Kiss & Run

I’m a big fan of kissing, I always have been. A kiss can mean so much- affection, passion, love, friendship, desire… the list goes on and on. When I was younger, I collected pictures from magazines of people locking lips. I collaged them all over the wall of my bedroom- it was almost so complete it was wallpaper.

When I moved to college, I took my favorites and collaged them onto corkboard. I took them, along with a few of my favorite passionate posters, and adorned the walls of my first and second apartments with them. It was right about this time that things went severely downhill for me in life.

I was really quite alone. I had just broken up with my boyfriend of a year and half because he’d been shipped out to Korea and regretfully, I’m lousy at long-distance relationships. It was the five-year anniversary of my mother’s death and I was hurting. I was hurting real bad and I didn’t know who to go to or who to ask for comfort. I wanted someone to kiss me- to love me. Instead, I played my own version of Russian roulette with a bottle of Advil and a game of solitaire. I lost to both solitaire and the Advil and landed myself in the hospital.

Surprisingly, they let me go home (alone), after I drank charcoal to flush my system. I don’t recommend the charcoal, really, it’s nasty stuff. The very next day as I lay in bed feeling miserable, I got a phone call from an old friend. He asked if he could come over. I admitted to my lousy company and without going into details as to why, explained that I’d been in the hospital late the night before and that I was pretty tired, but if he wanted to come watch a movie or something, he was more than welcome.

Stan came over and he brought his guitar, Casablanca on DVD, and soup. He raided my kitchen and fixed up some food for me and then sat on my bed with me to watch the movie. He sang me songs on his guitar and then he kissed me. Very softly, very gentle. Very sweet. I was touched and as desperate for affection as I was, I melted more than a little bit.

We saw each for a few weeks after that, but each time we were together he would get more and more aggressive when it came time to call the evening quits. Never abusive-aggressive, but visibly disappointed that things weren’t progressing faster than he wanted. In all other regards, he was just what the doctor had ordered for me. He loved the same old movies that I did and we had long conversations over Humphrey Bogart and The Maltese Falcon. We shared tracks off of favorite CD’s and laughed and smiled a lot.

You can only imagine my disappointment when I got the email not much later. I don’t remember the exact wording, but it said something to the effect of,


Thank you for the last few weeks, they’ve been great. However, the pictures on your wall led me to believe that you were something that you weren’t and I think it’s time to call it quits. Later.

I think my response email said something like, “What? You thought I was a slut because I have pictures of people kissing on my wall and now that you realize I have more integrity than that you’re not interested? Thanks asshole.”

My pictures of people in love came down after that and I haven’t felt nearly the same affection about a kiss since then. It turns out that sometimes a kiss can’t just be a kiss. Sometimes with a kiss comes the expectation of more and when it can’t be delivered, people can get awfully nasty.

I’m not the only one blogging about kisses today and I’m sure the blog-off contestants remaining have much nicer things to say about kisses than I do. Go check them out and leave some kind words. Feeling generous? Donate today and make your contribution in the fight against breast cancer.


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