My lips were still tingling pleasantly from that kiss. That kiss. A delighted shiver threatened to run through me, but I hugged my legs more tightly. Those kisses... No. The guilt that I was still feeling things like delight when Daniel didn't get to feel anything anymore pushed bile into my throat. I stared out over the school yard, but I wasn't seeing anything. Just blurry green and brown. The harder I focused on Daniel, the less aware I was of the world around me.
When I was nine, I'd found a litter of kittens in the alley behind my house. I waited all day for their mother to show up and take care of them but by the time it got dark she still hadn't come. Mom and Dad had let me bring them in my room that night, in a little shoe box I had made cozy for them. The next morning Dad and I took them to the Humane Shelter. The people there examined them and said that they were healthy, but that they were lucky I'd found them when I had. They could have frozen to death that night. I felt really proud that I'd saved them, and they told me they'd find good homes for the kittens when they were old enough to be adopted.
Dad said he'd been really impressed with how responsible I was with the kittens, and he said if I could find a way to make enough money to pay for food and toys, I could adopt one. I started cleaning Mrs. Brikov's house that week. Mrs. Brikov was the old lady down the street. She was in a wheelchair. She was one of those stubborn old ladies who didn't want help but desperately needed it. When I knocked on her door, she offered to pay me four dollars a week to clean her laundry, water her plants, and vacuum.
I named my kitten Sable.
A year later Bryce's dad hit Sable with his car.
When my mom and I came running out to see what had happened, Mr. Loski didn't even look sorry. He was inspecting his rear bumper for smudges while my dead cat's body lay limp on the ground next to him. He even seemed put out that my cat had had the audacity to get run over by him. Mrs. Loski ran out of their house and apologized profusely, asking if there was anything she could do, but Mr. Loski hushed her and said something about how it was just a gosh darn cat (although he used more colorful phrasing).
He'd pulled out his checkbook and turned to my dad, who had just come out as well, and asked how much he wanted for the cat. Mrs. Loski had the grace to look flabbergasted, but Mr. Loski didn't even bat an eyelash.
My dad refused the money, picked me up, and carried me home. I cried on his lap for hours.
The next day, Mrs. Loski and Bryce brought me cookies, and asked how I was doing. They visited with my mother and I, but I had a hard time participating in the conversation. My grief was like a sensory dimmer. My eyes refused to focus, and everything sounded muffled in my ears, as if blocked off my cotton. My hands could hold things without feeling, and tastes and smells never quite registered in my brain.
Those feelings were happening to me now. It was like life was being drained out of me, or some sort of invisible fog was settling around me, obscuring all sensations.
It was when I was on the brink of panic as the claustrophobia started that Bryce's strong, capable hand reached through the fog and lifted my head with gentle fingers under my chin. His face followed, coming into focus just before his soft kiss found my mouth. This kiss wasn't exhilarating like the others had been, but that didn't mean it had lost any of its wonder. This kiss was gentle and affectionate. It infused my body with a brand of peace I hadn't felt since the last time I'd sat atop my sycamore tree at sunrise. A calm, soothing balm. He expressed his tenderness for me with every single nano-inch of where his skin touched mine. I could breathe again. The crushing weight on my chest lifted. And then it was over, far too soon.
"Hi," He said.
I mustered up the biggest smile I had the strength for. "Hi," I replied.
"What is it, Juli? I'll listen. I'm here." His wonderful eyes were so full of compassion. I wanted to confide everything to him immediately, but I struggled to know what to say, and where to start. I leaned my head on his shoulder, trying to gather my distracted thoughts, and to let him know I wasn't blatantly ignoring him. He kissed my hair and leaned his head against mine, ever patient.
