Elevator Kiss

I didn’t write on Valentine’s Day on purpose.  I had spent the day at a memorial service for a six year old boy, a boy who radiated love, and it was so appropriate that they chose to have his memorial on Valentine’s Day – we were all reminded of what is truly important: Love.

I have never had a Valentine’s Day date, so I don’t have any stories to tell you.

So, instead, I thought I would share the story of my favorite kiss.

Two of my friends and I were at this rooftop bar.  I don’t know if you’ve ever seen New York buildings, but rooftop means WICKED high up.  I’m talking a ten minute elevator ride upk, at least.  It had a beautiful view of the Empire State Building. I think it was fall, but the whole area was heated, so it felt like we were cozy inside yet we still got an unobstructed view of the New York City skyline.   These two friends were girls I felt very close to, but it hadn’t been just the three of us in a long time.  One of these friends knew someone who worked at this classy establishment, so we were getting plied with free drinks and food, and we were feeling pretty fabulous.  We decided that instead of aimlessly drifting from topic to topic, we would go around the circle (triangle?) and just kind of give general life updates – making sure we got to the important stuff.

When it came my turn, I didn’t have anything too significant to add – except something that had been weighing on me for my entire young adult life.  I had already started discussing it with a select few, so I was getting used to saying it out loud.  But those were people that I was pretty confident in what their reaction would be.  These girls?  I had no idea how they would react.  I just hadn’t really ever discussed anything like it with them before, so in my head it could literally go either way.

I took another sip of my drink and a deep breath and just said it.

I think I’m attracted to girls.

I explained how I wasn’t sure if it was exclusively girls or if I were bisexual but all that I knew was that girls made my heart flutter in a way no guy ever had.

I felt a little lightheaded upon letting that out – kind of like how your arms feel like they’re not attached to your body for a minute after you’ve been holding something heavy for a really long time.

But they barely missed a beat.  One friend got all kinds of excited that I was comfortable enough to talk about it.  The other kind of shrugged and was like, “Yeah, girls are hot.”

They didn’t get grossed out. They didn’t get all weird and awkward.

For some reason I had this idea in my head that coming out to people was going to be this big traumatic event with epic fights and crying.  I have yet, in the years since first openly questioning my sexuality, lost any friends because of it.  The hardest thing I had to deal with was one friend who seemed to think it was a phase I would grow out of (yes, a friend, not a relative) so she would make jokes sometimes.  But it was freshman year of college – we were young and immature.

Anyway, the night progressed as though nothing were different.  We laughed and joked and took absolutely ridiculous pictures and teased ourselves for being like the uncool kids who crashed the popular girl’s party.   It was clear that everyone else there were paying for their drinks and food (and could easily afford to be doing so).  We were laughing loudly and paying no mind to the classiness of this joint.

Eventually we made our way to the elevator.  It was either really early or really late (probably the latter) because there were only five people on this epically long elevator ride: the three of us and two other girls who were obviously acquainted.  I stood with my back leaning on the side of the elevator (between the amount of alcohol consumed and the height of my shoes, support was necessary).  I don’t remember what my friends were talking about, but I wasn’t an active participant in the conversation.  I was half listening, half observing the other two girls.  The shorter of the two girls looked at me, so I instinctively smiled.  She smiled back and we held our gaze for a moment.  She takes a step towards me and goes, “Can I kiss you?”

I laugh and give her a half shrug and said, “Sure,” my smile growing.

She steps towards me again and kisses me.  It wasn’t just a peck, but it wasn’t too long.

When it ended we were both smiling.  Her friend pulls her back towards their side of the elevator and looks at me and starts talking a mile a minute.  “I’m so sorry, she just broke up with her long-term boyfriend, I’m so sorry, she doesn’t know what she’s doing.”   Her friend looked at her incredulously and insisted, “Yes, I do! Look at her,” she gestures at me, “She’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

I blushed and before her friend could put up any more protest, we arrived at the ground floor.  Once outside, the girl who had kissed me introduced herself as Ceecee.  I told her my name and we were about to exchange information when our friends tore us apart, her friend had caught a cab and mine had to head the other way and wanted to get home as soon as possible.

I never saw her again.

But this is not a sad story.  Because I couldn’t help but smiling for the rest of the night. The week, even.  It was as if the universe said, “See? You told your friends and the world didn’t end. Here’s a little present.”  I still had some figuring out to do (and it sounded as though Ceecee did too), so it was all I needed.

It was the first time anyone had ever kissed me because they wanted to kiss ME.  I don’t count my high school boyfriend because he asked me to be his girlfriend before he ever kissed me, so I feel like any kiss we shared during our short-lived “relationship” (on which we went on one official date where he tried to hold my hand and I shoved it in my popcorn)  was more out of obligation than anything else.  And I don’t count any of the drunken makeouts I had been a part of in the years prior because I was mostly chosen more out of convenience than actual preference.

This girl, though? She could have said nothing. She could have just told me I was beautiful and called it a night.  Instead, though we hadn’t had any prior conversation, she kissed me.

It made me feel special.

To this day, my ‘elevator girl’ kiss is still my favorite kiss.

~ by Valerie Anne on 02/16/2011.

4 Responses to “Elevator Kiss”

  1. […] recaps [Gleecaps, if you will], sometimes I do creative writing, sometimes I just write about life, love and […]

  2. I’ll come clean and say I read through your other posts. You are one talented storyteller and a gifted writer. =) I blogged for a total of six years, and then just stopped cold around two years ago. I’m actually pretty inspired to start a new one.

    Oh and that totally would’ve easily been my fave kiss, too, if it happened to me. You lucky girl, you. 😉

    • Thank you so much, I’m glad you liked what you found here!!

      I say if you’re feeling inspired, go for it. I have my weeks where I don’t feel like writing anything at all, then weeks I want to write all day every day.

      And yes, I am quite lucky. 😀

      • No sense in writing if it feels forced. 😉 Here’s hoping I get lucky, too. 😉

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