May 14, 2013

• Stolen Kisses

  

  Stolen Kisses (a rewrite from May ’06)

   

  “A long time ago,” Grandpa Mac started, mostly as an effective way to convince me to go to sleep on time, but I nestled into the crook of his arm in the old easy chair, and my fingers rubbed the velveteen fabric ribs in time to his chant. I breathed in the smoke of his Winstons and neither of us dreamed that someday the whiff of a Winston would make me fall in love with a boy as much trouble as my Grandpa Mac. Grandpa Mac’d be long gone by then, and I wouldn’t recognize the smell, but between the hazel eyes that danced like Mac’s and the secondhand smoke hanging on his clothes and breath, I’d be a gonner.  ”When your great-grandmother, my mother, was a little older than you, she hid Jesse James in the root cellar.”

  Jesse James was her hero, the dark haired young gunman made a young girl blush when she thought of him. She stole his “Wanted” poster and hid it in her sewing basket. She daydreamed of hearing his voice while she hoed the corn in the hot Kansas afternoon sun. While riding the horse bareback to the neighbors, she pretended to be him escaping from the Sherriff. In spite of being beaten for abusing the horse and acting unladylike, she shoved her knees into the mare’s side and egged her down the dirt path as fast as the old mare could run the next time.

  Good Church goin’ girls don’t kiss outlaws, not when my Great-grandmother was young, and not when I was her age two generations later. It wasn’t done. Not that outlaws ask permission, but steal them as if stealing things their rights and first kiss were just one more possession to liberate from its rightful owner.

  I noticed him instantly, in his freshly polished black cowboy boots and tight jeans with a silver buckle with a bucking stallion on it. His  loud entourage  catered to his every need as if he was a prince. It wasn’t hard to figure out that he was trouble. It was bonded to him tighter than the cheap trash sucking on his neck in public and when he smiled at the girl clinging to him, I fell off my high heels. I sat on the floor, my legs splayed in two different directions, tears forming in my eyes from the pain shooting up my leg.

  Jesse was a mirage in the swirling late afternoon dust; my granny leaned against her hoe and wondered who was making such a disturbance. His jet black horse panting and sweating,  the rider frantically looked for a place to rest and regroup before it was too late. She ran to greet him, bowing slightly, and grabbed his leads. He took off his hat and tumbled off the horse, nearly landing on top of from exhaustion. She caught him as he fell and held him steady until he got his boots back underneath him.

  “Thank ye, Ma’am,” he said politely, more boy than man. His wet hair clung to his head. She wanted to push it out of his hazel eyes, but restrained herself. “Could I trouble you for some water for my horse? I been riding him hard lately.” 

  Speechless, she nodded and fetched cold spring water for the rider and the horse. He leaned against the tie-up fence and drank so fast she thought he’d get a headache. She reached for the cup to slow him down but it was empty. He grinned over the cup and nodded his appreciation. 

  It  was embarrassing sitting on the corner of the dance floor, and people walked right by me as if I didn’t exist. My friends had disappeared and I was alone in a room of strangers. I stood up, trying not to bear any weight on the ankle, and hopped toward a chair.  I propped my leg up on a chair and began untying the pink ribbon on the shoe that crisscrossed my ankle and went up my leg like a Roman Soldier who’d have been brave enough to wear pink. My fingers shook from the pain. I leaned back and closed my eyes, on the verge of passing out. I smelled his presence before I felt his ice-cold fingers on my ankle.

  “That should help,” he said, untangling the ribbon and removing my shoe from my foot. “You need to get some ice on that right away.”

  I opened my eyes. He was kneeling beside my chair, my shoe in one hand and my foot in the other. He started working on the other shoe’s ribbon until I was barefoot. He nodded to one of his guys and they were beside us instantly. “Get me some ice, Teddy.” Teddy faded away and I watched as he pulled the pink ribbon free from the straps keeping it captive. He wound it around his wrist and tucked the ends neatly, then he grinned mischievously. When he grinned, I felt fine, all the pain disappeared. The cold ice on my ankle jerked me back to reality. He laughed at my response, and unbidden tears formed in my eyes.

  “You can stay in the root cellar for a while,” my young grandmother offered. She got him settled in, walked his horse until he’d cooled off and left him tied to an old lean-to in the woods nearby. She fixed him a plate of cold fried chicken and watched him eat. He gnawed on the bones until they were clean and he washed up in the basin of water she provided. She watched the water droplets run down his neck, jealous of their familiarity with his lean body.

  “Hurt?” my own outlaw asked, concerned. I breathed deep, the smell of Winstons filling my lungs, and nodded

  “You should wear more reasonable shoes,” he scolded familiarly, as if he had the right to scold me. I bit my lip and wiped away the tears with the back of my hands. ”You alone?”

   I nodded no. He scanned the room briefly. “It might be broken. You should get x-rays.” Tears crept out of my eyes.

  “I hate to ask ye, miss, but I could use some clean clothes. You got any I can borrow?” She nodded shyly and darted up the wooden stairs to snatch a set of her brother’s off the line. When she returned, she offered them to him, neatly folded, like a Christmas present.

  “Gimme yours and I’ll wash ‘em,” she offered.

  “Turn around,” he commanded, taking the packet from her outstretched hands.  She obeyed, but wished she dared peek.

  “Ok, miss,” he said. Her brother’s clothing hung off his body, and she giggled at the sight. He handed her his filthy clothes and she stepped forward to take them from him. He dropped them on the ground between them, grabbed her wrists, pulled her closer to him. His head bent over hers and she felt his rough windburned lips against hers. She gasped and pulled away. He knelt down and picked up his clothes again. She blushed and looked away. “Just wanted to say thank you is all.” 

  She mumbled something, grabbed the clothing, and darted up the stairs.

  Across the room, the slut glared, her fists tight, and I knew that there was punishment waiting if I wasn’t careful. “Your friend’s waiting,” I said, motioning toward the girl he came with.

  He didn’t look over at her. When his lips brushed against mine, I opened my eyes wide, and pushed him away gently. “Marry me,” he said. I shoved him farther away and swung my foot off the chair. I stood up and as soon as my foot hit the floor, the room started swimming. I tottered and he grabbed my arm to balance me.  I held my hand out and he looked puzzled. “My ribbon?” I said forcefully.

  His hazel eyes laughing, he shoved his hand in his pocket. “Now, that will cost you something.” 

  The next morning, his horse rested, his body replenished, the outlaw mounted his horse. My granny handed him a packet of food and water. He leaned over and smiled, his hazel eyes dancing with pleasure. “There’s only way to say thank you Miss,” he said as he kissed her once more. She watched him reel the horse around and head down the dirt path. She prayed a small prayer of safety over him as the plumes of dust followed his back.

  • 8:41 am
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