A Thousand Boy Kisses

by Tillie Cole

  “I’m not sure your daddy thinks that way about me.”

  I couldn’t contain my laugh. As I giggled freely, Rune stopped and watched me, holding out his hand. I placed mine in his and let him pull me to him. His mouth landed just above my ear and he said, “Why is it when you laugh like that I desperately need to take your picture?”

  I looked up, my laughter fading. “Because you capture all aspects of the human condition—the good, the bad, the truth.” I shrugged and added, “Because despite how much you protest and exude an aura of darkness, you strive for happiness, you wish to be happy.”

  “Poppy.” Rune turned his head. As always, he didn’t want to embrace the truth, but it was there, locked deep in his heart. All he had ever wanted was to be happy—just him and me.

  For me, I wanted him to learn to be happy alone. Even though I would walk beside him every day in his heart.

  “Rune,” I urged softly. “Please come with me.”

  Rune stared at my outstretched hand, before relenting and clasping our hands tightly together. Even then he stared at our joined hands with a hint of pain behind his guarded eyes.

  Bringing those hands to my lips, I kissed the back of his hand and brought them to my cheek. Rune exhaled through his nose. Finally, he pulled me under the protection of his arm. Wrapping my arm around his waist, I led him through the double doors, revealing the show on the other side.

  We were greeted with a vast, open space, famous pictures framed by the high walls. Rune stilled, and I looked up just in time to see his surprised yet impassioned reaction on seeing his dream showcased before him. An exhibition of pictures that had shaped our time.

  Pictures that had changed the world.

  Perfectly captured moments in time.

  Rune’s chest expanded slowly as he inhaled deeply, then exhaled with guarded calmness. He glanced down at me and opened his lips. Not a sound came out. Not a single word formed.

  Rubbing my hand across his chest, under the camera that was hanging around his neck, I said, “I found out this exhibition was on last night and wanted you to see it. It’ll be here for the year, but I wanted to be here, with you, in this moment. I … I wanted to share this with you.”

  Rune blinked, his expression neutral. The only reaction he displayed was the clenching of his jaw. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  Slipping from below his arm, I loosely held his fingers. Consulting the guidebook, I brought us to the first picture in the exhibition. I smiled, seeing the sailor in the center of Times Square dipping the nurse back to kiss her on the lips. “New York City. August 14, 1945. V-J Day in Times Square by Alfred Eisenstaedt,” I read. And I felt the lightness and the excitement of the celebration through the image displayed before me. I felt I was there, sharing that moment with all who were there.

  I looked up at Rune, and I saw him studying the picture. His expression hadn’t changed, but I saw his jaw slacken as his head tilted slightly to one side.

  His fingers twitched in mine.

  I smiled again.

  He wasn’t immune. And no matter how much he resisted, he loved this. I could feel it as easily as I could feel the snow hit my skin outside. I led him to the second picture. My eyes widened as I took in the dramatic sight. Tanks rolling forward in convoy, a man standing directly in their path. I quickly read the information, heart racing. “Tiananmen Square, Beijing. June 5, 1989. This picture captured one man's protest to stop the military suppression of continuing protests against the Chinese government.”

  I stepped closer to the picture. I swallowed. “It’s sad,” I said to Rune. Rune nodded his head.

  Every new picture seemed to evoke a different emotion. Looking at these captured moments I truly understood why Rune loved to take photographs. This exhibition demonstrated how capturing these images impacted society. They showed humanity at its best and at its worst.

  They highlighted life in all its nakedness and in its purest form.

  When we stopped at the next picture, I immediately glanced away, unable to look properly. A vulture patiently waiting, hovering over an emaciated child. The image immediately made me feel full of sorrow.

  I moved to walk away, but Rune stepped closer to the image. My head snapped up and I watched him. I watched him study every part of the picture. I watched as his eyes flared and his hands clenched at his side.

  His passion had broken through.

  Finally.

