A thousand Boy Kisses

This moment, given to me by you, I will remember always. I will take it with me
to … wherever I go.”
Rune’s eyes opened. I pulled him down further. “You gave me tonight. You’ve
returned. We can’t change the facts, we can’t change our fates, but we can still
live. We can live as hard and as fast as we can while we have these days before
us. We can be us again: Poppy and Rune.”
I didn’t think he would say anything in return, so it surprised me and filled me
with incredible hope when he said, “Our final adventure.”
The perfect way to phrase it, I thought. “Our final adventure,” I whispered into
the night, an unprecedented joy infusing my body. Rune’s arms snaked around
my waist. “With one amendment,” I said. Rune frowned.
Smoothing the crease on his forehead, I said, “This life’s final adventure.
Because I know, with unwavering faith, that we’ll be together again. Even when
this adventure is over, a greater one awaits us on the other side. And Rune, there
would be no heaven if you weren’t back in my arms someday.”
All six feet four of Rune Kristiansen braced against me. And I held him. I held
him until he calmed. When he pulled back, I asked, “So, Rune Kristiansen,
Viking from Norway, are you with me?”
Despite himself, Rune laughed. Laughed when I held out my hand for him to
shake. Rune, my Scandinavian bad boy with a face made by the angels, slipped
his hand into mine and we shook on our promise. Twice. Like my mamaw taught
me.
“I’m with you,” he said. I felt his vow all the way to my toes.
“Ma’am, sir?” I looked over Rune’s shoulder to see the server holding our
check. “We’re closing up,” he explained.
“You okay?” I asked Rune, signaling to the server that we were coming.
Rune nodded, his heavy brows pushing his face back into his familiar scowl. I
imitated how he looked by scrunching my face. Rune, unable to resist, gave me
his good-humored smirk. “Only you,” he said, more to himself than to me,
“Poppymin.” Slipping his hand back into mine, he slowly guided me to the front

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of the shack.
When we were back in the car, Rune turned on the engine and said, “We have
one more place to go.”
“Another memorable moment?”
As we pulled out onto the road, Rune took my hand in his across the console
and replied, “I hope so, Poppymin. I hope so.”
* * *
It took us a while to drive back to town. We didn’t talk much. I had come to
understand that Rune was quieter than he used to be. Not that he was exactly an
extrovert before. He was always introverted and quiet. He fit nicely the image of
the brooding artist, head always juggling places and landscapes he wanted to
capture on film.
Moments.
We had traveled only a mile or so down the road when Rune turned the radio
on. He told me to pick any station I wanted. And when I quietly sang, his fingers
tightened just that bit more in mine.
A yawn escaped my mouth as we approached the edge of town, but I fought to
keep my eyes open. I wanted to know where he was taking me.
When we stopped outside the Dixon Theater, my pulse took flight. This was
the theater I had always dreamed of performing at. It was the theater I had
always wanted to return to when I was older, as part of a professional orchestra.
To my home town.
Rune cut the engine, and I stared up at the impressive stone theater. “Rune,
what are we doing here?”
Rune released my hand and opened his door. “Come with me.”
Frowning, but my heart racing so impossibly hard, I opened my door to follow
him. Rune took my hand and led me to the front entrance.
It was late on a Sunday night, but he led us straight through the front doors. As

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soon as we entered the dim foyer, I heard the faint sounds of Puccini playing in
the background.
My hand tightened in Rune’s. He glanced down at me, a smirk on his lips.
“Rune,” I whispered, as he led me up the opulent staircase. “Where are we
going?”
Rune pressed his finger over my lips, signaling for me to be quiet. I wondered
why, but then he led me to a door … the door that led to the dress circle of the
theater.
Rune opened the door, and music washed over me like a wave. Gasping at the
sheer volume of the sound, I followed Rune to the front row of seats. Down
below was an orchestra, their conductor leading them. I recognized them
instantly: The Savannah Chamber Orchestra.
I was transfixed, staring at the musicians focusing so intently on their
instruments, swaying in time to the beat. Whipping my head to Rune, I asked,
“How did you do this?”
Rune shrugged. “I was looking to take you to see them perform properly, but
they’re traveling overseas tomorrow. When I explained to the conductor how
much you loved them, he said we could drop in on their rehearsal.”
No words passed through my lips.
I was speechless. Completely and utterly speechless.
Failing to adequately express my feelings, my sheer gratitude for this surprise,
I laid my head on his shoulder and cuddled into his arm. The smell of leather
filled my nose as my eyes focused on the orchestra below.
I watched in fascination. I watched as the conductor expertly guided the
musicians through their rehearsal: the solos, the decorative passages, the intricate
harmonies.
Rune held me close, as I sat, mesmerized. Occasionally, I felt his eyes on me:
him watching me, me watching them.
But I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Especially from the cello section. When the
deep tones rang clear and true, I let my eyes drift to a close.

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It was beautiful.
I could picture myself, so clearly, sitting amongst fellow musicians, my friends,
staring into this theater, full of the people I knew and loved. Rune sitting,
watching with his camera around his neck.
It was the most perfect of dreams.
It had been my biggest dream for as long as I could remember.
The conductor called for the musicians to quiet. I watched the stage. I watched
as all but the principal cellist lowered their instruments. The woman, who looked
to be in her thirties, pulled her chair to center stage. No audience bar us.
She positioned herself, her bow poised on the string, to start. She concentrated
on the conductor. As he raised his baton, instructing her to begin, I heard the first
note play. And as I did, I became completely still. I didn’t dare breathe. I didn’t
want to hear anything but the most perfect melody ever in existence.
The sound of “The Swan” from Carnival of the Animals drifted up to our seats.
I watched the cellist become lost in the music, her facial expressions betraying
her emotions with each new note.
I wanted to be her.
In that moment, I wanted to be the cellist playing this piece so perfectly. I
wanted to be gifted that trust, the trust of giving this performance.
Everything faded away as I watched her. Then I closed my eyes. I closed my
eyes and let the music take hold of my senses. I let it take me on its journey. As
the tempo picked up, the vibrato echoing beautifully off the theater’s walls, I
opened my eyes.
And the tears came.
The tears came, as the music demanded.
Rune’s hand tightened in mine and I felt his gaze on me. I could sense he was
worried that I was upset. But I wasn’t upset. I was soaring. Heart-soaring in the
blissful melody.
My cheeks grew wet, but I let the tears flow. This was why music was my
passion. From wood and string and bow, this magical melody could be created,

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stirring life into a soul.
And I stayed that way. I stayed that way until the last note drifted to the ceiling.
The cellist raised her bow. Only then did she open her eyes, guiding her spirit to
its resting place inside her. Because that’s what she was feeling, I knew. The
music had transported her to a distant place, somewhere only she knew. It had
moved her.
For a time, the music had graced her with its power.
The conductor nodded and the orchestra walked backstage, leaving silence to
occupy the now-empty stage.
But I didn’t turn my head. Not until Rune sat forward, with a hand placed
gently upon my back. “Poppymin?” he whispered, his voice guarded and unsure.
“I’m sorry,” he said under his breath, “I thought this would make you happ—”
I faced him, clasping both his hands between mine. “No,” I said, interrupting
his apology. “No,” I reiterated. “These are tears of joy, Rune. Absolute joy.”
He exhaled, releasing one of his hands to wipe at my cheeks. I laughed, my
voice echoing around us. I cleared my throat, chasing away an excess of
emotion, and explained, “That’s my favorite piece, Rune. ‘The Swan’”, from the