A Confession Story – Part IV of V – If you want to read this story, start at Day 19
I know a thing or two about kissing. Grand Hotel had got my attention. I couldn’t understand half of what Greta Garbo said, but her love scene with John Barrymore didn’t need words. The frilly decoration of her hotel room, the canopied bed where they sat, her long satiny nightgown, the first seconds that she stared into his eyes. A quick, sharp kiss, broken as they hugged. She lay back against her pillows, pulling him with her to kiss fast again. They stayed like that until her maid knocked on the door.
That’s when I breathed again.
A few days after the movie, I gathered kindling with Billy John in the woods by his house. Billy John is shorter than me, has too many freckles, and is not real smart. He was the handiest boy to practice on, though. So I told him to kiss me.
“Like hell I will!” he said, backing away.
“It don’t mean nothing,” I promised him. “I just want to see what it’s like.”
Since he doesn’t get to the movies much, I had to tell him what to do. I pretended his hands weren’t grimy as he put them on my shoulders. I closed my eyes and felt his dry little mouth touch mine. He started to pull away right quick, but I held onto his arms for a few seconds more. I tried my best to picture John
Barrymore, but Billy John smelled too much like cornbread and greasy hair. I let him go and stood still for a minute, thinking about the kiss. Then I shoved him so hard he fell on his behind. I ran all the way home.