  “This picture is one of the most controversial pictures ever taken,” he informed me quietly, still focused on the image. “The photographer was covering the famine in Africa. As he was taking his pictures, he saw this child walking for help, and this vulture waiting by, sensing death.” He took a breath. “This picture showed, in one image, the extent of the famine more than all the previous written reports ever did.” Rune looked at me. “It made people sit up and pay attention. It showed them, in all its brutal severity, how bad the famine had grown.” He pointed back at the child, crouched on the ground. “Because of this picture, aid work increased, the press covered more of the people’s struggles.” He took a deep breath. “It changed their world.”

  Not wanting to stop his momentum, we walked to the next one. “Do you know what this one is about?”

  Most of the photographs, I struggled to look at. Most were of pain, most were of suffering. But to a photographer, although graphic and heart-wrenchingly difficult to view, they held a certain type of poetic grace. They held a deep and endless message, all captured in a single frame.

  “It was a protest—the Vietnam war. A Buddhist monk set himself on fire.” Rune’s head dipped and tipped to the side, studying the angles. “He never flinched. He took the pain to make a statement that peace should be achieved. It highlighted the plight and the futility of that war.”

  And the day rolled on, Rune explaining almost every picture. When we reached the final shot, it was a black-and-white picture of a young woman. It was old; her hair and make-up seemed to be from the sixties. She appeared to be around twenty-five in the picture. And she was smiling.

  It made me smile too.

  I looked to Rune. He shrugged, silently telling me that he didn’t know the picture either. The title simply read, “Esther”. I searched the guidebook for the information, my eyes immediately brimming with water when I read the inspiration. When I read why this picture was here.

  “What?” Rune asked, his eyes flashing with worry.

  “Esther Rubenstein. The late wife of the patron of this exhibition.” I blinked, and finally managed to finish, “Died aged twenty-six, of cancer.” I swallowed the emotion in my throat and stepped closer to Esther’s portrait.

  “Placed in this exhibition by her husband, who never remarried. He took this picture, and hung it in this exhibition. It reads that even though this picture didn’t change the world, Esther changed his.”

  Slow tears trickled down my cheeks. The sentiment was beautiful; the honor was breathtaking.

  Wiping my tears away, I glanced back at Rune, who had turned away from the picture. My heart sank. I moved before him. His head was hanging low. I pushed back the hair from his face. The tortured expression that greeted me tore me in two.

  “Why did you bring me here?” he asked, through a thick throat.

  “Because this is what you love.” I gestured around the room. “Rune, this is NYU Tisch. This is where you wanted to attend. I wanted you to see what you could achieve one day. I wanted you to see what your future could still hold.”

  Rune’s eyes closed. When they opened, he caught my stifled yawn. “You’re tired.”

  “I’m fine,” I argued, wanting to address this now. But I was tired. I wasn’t sure I could do much more without some rest.

  Rune threaded his hand through mine and said, “Let’s go rest before tonight.”

  “Rune,” I tried to argue, to talk about this more, but Rune swung around and quietly said, “Poppymin, please. No more.” I could hear the strain in his voic
e. “New York was our dream. There’s no New York without you. So please…” He trailed off, then sadly whispered, “Stop.”

  Not wishing to see him so broken, I nodded. Rune kissed my forehead. This kiss was soft. It was thankful.

  We left the exhibition, and Rune hailed a cab. In minutes we were en route back to the hotel. As soon as we got into the suite, Rune lay down with me in his arms.

  He didn’t speak as I drifted to sleep. I fell asleep with the image of Esther in my mind, wondering how her husband had healed after she had returned home.

  Wondered if he had even healed at all.

  * * *

  “Poppymin?”

  Rune’s soft voice called me from sleep. I blinked into the darkness of the room, only to feel Rune’s gentle finger running down my cheek.

  “Hey, baby,” he said quietly, when I rolled over to face him. Reaching out, I turned on the lamp. When the light flickered on, I focused on Rune.

  A smile tugged on my lips. He wore a tight white t-shirt under a brown blazer. His black skinny jeans were on his legs, familiar black suede boots on his feet. I tugged on the lapels of his blazer. “You’re looking real smart, baby.”

