Kiss

It wasn’t a peck.

Nora kissed me like she meant it.

Tongue. Hands in my hair. A quiet sound in her throat.

Then she pulled away.

“No.”

She stood up too fast. Covered her mouth.

“No. No. No.”

She paced the room.

Nora and I had been friends for seventeen years.

Then she kissed me.

—

“It’s okay,” I said.

“It’s okay?” she snapped.

I tried again.

“I mean—it’s not the end of the world.”

She stared at me like I had insulted her.

Then came the shouting.

»Men only want one thing.«

»I disrespected her.«

»I took advantage.«

None of it made sense.

She kissed me.

Still, I stayed calm.

Maybe too calm.

—

Eventually she sat down and cried.

I tried to touch her shoulder.

“Don’t touch me.”

That hurt more than it should have.

I stood.

“I think it’s better I gave you space,” I said quietly.

“Fuck you,” she shouted. “If you leave, you’ll never see me again.”

I sighed.

“I’m not useful here right now, Nor’. We’ll speak.”

I walked out.

Behind me, I heard:

“I can’t lose you, too.”

—

I texted her from the street.

»You’re not losing me. Take your time. We’ll speak.«

—

That was twenty-three years ago today.

She never answered the message. Or any of my calls later.

When I went to see her a few days after the kiss, a friend threatened me with a restraining order.

So I stopped trying.

—

She died three years ago. Cancer.

I went to the funeral.

Now I visit her grave every Sunday.

Sundays used to belong to us.

Walks. Movies. Bowling.

Small things.

—

Sometimes I still wonder what would’ve happened if I stayed that night.

Or if I turned around when she said she couldn’t lose me.

Or if I hadn’t stopped trying.

Or if I had just said:

»I love you too.«

-ck