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It was quiet. The world often is at three in the morning. There are few times when Evie Monroe felt as though everything as at peace. Her world was one so rarely filled with complete quiet. Her ears used to the symphony of voices screaming until midnight, of plates being thrown into walls, of wails piercing through walls far too thin to protect a once innocent girl hugging her knees and covering her ears, wishing it could all just end.
She used to think she’d end up like her parents, sad and angry, stuck in the endless cycle of survival. She didn’t want that, survival. She wanted more. She wanted to laugh until she cried and run through fields of wildflowers. She dreamed of nights spent under the stars, of sweet treats and gooey smiles. She wished for days without tears where she could sleep peacefully and awake without a start. She hoped for a day when her dreams become reality, where wishes and wants turn into the everyday.
She was 12 when she first pressed her lips to someone else’s. It was Sylvia Graham’s party. She was so excited to be there, Sylvia, being a year older than her, had pulled her aside and told her to be cool, act chill, and to not be a baby. It was her first middle school party, a 7th-grade party when she was only in 6th. When Sylvia came marching into the room with an empty bottle in hand she should have known that something was bound to happen.
Her palms were clammy and her breath was short as she watched the neck of the bottle. Round and round and round and round. Slower and slower and slower. Finally, it inched to a stop, she kept her eyes trained on the bottle, terrified of who she may need to lock lips with. She was hoping for Tommy Braden. She never gets what she hopes for. The neck of the bottle clearly pointed towards one of the few boys she had really and truly hoped she wouldn’t have to kiss. Steve Randle.
She would have been fine with John Miller, or Brian Price, or Sodapop Curtis. She even would have settled for Jim Davis. Nevertheless, the bottle hadn’t been pointed at Tommy, or John, or Brian, or Soda, or even Jim. It was pointing at Steve. Steve with far too much grease in his hair and the seemingly permanent scowl on his lips. The same lips that Evie would soon have to press against hers.
The worn carpet was rough against her pale, bare knees, her skirt not covering them as she scooted towards Steve across the circle. She was very glad she chose her favorite cherry-flavored lip gloss to wear, the one she only uses on special occasions. She loved the red tint it added to her lips, she thought it made her look real pretty, like maybe she’d fit in with kids a year or two older than her. She was glad she’d taken the time to brush her teeth and hair for extra-long before coming to the party, she felt minty fresh and she was teeming with excitement. She was about to have her very first kiss, granted it was with Steve Randle but that hardly mattered at that point. She was a 6th grader about to kiss a 7th grader at a party, a real party!
She inched closer to him with bated breath as her eyes became glued to his lips. It wasn’t what she’d imagined when she’d dreamed up what her first kiss would look like. She thought it would have been smooth and romantic, a soft kiss alone with nothing but thousands of stars above their heads and endless field as far as the eye could see, but she’d feel safe and warm from the strong arms wrapped around her waist.
She most definitely hadn’t been expecting her eyes to be clamped shut with her lips puckered into a tight circle. His lips were warm, and wet, far too wet. She wasn’t sure what to say after when people asked what it was like, had she liked it? Did it feel good? Would she do it again? It had been way too short for her to really feel much of anything so she wasn't sure what to tell her eager friends desperate for answers. The one question she did have a solid answer for was whether or not she wanted to do it again. She nearly laughed in Kathy’s face when she asked her that on Sylvia’s front porch later that night.
“If there’s one thing I’m sure about it’s that I ain’t never gonna kiss Steve freakin’ Randle ever again, and that’s a fact!” She exclaimed, looking at her friend firmly before taking off down the front steps and making her way back home.
Never ever ever ever ever ever ever will I kiss Steve Randle until the day I die! She thought to herself as she silently tiptoed up the stairs to her room, trying her best to not let a creaky stair pierce the silence that so rarely overtakes her house.