  Rune’s lips molded into a half-smile. He leaned forward and took my mouth gently with his. When he pulled back, I noticed his hair was freshly washed and dried. And unlike every other day, today he’d run a comb through it, the golden strands feeling silky between my fingers.

  “How’re you feeling?” he asked. I stretched out my arms and legs.

  “A little tired and sore from all the walking, but I’m okay.”

  Rune’s forehead lined with worry. “You sure? We don’t have to go tonight if you’re not feeling up to it.”

  Shuffling further forward on my pillow, I stopped just an inch before Rune’s face and said, “Nothing could keep me from tonight.” I ran my hand down his soft brown blazer. “Especially with you looking all spiffed up. I have no idea what you have planned, but if it got you out of your leather jacket, it must be something real special.”

  “I think so,” Rune replied after a pregnant pause.

  “Then I’m definitely fine,” I said confidently, allowing Rune to help me up to a sitting position when this simple task became too much of a struggle.

  Remaining crouched down, Rune searched my face. “I love you, Poppymin.”

  “I love you too, baby,” I replied. As I stood, with Rune’s help, I couldn’t help but flush. He was becoming more handsome with each passing day, but looking like this, he made my heart gallop in my chest.

  “What should I wear?” I asked Rune. He led me to the living area of the suite. A lady was waiting in the center of the room, hair and makeup equipment spread out around her.

  Astounded, I glanced up at Rune. He nervously pushed his hair from his face. “Your aunt organized it all.” He shrugged. “So you’d look perfect. Not that you don’t anyway.”

  The lady in the room waved and tapped the seat in front of her. Rune lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “Go, we have to leave in an hour.”

  “What do I wear?” I asked, breathlessly.

  “We have that organized too.” Rune led me to the seat and I sat down, briefly stopping to introduce myself to the stylist.

  Rune moved to sit on the couch across the room. I was filled with happiness when he took his camera from its bag on the side table. I watched Rune raise the camera to his eye as Jayne, the stylist, began working on my hair. And for the next forty minutes, he captured those moments.

  I couldn’t have been happier if I tried.

  Jayne leaned down, checking my face, and, with a final brushstroke on my cheek, moved back and smiled. “There we go, girl. All done.” She stepped away and began packing her things. When she was finished, she kissed me on the cheek. “Have a good night, lady.”

  “Thank you,” I replied and walked her to the door.

  When I turned around, Rune was standing before me. He lifted his hand to my newly-curled hair. “Poppymin,” he rasped. “You look beautiful.”

  I ducked my head. “Do I?”

  Rune lifted his camera and snapped the button. Lowering it again, he nodded. “Perfect.”

  Rune reached down for my hand and led me through to the bedroom. Hanging on the door was a black empire-waist dress. Low-heeled shoes rested on the plush carpeted floor.

  “Rune,” I whispered as I ran my hand over the soft material. “It’s so pretty.”

  Rune lifted the dress and placed it on the bed. “Get dressed, baby, then we have to go.”

  I nodded my head, still in a daze. Rune left the bedroom and shut the door. In minutes I’d dressed and slipped my feet into the heels. I moved to the bathroom mirror, and a stunned gasp left my mouth when I stared at the girl looking back. My hair was curled and not a strand was out of place. My make-up boasted a light smoky eye, and, best of all, my infinity earrings were shining bright.

  A knock came from the bedroom door. “Come in!” I shouted. I couldn’t tear myself away from my reflection.

  Rune moved behind me, and my heart melted when I saw his reaction in the mirror … the floored look on his handsome face.

  He placed his hands on my arms. Leaning down, one hand lifted to pull back my hair as he kissed the spot just below my ear. I felt short of breath at his touch, at his eyes still fixed on mine in the mirror.

  My black dress plunged slightly at the front, showing my chest and neck, wide straps lying on the edge of my shoulders. Rune kissed down my neck, before moving his hand to my chin to turn my mouth to his. His warm lips melted against mine and I sighed, with pure happiness, into his mouth.

