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HIKING around San Miguel de Allende #2
HIKING around San Miguel de Allende #3
Jesus Takes the Bus - in San Miguel
PASSIVE SOLAR HOME, LOW COST
POETRY & SHORT FICTION, Daniel Friedman
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SAN MIGUEL de ALLENDE - 88 Photos
SANGRE en ARTE de, FRIDA KAHLO
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The ceiling was low to start with. It closed down further when Sandi closed her door. She turned to me. The room became tight as a phone booth - if you remember real phone booths when they were made of dark brown wood and had lights and fans and calls were a dime.
I don't remember anything we said, or whether or not I actually held her close. I don't even remember the whole kiss itself. Just that our mouths met and hers opened! It OPENED! I was dumbstruck. Somehow I responded, as these young, warm, wet lips opened to me. Clumsy, somehow I responded, tentative, experimenting, tongues touched! Hot breath passed, hers into mine. My vision blackened to a midnight pinpoint. The room spun. Breathless, I was falling, falling into that mouth, those arms, hot abyss, perfumed and sweet.
My heart pounded and pounded as if it were breaking out of my hairless chest. The thumping got louder. My god, at 14 years old I was dying of a heart attack! Suddenly a voice shouted, in with the pounding of my too-loud heart. No, wait, that's not my heart! It's pounding on her door. OPEN UP THAT DOOR RIGHT NOW YOU TWO, RIGHT THE HELL NOW!
Now that was cause for a heart attack. Shotgun man, iron-fist man proceeding to break in the whole door frame with pounding. The house shifted slightly on its foundation. RIGHT THE HELL NOW I SAID! The window shade snapped suddenly, then rolled up and around and around, making a flipping sound, spilling bright sunlight into the room. Lipsticks jiggled on the bureau top, some falling over in dead fright.
Sandi parted her gentle lips from mine. She moved slowly, as if we were under water. I stayed, frozen, mouth open, tongue half out, panting in kiss position, waiting to be shotgunned, but gently she guided me to a more normal pose, straightened her blouse, and walked calmly to her door and opened it.
"I was just showing Danny my Elvis records, Daddy."
Father, red-faced, frozen himself in mid bang, fist raised, looked across her shoulder, past her dark brown hair, darker eyes, over her white blouse, at me. I was too terrified even to tremble. Luckily I remained as posed; a tableau of innocence, small and pale, against a bureau of a thousand screaming red lipsticks which only existed to caress those wonderful lips. Nothing in the whole room was wrinkled, except time.
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