| J. Larson
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| First Kiss Life is a strange thing. Before you know it, you're looking back at the road you've traveled, wondering if you've reached the halfway point. For me it happened a week before my forty-second birthday. Having just gone through a gritty divorce; my two children grown, I felt alone for the first time. A bottle of Chardonnay and a pack of cigarettes later, I found myself flipping through old photo albums. For some reason, looking at all those pictures stirred up alot of feelings and I was soon crying. The wine probably had something to do with that as well. And then I saw it. Carefully hidden behind yet another picture of our beloved dog Tramp, was a photo of my mother. She was standing alone down by the river that wound through town on its way toward the Atlantic Ocean. My mother had given me the album as a present, the day I left for college. Staring at the picture, many forgotten memories of Savannah, and my summers there, began to return. One in particular. It was 1973, and, like many well-to-do families in Charleston, we were getting ready to go down to our vacation home in Savannah, when my father came home and broke the bad news. The oil company that he'd worked for, needed him to go to Saudi Arabia to help mediate a dispute between...well, some sheik and his company. Actually, the thought of spending my fifteenth summer in a foreign land sounded exciting and I was ready to go. Unfortunately, my mother wasn't. Before I knew it, my father was on a plane to the Middle-East and Mom and I were in our car heading for Georgia. My father was the stereotypical southern gentleman. In every way. Kind, handsome, soft spoken, charismatic... and married to his job. For me he was perfect, but I guess the long lonely hours alone had taken their toll on my mother. She was determined to make that trip our best one yet and wasted no time planning out, in every detail, the entire summer. It wasn't long before the usual group of kids that I ran around with, had gotten the hint, and stopped coming by. I knew something had to be done or the entire summer was destined for ruin. But how do you tell your mother to get lost? A difficult situation that I surely didn't handle with tact and diplomacy. We were sitting on the verandah of our house when I had finally had enough. It was almost dusk and I can vividly remember the blank look on her face as she sipped a mint Julip and watched the fire-flies beginning to hover about the willow trees that lined our the pathway that lead to the front gate of our yard. We were to go to the DuPres' for a barbecue. The DuPres' were one of the oldest and wealthiest families in the entire south and were eager to let those who may not know, feel foolish for making the mistake. The best I could hope for was an evening with a bunch of snobs and a meaningless conversation with Jefferson, their somewhat retarded son. He actually wasn't handicapped, just enjoyed doing things like melting milk containers, or cutting up June-bugs and mixing the remains into the famous DuPres pate. "Start getting ready honey" she said, "It's almost time"...raising her sunglasses from her eyes and using them to hold back her long blonde locks. "I'm not going" I proclaimed. We'd been arguing the entire day and I was expecting her to start yelling as she'd done earlier. But I was determined. All my friends were meeting that night down at the jetty and I wasn't going to miss this party. I'd missed too many already. I stood and faced her, standing my ground. "I hate it at the DuPres" my courage ever growing, "I want to spend some time with my friends." I was ready for everything and expected her to jump up and start yelling. Telling me how selfish I was and threatening to ground me for the rest of the summer. But she didn't. She just sat there and stared. The silenced unnerved me. So much, that I can remember my leg shaking a bit...yet I pressed on. "I'm sorry that Daddy's not here but... well..." stuttering "it's not my fault." I'd pushed it far, and I knew it. She carefully placed her Julip down onto the glass table next to her, and walked over to me. Now Mother was never a violent person. Ever. But the way she approached, sent a chill through my spine. I thought she was going to smack me one. Right across the face. Or at least bawl me out til the end of time. As she raised her hand slowly, I attempted not to flinch. That would be giving in, and I wasn't going to give in. Not this time. I tried to stand proud. Ready to plead my case, when she did something that I'll never forget. With sincerity and precision, she placed her palm against my cheek and smiled, before disappearing into the house. I stood there for another five minutes, not sure if I had won my first victory, or had already lost a battle that I didn't know I was about to fight. We made the long walk to the estate DuPres in silence. For whatever reason, my mother didn't seem like the society woman that I had always known. She was different, but at the time, I didn't know why. She hadn't forbidden me to go down to the jetty that night, but I stayed with her anyway. I'm not sure why. Dinner at the DuPres' was as usual with one exception. Jefferson was strangely absent. Turns out that he had graduated from June-bugs to strychnine and had put his grandmother in the hospital. After dinner, we all adjourned to the study where Brandy and other aperitifs were served. I found myself nodding off as Mr. DuPres stumbled through Chopin. I woke to find that all the guests had gone and I was alone in the quite eerie looking room. The massive cherry-wood bookcases that lined three of the four walls looked ancient and I can remember the musty smell of the decaying pages of the books that filled their shelves. I had