Where the Kissing Never Stops

by Ron Koertge

  We walked arm in arm to the front door. I was feeling a little sad that she had to go. It’d been great being alone together; now I knew what Tommy Thompson was talking about. Still, I didn’t feel like I had scored with Rachel or got her or nailed her or any of the other charming phrases I’d heard Tommy toss around. I just felt close to her. She was — corny as this sounds — dear to me, and I felt privileged to have made love. Jesus, imagine airing those views while the wet towels popped in the locker room. Somebody would take away my Guy badge.

  “You wouldn’t,” Rachel said, leaning on the door, “tell anybody, would you?”

  “No, honest.”

  “Not even Sully?”

  Oh. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

  “Did you say you would?”

  “Sort of. Not about you, though. Just in general.”

  “I’m not ashamed or anything,” she said quickly.

  “No, me neither.”

  “I just don’t want everybody in town to know, everybody including my dad.”

  I thought about Mom. I wondered if the condom I had thrown in the toilet had gone down, or if it was still floating there like some weird sea creature.

  Rachel put her arms around me and hugged. Hard.

  “Peggy really likes Sully,” she said. “But she’s afraid that he doesn’t want to be with her because of the way she’s been.”

  “Well, Sully’s afraid that she’ll laugh at him because he’s never done it.”

  “How many people in the world,” she said reflectively, “are doing it right now, do you think?”

  “Everywhere in the world? It must be millions.”

  Her eyes widened. “Millions. Wow. And if most of them smoke afterward, no wonder there’s smog.” She opened the door and peeked out. “I guess I’ll just march right down the walk like nothing happened.”

  “You look pretty happy.”

  “Maybe your neighbors will think I finally finished my term paper.”

  “They’re probably asleep.”

  “Are you going to tell your mom I was here studying?”

  I shook my head.

  “Me neither. Dad thinks I’m at the library. God, if every kid who said he was going to the library actually went, they’d have to send out for more books.” She kissed me lightly, took two steps, then turned. The porch light made her hair glow. “I’m glad you were the one.”

  “I’m glad you were, too.”

  Sully and I were standing by my locker. Taped inside the door was a picture of a bright green John Deere tractor he’d cut out of some feed and grain catalog as a joke. Past him I could see other doors, and inside them long photos of girls with impossibly big breasts, their eyes half-closed in routine pinup ecstasy.

  “Should I have told her about Mom right then?” I asked. “I mean, did I miss the opportunity of a lifetime?”

  He stroked his chin like a thoughtful actor in a mystery.

  “My dad says everybody lies sometimes. Even animals. Possums lie; they aren’t dead. Blowfish lie; they aren’t that big and tough.”

  “Pretty fast crowd I’m in — possums and blowfish.”

  “Dad says you can’t tell the truth all the time, anyway. You have to wait or you’ll just confuse people or hurt their feelings.”

  “Okay, but what happens when Mr. Gardner wants us all to come to Thanksgiving dinner, and there Mom sits in her G-string with her snake?”

  He took a step back. “She’s got a snake?”

  I waved that away. “I don’t know.”

  “What would she want a snake for?”

  “Forget it, okay? It was a bad example.”

  “Look, your mom’s been cool so far. Why would she blow the whistle now, all of a sudden?”

  I raised my palms helplessly. “It’s not really about her. It’s about me. I really just want to tell Rachel, but there never seems to be a good time.”

  “Forget about it. Maybe it’s like my dad says about diseases. Left alone, ninety percent of them just go away.”

  “And the other ten?”

  He shrugged. “I guess you die.”

  Of course, no one died. In fact, going with Rachel just got sweeter and deeper and richer. A week or so later, I was out at the Land Time Forgot (or, to be completely fair, the Land Dad Forgot). There wasn’t that much to do, really; everything was coming up on its own, but I liked being there by myself. I had a hoe and a big old heavy rake with dragon’s teeth for tines, and I strolled up and down the rows like the shoppers who would eventually take over. Except that I was on the lookout for bindweed, mallow, and fescue.

