stoop kiss
i had imagined us kissing on the sort of red brick stoop i had seen further east, beset by falling leaves. i was never sure why it was autumn in the fantasy—yes, i had started to catch feelings for him as early as thanksgiving, but it wasn’t until nearly the following february that either of us broke the invisible barrier between us and started talking like we were dating. the longer we waited to see each other and the more we talked, the more i became certain i wanted to greet him with a kiss.
there was a good deal of time between that initial moment of realizing the ways we loved each other and the kiss. we did things the responsible way—pandemic version. we waited. i had lost my grandmother to a coronavirus infection contracted in an annapolis hospital. in the interim, he would lose his aunt under other circumstances. i would lose my job as a result of constant dissociation. all the while, we waited—waited for a vaccine appointment, waited for a second dose, waited the two weeks for full vaccination status. we waited for comfort and joy in a world that routinely denied it to both of us. we waited for each other.
all of this is to say that i shook like a windblown leaf with anticipation on that may morning. we’d planned for him to come over in the early afternoon, and my body woke me up hours prior, already (almost) ready to go. i put on black lace bike shorts and a pink tee with cutouts on the shoulder and i can’t remember if there was makeup involved (the dissociation, after all). i remember so little except seeing him walk by my front porch, clad in a fernet branca tank top and sunglasses, then hearing him climb the hollow wooden stairs. i was off the couch by the point he hit the bottom step, standing in the vestibule between the screen and my heavy green door. i’d been waiting all morning, all year for this.
before it was a kiss, it was a hug. my hands stretched fingers wide as i palmed his back. you’re real, i thought, on the verge of happy tears
then he tipped my chin upward, backed me gently into the vestibule wall, and kissed me. i remember every second of the kiss—i had daydreamed and even written about it from the speculative perspective. but absolutely nothing could have prepared me for the enormity with which that kiss made me feel. synapses reacted that i’d thought were dead. i felt fullness inside. for every second he held me there, in that perfect position, it was as if a part of me broke free of the delirium of dissociation and came alive again. everything i could possibly say about this kiss is cliché and yet i am still pawing for words to describe it because i refuse to forget this enormity. i had reached a point in life where i didn’t believe in anything anymore, but i will always believe in whatever it is that drew us together.
i love you, we whispered, nearly in tandem, and stepped inside.
Beeper Peddle is a writer and healer living on the East Coast. She lives with her partner and their beloved soul puppy. Beeper writes about sorrows, lies, and deep loves. When you read her work, you will dip down into her heart and end up in all manner of body parts. Should you find yourself reflected in these words, it is merely coincidence; however, it does not surprise her you share the same heart. Find her at bethpeddle.com and @beeperpeddle on Twitter and Instagram
nat raum (they/them) is a queer disabled artist and writer based on occupied Piscataway and Susquehannock land in Baltimore. They hold a BFA from the Maryland Institute College of Art, and are an MFA candidate at the University of Baltimore. They are also the editor-in-chief of fifth wheel press and the author of you stupid slut, the abyss is staring back, random access memory, and several others.
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