t leave her. The rest happened in slow motion. Courtney looked up at me. I met her flickering green eyes. I slipped my other arm around her waist. I felt her hand on my back. I can still remember the softness of the fabric on her blouse, the pounding of my heart, the sweetness of her scent. Then, I craned my face closer to hers… closer… closer…
“SO! You Want a Kiss?” blurted Courtney as if she was pointing out a particularly white cloud. The look of utter confusion that passed my face was one that should go down in the record books. Both of my eyes crossed; my left eyebrow rose into my hairline, my right plummeted. My lips curled and cringed to the right. My nose crinkled. I had been stumped.
“Uhh yeah?” The words fell out of my mouth more by stupid reflex then wit.
Courtney then gracefully withdrew from my shell-shocked grasp, and swung her purse from her shoulder into her hands. From it, she carefully withdrew a small foil wrapped chocolate Hershey’s Kiss.
“Here you go, Mike” She said presenting the small token before my face. For a moment I hesitated, but then I reached out and plucked my foil-wrapped pride from the air, and stuffed it good humouredly into my mouth foil and all.
“Fankfs,” I replied around the Kiss in my mouth.
“Well, have fun in Cali, Mike,” Courtney said, as she climbed into her Honda and sped of into the night. I stood there contemplating my life for a moment. I had been stumped, played, bamboozled, whatever. And not just by any girl, but by a professional. But I suppose it is better that way. You know, it makes for a great story.