  Rune reached over to the counter and lifted my white bow in his hands. He slipped it into my hair. Casting me a shy smile, he said, “Now you’re perfect. Now you’re my Poppy.”

  My stomach flipped at the huskiness in his voice, then it completely turned over when he took my hand and led me from the room. A dress coat waited in the room and, like a true gentleman, he held it out and guided it over my shoulders.

  Turning me to face him, Rune asked, “You ready?”

  I nodded and allowed Rune to lead me into the elevator and then out the door. A limousine was waiting for us, the smartly-dressed driver opening the door for us to get in. I turned to Rune to ask him how he’d arranged everything, but before I even could, he answered, “DeeDee.”

  The driver closed the door. I held tightly onto Rune’s hands as we pulled into the bustling streets. I watched Manhattan whirr past the window, then we came to a stop.

  I saw the building before I left the limousine, my heart hammering in excitement. I whipped my head to Rune, but he had already gotten out. He appeared at my door, opening it for me and holding out his hand.

  I stepped out onto the street and looked up at the huge building before us. “Rune,” I whispered. “Carnegie Hall,” My hand slipped over my mouth.

  Rune shut the door and the limousine drew away. He pulled me close and said, “Come with me.”

  As we walked to the entrance, I tried to read all of the signs to get an indication about the performance. But no matter how hard I searched, I couldn’t discover who was performing tonight.

  Rune pushed through the large doors, and a man greeted us on the inside and pointed out the way to go. Rune led me forward until we had passed the foyer and entered the main auditorium. If I was breathless before, it was nothing to how I felt at this moment—standing in the hall that had been my dream since I was a little girl.

  When I had drunk in the vast impressive space—the gold balconies, the plush red of the chairs and carpets—I frowned, realizing we were completely alone. There was no audience. There was no orchestra.

  “Rune?”

  Rune rocked nervously on his feet and pointed to the stage. I followed his hand. In the center of the large stage was a single chair, and a cello resting on its side with its bow lying on top.

  I tried to fathom what I was seeing, but I couldn’t comprehend it. This was Ca
rnegie Hall. One of the most famous concert venues in the whole wide world.

  Without a word, Rune led me down the aisle toward the stage, stopping at a set of temporary steps. I turned to face him, and Rune met my eyes. “Poppymin, if things had been different…” He sucked in a breath, but managed to compose himself enough to continue. “If things had been different, you would have played here as a professional one day. You would have played here as part of an orchestra, the orchestra that you’ve dreamed about being a part of.” Rune’s hand squeezed mine. “You would have performed the solo you’ve always wanted to perform on this stage.”

  A tear spilled out from Rune’s eye. “But because that can’t happen, because life is so damn unfair … I still wanted you to have this. To have known what this dream would feel like. I wanted you to have your chance in the spotlight. A spotlight that, in my opinion, you deserve, not only as the person I love most in the entire world, but as the best cellist. The most gifted musician.”

  Realization dawned. The magnitude of what he had done for me began to set in, drifting slowly to rest on my exposed heart. Feeling my eyes fill with water, I stepped closer to Rune, splaying my hands on his chest. I blinked up at him, trying to rid the tears from my eyes. Unable to hold back my emotions, I tried to ask, “Have you … how did you … do this…?”

  Rune pulled me forward and guided me up the stairs until I was standing on the stage that had been my life’s greatest ambition. Rune’s hand squeezed mine again, in place of words. “Tonight you have the stage, Poppymin. I’m sorry I’m the only one who will witness your performance, but I just wanted you to have this dream fulfilled. I wanted you to play in this hall. I wanted your music to fill this auditorium. I wanted your legacy to be imprinted on these walls.”

  Stepping closer to me, Rune placed his hands on my cheeks and wiped away my tears with the pads of his thumbs. Pressing his forehead to mine, he whispered, “You deserve this, Poppy. You should have had more time to see this dream realized, but … but…”