“The Kiss”
Date Finished: October 18, 2002


“Wot you reading there?” he had grown bored with the stillness and silence between them, and risked losing interest in her. Reaching over her he grabbed the book in question. He held it up in front of him, squinting at the upside down print.
“It’s Jane Eyre,” she replied, turning the book upright for him.
He scoffed, closing and tossing it back over her, “why read that rubbish?”
“For school,” she relied, sounding almost deflated, “An’ besides,” she ballooned up in defence, “it’s what I want to do.”
“An’ wot would that be?” he raised an eyebrow to her, his interest peaked by her attitude, again. “A writer,” she replied a-matter-of-factly.
He laughed out right at her, “A paperback writer! Oh please sir, could you take a look?” he pressed his hands together as if holding up a book, imitating her voice.

Amie fought off laughing at him, keeping a stern face she swatted him with her book, “Bloody daft!”
“Am I?” he grabbed on to the book, wrestling it away from her, or at least trying to. She held on, her arms twisting against his.
Their child-like laughter rang through the church-yard.
She pulled the book back one last time, using all her strength and grasping with both hands, “You are,” just as John let it go, sending her back against the headstone. “Oww,” she called out in pain, cradling the back on her head with her hand.
“Shit!” he laughed, kneeling over her, “You alright luv?”
“bloody brilliant,” she almost whined, wide eyes and lips pouting but trying to keep herself together.
He smiled, her sarcasm striking a cord with him. “Lemme see,” he smoothed his hand over the back of her head, looking for a bump. “you’ll… live,” his breath caught in his throat; he was hooked by her eyes. His hand slid to her neck, pulling her that little bit closer so their lips met.

She gasped a little as his lips pressed to hers. The smell and taste of his cigarette tingled in her nose and on her tongue provoking the sensation of a sneeze. Amie held back as long as she could, trying to prolong the moment but had to pull away, answering his what look with the full-out sneeze.
John laughed, “Now that’s a new reaction,” he leaned back on a stone lighting up another.
“Must be allergic to something,” she sniffled, shyly wiping along her nose with her finger as she pulled herself upright, eyeing the culprit for breaking their kiss.

They sat awkwardly after. Neither knowing what the other was thinking. Both completely unsure now. Now, John was nervous that she didn’t like him, wouldn’t love him after his forward action, but hid it by continually turning his pack over in his hands. Fidgeting was his best cover, that and the attitude. Amie too was nervous that he had lost interest in her, since she had ended it, but felt much to shy to say anything of the sort
. Instead she went back to their original topic, “Why do you ‘ave that?” she pointed to the guitar case.
He was startled out of his obsessive thoughts, taking a moment to process what she said, “Me guitar? Well, I play it.”
“Really?” she was genuinely interested – even impressed.
“’ave a band too,” he reported proudly, “Gonna be bigger than Elvis,” raising his eyebrows for effect.
She giggled, “That would explain the hair.”
Reaching to touch it he grabbed her wrist, “Don’t!”
For a split second a fierceness flashed in his eyes that scared Amie. Her eyes widened and she questioned just who this teddy boy was, but the electricity in his touch, between them, melted it. Softening his gaze and grip.
His aggressive response frightened him too, he sputtered “Sorry…I just,” but she silenced him, pressing her lips to his now.
She ignored the foreign taste this time, concentrating completely on the soft warmth of his mouth and the movement of his hand from her wrist to the side of her face, while the other flicked away the half smoked cigarette.



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