  I could still lose myself out there, even without the noise of the tractor. It was a little like going diving — something Dad and I had done when we all went to Florida — being alone in all that deep silence. Occasionally as I worked, a mermaid would float by (that would be Rachel) or a shark (my physics final) or something like my mom (pretty but baffling). Mostly, though, it was just me moving slowly, happy by myself, hacking at the scrappy weeds, getting sunburned: the Farmer in the Mall.

  Then, when I looked up, there were my friends in Sully’s mom’s convertible. They all waved; Rachel stood on the seat and shouted my name. Sully held up a picnic basket. I could see Peggy grin, both arms in the air like a lottery winner.

  I pulled on a shirt as Rachel kissed me lightly. I probably had less of a stomach than before, and it was even more tanned — not so much like Moby Dick’s nose — but I still felt better covering it up.

  “What’s the occasion?” I asked, looking at the food.

  Rachel shrugged. “I ran into Peggy at the mall, she called Sully, and presto.”

  Sully looked around. “It’s great out here. I’m so sick of studying.” He began to box, throwing little pitty-pat combinations first at nobody, then at me. “Maybe I could become Gerald the Fighting Psychiatrist. A sign on my couch would read GET WELL OR ELSE.” Then he hit me hard enough to sting and took off running.

  We raced to the nearest fencerow, then turned, panting. Looking back, I watched Rachel and Peggy hold the checkered cloth taut, raise it till it filled with the warm spring air, then kneel and cover the soft earth at the edge of the field. Rachel opened a basket, and Peggy held out her hands for the napkins and for plates so shiny they reflected the sun.

  “They’re really women, aren’t they, Sully?”

  “Are you kidding? One of them’s wearing raccoon makeup and a man’s sport coat made into a skirt; the other one looks like she just stepped out of Seventeen.”

  “I know, but they still seem more grown-up than I feel.”

  “Girls have always seemed about three years ahead of me for as long as I can remember. And speaking of being a kid, I guess I’m not one anymore.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Couple of nights ago. But don’t let on. Peggy asked me not to tell.”

  “Rachel too.” We were shaking hands and grinning like we’d just closed some stupendous deal.

  “I was so scared,” he said. “And it wasn’t anything like those X-rated movies we saw in Love’s Park where the guy is always leering and sweating. First of all, it just kind of happened all on its own.”

  “God, I know that one.”

  “You too?”

  “The first time, yeah.”

  “The first time? Are you still doing it?”

  “Not right now. I’m talking to you; this is social intercourse, remember.”

  Sully laughed a little nervously, then got quiet again. I knew he had more on his mind.

  “I really like Peggy,” he said intently. “She’s so…” He squinted and looked west, as if the word were written on the horizon. “Kind,” he said finally. “She’s really got a good heart. I mean, sure it comes naturally and all that, but I was still really clumsy and she made me feel like a goddamned king.”

  We were leaning on a rail fence, a real one. I don’t think Lincoln had split the logs or anything, but somebody a long time ago had worked hard on them.
I moved my arm so our elbows touched and Sully grinned up at me.

  “What’s it like the second time?”

  “Different. Better in a way, naturally. We’ve got all this birth control stuff, so —”

  “What do you guys use?”

  “Everything. What about you?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I thought that Peggy was on the pill.”

  “Probably.”

  “Still, I’d better check. My dad says sperm are really tricky devils.”

  I shook my head. “All that crap you hear about in health ed. about the awesome responsibility that goes along with sex turns out to be true.”

  “I used to think that if I was a surgeon instead of a shrink, I’d give anybody an abortion anytime she wanted one. Now I’m not so sure. I mean, is that any way to make a living?”

  “How about plastic surgery.”

  “Isn’t that a lie? You’re not young; you just look young.”

  I waved my hand at him, palm flat. “Plastic surgery is okay. It’s in the Bible, in the Lost Cosmetic Scrolls. ‘Thou shalt lift thy jowls if thou wantest to and thy behind also may be hoisted, sometimes in lean years, sometimes in fat.’”

  He laughed at my nonsense, then turned around, resting his elbows on the rough wood like some guy at a bar.

