bare [h.s.]

Mother Knows Best

I lost track of time
and now Elijah is dropping me off
in front of my home at seven in the evening.
Mother will surely bite my head off
for missing all twenty of her calls
and skipping family dinner.
But spending hours talking
with him, learning about him,
is worth the hour long lecture.

"I had a great time today," he smiles, intertwining our fingers.
The gesture is sweet,
and my cheeks flush bright scarlet
from his sudden touch.
I am almost certain that if
I spend any more time around
Elijah, my skin with turn a permanent red.

"You're really something, Sawyer."
He leans in close, like he wants me
to give him my kiss,
but suddenly I feel small in
his presence, and refuse to give
him what he desires.
Yes, I have only been kissed once,
in the ninth grade,
when my old crush took me
to my first school dance.
For years I've reminded myself
I didn't need affection from the
opposite sex to feel good about
myself, but now I feel horrible
for rejecting.
Elijah's eyes are closed,
lips waiting to meet mine,
and I want to hide; to leave
this cramped car and run to
the comfort and safety my bedroom with bring.
But as I look longer at the boy
in front of me, I decide
to make a hasty choice and
move closer toward him.

"Sawyer Adams!
You get out of this car right now!" My mother appears next to
the passenger window,
yelling my name for the neighbors to hear and banging on the window with a mighty force.

"Mom!" I scream, pulling
away from Elijah as he clears his throat and insists I get out.
I'm sorry, I mouth to him
as I swing the door open,
hoping it hits her.

"What the hell were you thinking? I've been worried sick and you're in a strange boy's car acting like--like--a whore!" She grabs my arm
harshly, stopping me from walking away from her.

"It was just a kiss! It's not like I'm going to end up like you!" I yell back equally as loud
and her anger fades into hurt.
My words have hit her where it hurts the most and she turns away, as if disgusted by me.

"Go to your room," she sighs
as if she's lost the ability to argue.
Neither of us have come out victorious, only one hurt and
the other still fuming.

I slam my door with force,
knocking few pictures
off the wall and causing the
house to quake the slightest bit.
Deep down I know apologizing
would fix the mess I've caused,
but my stubbornness overcomes
my sensibility and I throw my
tired body on the bed.