A Sunday Short: The Kiss
When we started the trek, we’d already laughed and joked and shopped, peering into window displays of ordinary goods servicing royalty. Sausages. In links and great pudgy circles of seasoned goodness. I remarked at the variety. Marvelling.There was venison, of course, and images of herds of red deer with vast, upright racks bounding across open moorland, ignited flashes of a landscape imagined. But beef and pork featured strongly, as well, and my mouth watered.
Gray granite abounded. Tall spires. A neatness, nay a tidiness of pride and understanding of place and time skinned edifices with more than simple elegance. There was permanence here.
The American in me wanted to shout, “Shiny,” at every turn, but awe tangles the tongue, rendering it silent. Reverent.
The spoils were a jar of jam and one of a brown mustard with strange, wondrous seasonings and I could see it thick with bits and bobs pinpricking the surface. When you fancy mustard, the fancier the better.
The trailhead beckoned, along with gorse and a meandering stream, a contribution to the River Dee, brush-stroked in slated-gray. The air was thick, the rain held aloft in mist that settled of its own weight, lowering the horizon. We walked, elbow-to-elbow, my friend and I, rubbing sleeves and opening to companionship as the small and insignificant took on the hue of wonder and we talked of nothing and everything.
I’ve entered the lonely age, beyond usefulness, irrelevant to any but the few who tribe around me, the numbers lessening more quickly now as is the way of things. We talked about that, becoming the one and leaving this earth alone. Knowing there are others out there eases solitary to the side. Keeping it at bay, though, that’s the challenge.
Our adventure is over, far too soon. Being the gentleman, he opens the car door, eases me out with a firm grip, knowing I’m unsteady at best. We make plans for the evening. Dinner with his spouse, a place they enjoyed and visited often. I smile at the prospect and worry I have nothing suitable to wear.
I don’t know why, it’s not in my nature, being aloof and self-contained and far too assertive, but people hug me. Women and men, as if I’m some rather overlarge teddy bear. A slap on the back, often two, a squeeze. My space and aura groan, but I’ve learned to accept the offering with humor. Even gratitude now. That curb? That solitary? It’s not so far away and I’d be best served not to forget that.
He’s considerably taller, his arms wrapped my shoulders in lingering warmth, pressing against reserve and hesitation until I yielded, still safe within. Safe until I felt his lips brush the top of my head and affection finally won out.
I’ve suffered passion, paid the price. Flesh bloated, torn and raging against possession and denial, gone in a flash. Vague memories that fail to stir.
But this… This I’ve carried in my heart and soul lo these many years.
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