  “Look at them,” he said. “God, they’re our girlfriends. I never had a girlfriend before.”

  “They’re waving to us,” I said. “Let’s go eat.”

  “Do you guys do it a lot?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I eat lunch every day.”

  Full of tuna mayonnaise and Ruffles, the heavenly taste of chocolate cake still in my mouth, Rachel’s hand on mine, the sun pouring down on everything, me feeling happy and safe and content: we lay down — moving some things aside, putting others away — with all our heads together and our feet pointing off in the four directions of the compass.

  “I don’t know,” said Peggy, talking so slow and thick it was like she was half asleep or hypnotized, “maybe Walker’s right, you guys.”

  “Walker’s always right,” said Rachel, just as slowly.

  “What am I right about this time?” I asked, imagining that instead of tumbling out all edges and points, the nouns and verbs floated up slowly into the gorgeous blue sky, followed by the articles and prepositions just tagging along.

  “This place,” Peggy said. “It’s fabulous out here. I’d kind of hate to see it swallowed up by Toys R Us and the Hair Affair.”

  “You guys should see a great mall,” Rachel said dreamily.

  “You wouldn’t miss this place?” Sully asked, trying to balance a Ruffle on his nose.

  Rachel took a long, luxurious breath and let it out. “Don’t get me wrong. Part of me doesn’t want to see this disappear, either. I just mean it’d be nice for you guys to see a great mall, that’s all.” She reached for a carrot stick, then held it between her index and middle fingers. “It’s too bad you can’t smoke vegetables,” she mused.

  “Where is this great mall?” I murmured. “We’ll go.” I turned my face toward Rachel’s, nuzzling into her dark hair until I could feel her skin. She smelled, of all things, like papaya.

  “Manoa Marketplace,” she said. “But that’s in Hawaii.”

  “Aloha,” said Sully. “Which means hello, goodbye, and charge it.”

  “The Houston Galleria, Faneuil Hall, Ghirardelli Square,” Rachel recited. She had her hands folded primly on her tummy and she looked like a little girl who had fainted during a recitation but bravely continued.

  “Can we drive to any of those? I have to be home for dinner.”

  “The Emerald City’s not bad.”

  “Said Dorothy to her new friends.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “It’s in Love’s Park, about an hour from here.”

  “Then we should go,” Peggy said languidly.

  “We should,” Sully added. He was smoking a carrot stick, elaborately tapping the make-believe ashes in my face. “These aren’t bad,” he mused, “but they’re not a man’s smoke. ‘I’d walk a kilometer for a carrot’ doesn’t cut it.”

  “I need a kiss,” said Rachel. “Just a tiny one.”

  “Kiss Rachel,” I said to Sully. “You’re closer.”

  “No, no, no.” She shook her head lazily. “Sully has vegetable breath. It would be like kissing a relish tray. You kiss me.”

  “I smell like cake.”

  “Good.”

  “I could go to a mall,” Peggy said. “I need some shoes.” Her sentence floated skyward, lazy as incense.

  “They only sell red shoes in the Emerald City Mall.”

  “When should we go?”

  “Saturday?”

  “Are we serious about this?”

  All our heads nodded simultaneously.

  “You know,” said Peggy, “this is like a movie.”

  “Four Kids Lying on the Ground. I saw it.”

  “No, a really old movie where the camera is like on the ceiling and you look down on these girls and they’re all doing the same synchronized movements?”

  “Busby Berkeley,” said Sully.

  “Yes. Let’s do it. Everybody hold hands and put your arms back and your legs apart and we’ll make a star.”

  We followed Peggy’s directions, goofing around and laughing. I don’t know if we looked like a star. What I do know is that when Peggy wanted us to make a snowflake she had us all lift one leg and point our toes, and her skirt and Rachel’s slid down. All of a sudden there were their long legs and I got this really embarrassing erection and probably destroyed the pattern completely. I mean, whoever heard of a snowflake with a boner?

  Luckily Sully got tired of it or embarrassed or maybe he had a little problem of his own; anyway, he started to tickle Peggy and she rolled into him, pinning his arms to his side.