always gotten the willies when we went to the DuPres' but hearing the voices of my mother and Mrs. DuPres in the adjoining room, calmed me. Taking a seat at the piano, I began to slowly touch the yellowed ivory keys, being careful not to strike any of them as to make a tone. Before long I was mastering Chopin the likes that would make Mr. DuPres salivate with envy. Of course, all in my head. Soon I had graduated to Mozart and was considering Liberace when a strange sensation came over me. As if all of a sudden, someone was watching. The muscles in my arms and hands tightened as I slowly turned around to see her. She was sitting in the armchair that I had dozed in earlier. She looked a bit older than me and I assumed about seventeen and had long brown hair. Although I was sitting on the other side of the room, I could make out almost every detail of her deep green eyes in the light from the lamp on the table next to her. She was wearing a short white skirt and an orange halter top that was not uncommon for those times. Her feet were bare and somewhat stained with green from the long grass of summer. A bit panicked, I spun around and stood looking at her. "I thought I was alone" I said, biting my lower lip and taking a few steps forward. "I didn't mean to disturb you... Go on. Play. I love Mozart". I was embarrassed that someone had caught me in another one of my daydreams and I didn't know what to say. I guess she could sense that as she walked passed me and sat at the piano. "Come" she said, patting the stool next to her. "I'll show you." I couldn't hear my mother's voice in the next room anymore but the soft smile of the girl somehow soothed me. I sat where she had instructed while our eyes remained fixed down at the keys for the longest of moments. She had a strong smell to her. Not in a bad way. To describe it would be to say it reminded me of flowers that had been lying in the sun all day and then sprayed with cold water. Saying nothing, she began, as I had done, mock playing over the top of the keys. Smiling, I couldn't help but feeling that she was making fun of me. But she wasn't. To the contrary. Her long thin fingers moved in unison to the imagined music that she was creating. Her eyes were closed and I couldn't help but notice the small droplet of sweat that that was slowly making its way down the side of her neck. Soon it disappeared into the tiny gap between the halter top and her olive colored skin. Again I could feel her eyes on me as my glances moved slowly down her body to her toes that were searching out in vain for the tarnished brass foot pedals. Reaching over, she placed my left hand atop her left hand and then did the same with the right. Uncomfortable, I pulled away, but she calmly repeated the procedure. The feeling of her knuckles tapping into the pads of my fingers tickled and I began to giggle. She did the same as we moved from left to right; left to right. She lead us to the low end keys and I had to lean over her midsection to keep up. I was just about to pull away when I felt her teeth on the back of my ear. She bit down firmly and didn't give way as I tried to free myself. "What are you doing" I demanded to know. "My name is Jenny," she whispered, all the while holding my ear in her mouth. I struggled some more and she finally released. "What did you do that for?" grabbing my ear and wiping the bit of saliva from it. For a moment a serious look came over her once laughing face as she moved her head closer to mine. Her tongue moistening her dry lips. Time seemed to take forever and I remember thinking that I was about to be kissed. I'm aware nowadays, almost everyone has had they're first kiss by the time they were fifteen, but it was different back then. At least is seemed so, and I guess I was just a late bloomer. As our lips met, a numbing feeling seemed to absorb my head. At first I felt ashamed. Ashamed as if we were doing something wrong. Yet at the same time it made me feel warm and good inside. She began pressing her tongue against my lips and ever so softly and I could feel my mouth beginning to open. At the same time her hand wrapped around the back of my neck as she pulled me even closer to her. I was slowly attempting to free my arm when I felt her other hand guide me to her left breast. Even through the halter top, I could feel how soft and supple it was. I closed my eyes and started to feel myself slip... when the raspy sound of Mrs. DuPres' voice careened into the study from the adjoining room. I pulled away suddenly. My knees were week and I struggled to stand. Jenny just sat there with her eyes closed as if enjoying the last moments of the situation. The voices seemed to get closer and she opened her eyes. Calmly she stood and walked over to the double doors that lead out into one of the gardens. Opening them, she paused and turned back to me, pressing her finger to her lips. "Sssssh". The walk back to our house was again silent but this time seemed different. I was different. That night, my mother got the call, I would later learn, she knew was coming. Saudi Arabia turned out to be a twenty-three year old woman named Tracy. And my father turned out ...not to be a gentleman. We sold our house in Savannah the following winter and I haven't been there since. It wasn't until years later, when my husband had a Tracy of his own, that I really knew how my mother felt. But he gave me two wonderful children and for that I'm happy. As it turned out, Jenny was the daughter of the grounds keeper at the DuPres estate. Her mother had died when she was only a baby. I never saw Jenny again. But have often wondered what could have been. |
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Copyright © 2000 J. Larson All Rights Reserved |
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