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FIRST KISS
So what do I know about anything anyway; I'm a horny sixteen-year-old virgin for Christsakes.
I don't have parents, I live in a goddamned car. So what do I care what happens to me next?
I do what I want and leave crumbs for other people to pick over like it's chicken bones they're
fighting over. Shrinks, doctors, teachers: What's the difference? They all want something
and they don't give nothing back. I'm just another Petri dish to them: something they make
penicillin in.
They wrote a book about me once that they say made a lot of money, but my check must have
gotten lost in the mail. But it doesn't really matter; I've got what I need. I could
live in a box and still think I'm living in Bucking-fucking-ham Palace. As long as
it's air conditioned. In fact, that's why I came here to this church this morning,
because it's fucking hot outside and I need a place to sleep until the sun goes down.
The church is half empty and I'm half asleep in the last row when this half-dressed,
head spinning stunner walks in and sits down next to me. She can't be a day over my age.
When she sticks her bare knee up against my sweaty leg and reaches for the hymnal, her
hand brushes against the rising bulge in my pants. I can feel my heart rattling around
inside my rib cage and my skin's so hot I figure I should probably check with somebody
to see if I've got a fever. Suddenly she tilts my head back and plants a hard wet kiss
on my mouth like she's offering me Holy Communion. She's got her tongue half way down
my throat, but her spit tastes like wine so why would I mind? I just give into it and
let it drip down my chin. Then she gives me a little cheerleader wink and says," Think
of that as the blood of Christ and consider yourself saved."
"Thanks, I tell her," like I know what she's talking about. "So, you come here often?"
OK, so I know how lame that sounds, but there's a party going on in my pants and I can't think straight.
"Uh, no," she says, "I've never actually been in a church before, but it was
just so hot outside I thought maybe I'd stop in and cool off. "
I feel compelled to tell her that the A/C's broken, but judging by the drop of
sweat on her upper lip, and the way her skirt's sticking to her bare thighs,
I figure she already knows that.
"So," she says, "you wanta go somewhere and get an root beer float?"
"Not in this condition," I tell her. "Give me a minute."
She takes a peek at the bulge in my crotch and grins; "Looks like you might be awhile,"
and then she checks her watch like she's got a train to catch. " I should be going; my
boyfriend thinks I'm stuffing my bra, peroxiding my hair, and having my nails done,
and believe me, I don't need the aggravation. See you next week?
"Count on it."
I don't know what's happening, but if this is what it feels like to get saved,
I'm all for it. On the way out the door, I make myself a note: "Go to church
next Sunday. And don't be late."
Steven Marshall Newton studied with C. D. B. Bryant at the University of Iowa and Philip Roth
at the University of Iowa Creative Writers Workshop. He studied graduate and undergraduate creative writing and
poetry at the University of New Mexico. He is a professional songwriter, poet, and part-time photographer.
His short story, "Nothing But A Kiss", won First Place in the
Santa Fe REPORTER Annual Short Story Contest,
"Somewhere in LA", received honorable mention in the
ALIBI Magazine Short Story Contest, "Dominique's Mother" was a finalist in
England's Gator Springs Gazette Annual Short Story Contest,
and Dust Devil won First Place in Ascent Aspirations Magazine flash fiction contest.
He has published these and other short stories in Amarillo Bay Literary Magazine, Juked, Evergreen Review,
Hot Metal Press,
Gator Springs Gazette, Ascent Aspirations, and BLINK.
He has completed three mainstream contemporary novels, Southeast of Eden,
The Ghosts of Babylon, Evangelo, and Shrinking Violet.
Vurrently he is nearing completion on an historical fiction novel, Billy's Kid.
Web Site
Email: Steven Marshall Newton
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