  Just then Mr. Kramer’s car turned off the main road and rattled our way. We watched without saying anything as he cruised right up next to us. We all waved, brushed off our clothes, and stood up.

  When Mr. Kramer got out, he touched the brim of his hat, called Rachel ma’am, and asked me how I’d been. I said all right.

  “Well, I just came by to see how things looked. I’m on my way over to take some things to my oldest boy. Keepsakes,” he said softly, “and things like that.”

  Rachel glanced at the car. “Can I see?” she asked. “Would you mind? I like old things.”

  “Help yourself.”

  As she leaned into the little gray Chevy, he and I walked toward the field where the very first oats had taken hold but not prospered. They weren’t even green like the others, but yellow like a porch light.

  “I talked to your mother,” he said, looking straight ahead like a sea captain. “Did she tell you?”

  “Not really. She’s got this weird schedule and we don’t always see each other.”

  “What it comes down to, I guess, is Rachel’s daddy got a little high and mighty with her.”

  “With Mom? About what?”

  “This here.” He pointed. “Gardner’s under the gun a little, the way I hear it. Now the city council’s dragging their heels on all the zoning he needs, not just this piece here. I think if he could get one of us to do something definite, he hopes the rest would just line up.”

  “Are you going to sell?”

  “Don’t know. Funny thing is, we could almost have our cake and eat it. If we sold tomorrow, we’d see this fall and another spring before the machines moved in. Hell, we could lease your place and that section of mine for grazing and turn a nice profit.”

  “Enough to pay for college?”

  “Enough to get you in the front door.”

  “Do you trust him?” I glanced toward Rachel, who was absorbed in a large cardboard box.

  “Far enough to take his money. Mostly I feel sorry for him. Used to be men come to town before the circus. They’d put up posters and sell tickets and then be gone before the elephants ever set foot on Ma
in Street. Always wondered if they ever saw the show.” He shook his head. “Hell of a way to live.”

  Rachel walked over to us holding a long album with a thick imitation-leather cover.

  “Are these you when you were young?” she asked.

  Mr. Kramer turned the long, dark pages, soft as a spaniel’s ears. Four tiny chevrons held each picture in place, and the first few were all of women standing beside huge automobiles — Hudsons, a Nash Ambassador, Packards. There was always a mountain in the background or the first fifteen feet of a famous tree.

  “Now,” said Mr. Kramer, pointing to a big horse, “that’s Prince and that there’s Speedy Boy.” His fingers moved lightly in all directions, like he was winning at draughts. “This is old Dutch and over here is Pal, Waymond’s little dog, and that heifer with the blaze face is June. Mattie cried when the truck came, but she brought near forty dollars a hundred, and we almost had to have the money.”

  There was a baby picture of Wilson, their oldest, seated by a chicken bigger than he was; one of a startled Pal next to Waymond fixed up to look like a cat, with whiskers radiating like spokes from his mouth, a union suit dyed black, and a long piece of rope for a tail; and finally a color photo of someone standing solemnly beside his first rifle.

  Then there were large photographs of country schools with names like Denton and Grass Valley; comic postcards that all featured outhouses and dazed, bosomy Ozark gals in tattered shorts; and family reunion pictures — Mr. Kramer pointed and named everyone.

  “Iris just wasted away and that’s a fact; Edith had the dropsy, Hilda and Evelyn both took to drink, and Lula lives in Washington, D.C., with a black man; Eda just dropped dead one day opening a can of Maxwell House coffee; Loy there went to Vietnam and when he came back, he just wasn’t right, though he’s awful good with his hands and he can fix anything.”

  “You’ve lived here a long time, haven’t you?” Rachel asked quietly.

  “All my life.”

  “God, that sounds great: I’ve stayed in a lot of big cities, but this is the first place I’ve ever really lived.”

  Later on, Sully and Peggy followed Mr. Kramer out toward the main road. He drove like a lot of old guys, leaning right up against the wheel, using both hands like he was steering a four-master. Behind him Sully lounged in the big convertible, Peggy’s head on his shoulder, his arm around her, steering with one finger.