concrete

that pillar is where I first kissed my first love. we were talking about something, some film or whatever, it doesn’t matter. we were locked out and passing the time until our ride could rescue us from the cold.

“everything kinda turned out awful,” i remember saying to her. i remember rubbing the back of my neck and feeling my head heat up.

“i still had a great time,” i remember her replying. she was leaned into the pillar, her eyes on me, smiling. i wanted to kiss her, but i hesitated instead. then i reached for her hand, clumsily, and she let me take it, and i smiled back at her.

then she kissed me.

with her free hand she reached up and pulled me in, her other hand still gripping mine. i still remember how our lips stuck together for that brief moment when we pulled apart. she opened her eyes and smiled into mine and i smiled back.

then a funny thing happened. i pulled her in for a hug, and as we hugged i noticed the inscription on the wall. for some reason i instantly zoned out reading it. i don’t even remember exactly what it said; it wasn’t interesting — just a dedication to someone rich who was long dead — but it took a whack to my head before i snapped back to reality. she was flailing around in my arms and i realized that, as i read the inscription, i had clenched her tightly against my chest. i was smothering her.

i let go and she shoved me away, coughing as she stumbled back into the pillar, half-doubled over. “what the hell were you doing?” she said when she could finally speak. “i couldn’t breathe.”

“i’m sorry. i kinda got lost reading something.”

she looked at me with a mixture of confusion and contempt. “what?” she blinked, then waved her hand. “you know what, never mind.” she stood up and walked away. a minute later her ride showed up. i walked home. i never went to see her again.