A little fiction?

I should’ve known that my commute home was going too fast—I got to the exit for the connector in what seemed like record time, only to find a parking lot spilling back out onto the interstate. Rather than force my way in among the other lemmings, I went past to the next exit, which although meant it would take more time for me to get home, would also take me past the house in which we lived during my high school and college years.

It’s more than a quarter century later, and yet I still expect to see a familiar face or two as I turn down my old street. But there’s no one I know here any more; most of the houses look different, and all the landscaping is completely changed—the place looks more overgrown, maybe because all those young maples that we used to play around have grown larger and become mature specimens. Maybe the maples would think the same thing about me, you know, if they recognized me …

The only thing that seems right is the gentle curve of the street as I approach old number 14. I’ve driven past more than once over the years, and have noticed the changes—the stockade fence, the colors (it was a dreadful 1970s sort of Chinese restaurant gold with red trim for about a decade), the loss of the above-ground pool and most of those hedges that my dad used as an excuse to spend a Saturday with an electric trimmer and a six pack of Michelob (or two) …

The back porch is still standing, with new screens that reflect the late afternoon sun. That porch … a lot of good times on that porch. Barbecues, family reunions, birthday parties, post-softball get togethers, just hanging with friends knocking down beers …

Her.

I slow the car down and put the windows down, all the way. A warm summer breeze rolls in and my mind drifts back to another warm summer night …

“Did she see you leave?” I whisper as she slides the door shut and she steps onto the porch. It’s dark, but my eyes have gotten used to it, and in the moonlight, I can see she’s wearing an oversized sleeping t-shirt and not much else.

“No,” she whispers, rubbing her bare arms. “Pretty sure she’s out cold.”

“Come here,” I whisper, nervously sliding over on the old couch.

She crosses over the porch and sits next to me. Close. I turn to her and our knees touch, and although we’ve touched each other over the years—playing football in the yard, goofing around in the pool, hanging out in the basement—this time, it’s different. Way different. She’s not a scrawny, goofy, brace-face kid any more, and neither am I. We’re both old enough to realize that there’s now more between us.

Electric needles.

“I shouldn’t be out here,” she says.

“I know,” I say, sorta shrugging. “But you are.”

“If your sister ever found out, she’d probably kill me.”

“Probably. Or she might be okay with it. You know, her best friend and her brother. Yay?”

She tips her head down slightly and raises one eyebrow.

“Yeah, she’d probably kill you,” I agree.

“Still, I’m here.”

I feel like I’m in a Springsteen song, and the moonlight is truly magic. Her eyes are glittering, her toothy smile radiant, and for a flash, I realize that I’ve never been closer to a more beautiful . . . creature—she’s that extraordinary right now, like we couldn’t possibly be of the same species. Actually, this whole moment truly doesn’t seem possible after all these years. I nearly stop breathing.

“Sooo …” I venture.

” …. buttons,” she says.

It takes me a second, but then I laugh. Not too much, though. Don’t want to break the spell.

“Look,” I say, “You know.”

“Know what?” she counters, attempting to open her eyes wide and keep a straight face.

“Nice try. You know. I know you know. You wouldn’t be here now otherwise.”

“Yeahhh … that’s probably true, whatever it is you’re talking about.”

“Gonna make me work for it, huh?”

“You know I am.”

“Right. Of course. Why would—”

Suddenly, the porch is a bit brighter, and we both freeze like deer in the headlights. When my pulse comes back down to only somewhat elevated, I realize that someone has switched on a light in the house. It’s in the upstairs bathroom off of my parents’ bedroom. After a few seconds, it goes out.

“Okay, that was a little scary,” I whisper.

“So’s this,” she says, holding up her hand. Mine’s attached to it, our fingers interlocked.

“Huh. Look at that.” I give her fingers a little squeeze.

“Yeah, look at that.”

We stare at our hands for a few seconds, and then I turn to her and realize that our faces are now closer than they’ve ever been, even closer than that time a million—maybe two million—years ago when I tried to spit in her mouth back in the pool. (Long story.) Oddly enough, even though I’m looking in her eyes, I’m suddenly very conscious of her mouth. “Hey,” I whisper.

“Hey,” she whispers back.

I’m not exactly sure how we got here, all I know is that we’re here now, and it seems as though we were always destined to be here, right now. All the longer, eyes-locked glances of late, bigger grins and deeper conversations . . . .

It’s time.

I’m terrified that I may have somehow misread everything, but nonetheless, I start to lean toward her . . .

. . . and (YES!) she leans toward me.

I want to be able to describe exactly what’s going through my mind as our lips touch, how the adrenaline is crackling through my veins and my heart is about to a-splode out of my chest, but all that seems cliched and silly. I’ve kissed other girls, but this is something different. Better. Special. Amazing.

I gently put my free hand just behind her ear and under her hair, brushing her neck. I pull her closer. She reaches for my shoulder and squeezes. I don’t even know what to think any more, so I don’t.

After about five hours (okay, it might’ve been five minutes, but really, I think it was five glorious hours), we pull back for a breath.

“Wow,” I say.

“Yeah, I was thinking that, too,” she says. She smiles and squeezes my shoulder again, like she needs to convince herself that she’s awake, too.

“So now what?” she asks.

“How about this?” I say, and kiss her again, for like, another seven hours. We pull apart and even though it’s still dark, I can tell that she’s officially beaming.

“Wow,” she says. “Who knew?”

“We both do,” I say.

“Yeah, for now,” she says, glancing over my shoulder and at the slider back into the kitchen. “As much as I want to stay here, I should probably get back in the house before your sister wakes up, finds us and murders us both.”

If you knew my sister from back in the day, you understand why I quickly agree that this is probably a good idea. Still, it takes about another half hour of lingering kisses before we are able to properly separate from each other. We both stand up together, and just stare at each other, smirking like fools.

“Yeahhh …” she finally says, and then throws here arms around me and presses her entire body against me. Even after she pulls back, I can feel her warmth on my skin. “Ohhhkay,” she sigh. “We’re going to have to tell her, and soon. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to stay away from you now.”

“Right?” I say. “All she has to do is see me looking at you and she’ll know instantly.”

“Well, we’ll figure it out tomorrow,” she says, and gives me one last quick kiss. “I think we have time.”

“I hope so,” I say.

She goes back into the house, into the dark, and carefully into a misty water-colored recess of my mind. Funny how some things work out.

I turn the corner at the end of my old block and head to my real home.