in the movie theater

hands

Inside the theater, I remembered two things specifically.
One, it was Nirvana’s “Heart Shaped Box” that was on the radio of her parents car the first night we drove alone together, the first night we parked behind Oakridge Mall, the night she reached over and got to second base with me trembling in the passenger seat, my hand numb, dumbly hanging motionless in front of her, mid air, confused of whether to go for breast or not.
Two, seeing her inside the theater for the first time, the way she smiled at me with lips that pulsated with glitter lipstick that radiated outwards like runway lights, a sexual beacon, and the shine of her eyes as I looked at her, she at me. It made me nauseous with a feeling I’d never known. It was almost fluey, an overwhelming mix of desire and timidity that made my skin flush and the bile in my tumultuous stomach push through my throat and into the back of my mouth.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s