A thousand Boy Kisses

Poppymin. My girl. She loved me.
“That’s enough,” I said to the wind. “That’s enough for right now.”
Throwing the smoke’s butt to the ground, I quietly slid into the driver’s seat
and turned the key. The engine sprang to life and I drove away from the beach,
sure we’d be here again.
And if we didn’t, like Poppy said, we’d had this moment. We had this memory.
She had her kiss.
And I had her love.
* * *
When I pulled into her driveway, dusk had fallen, the stars beginning to wake.
Poppy had slept all the way home, her light, rhythmic breathing a comforting
sound as I drove us down the dark roads toward home.
Putting the car in park, I got out and walked around to her side. I opened the
door as quietly as I could, undoing the seatbelt and scooping Poppy into my
arms.
She felt as if she weighed nothing as she instinctively curled into my chest, her
warm breath drifting over my neck. I walked to her door. As I reached the top
step, the front door opened. Mr. Litchfield was standing in the hallway.
I continued forward and he moved out of my way, allowing me to carry Poppy

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to her bedroom. I saw Poppy’s mama and sisters sitting in the living room,
watching TV.
Her mama got to her feet. “Is she okay?” she whispered.
I nodded. “She’s just tired.”
Mrs. Litchfield leaned forward and kissed Poppy’s forehead. “Sleep tight,
baby,” she whispered. My chest tightened at the sight, then she nodded for me to
take Poppy to her room.
I walked her down the hallway and through to her bedroom. As gently as I
could, I placed her on her bed, smiling when Poppy’s arm naturally searched for
me on the side of the bed in which I slept.
When Poppy’s breathing had evened out once again, I sat down on the side of
her bed and ran my hand down her face. Leaning forward, I kissed her soft cheek
and whispered, “I love you, Poppymin. Forever always.”
Rising from the bed, I froze when I caught sight of Mr. Litchfield in the
doorway, watching … listening.
My jaw clenched as he stared me down. Inhaling a calming breath through my
nose, I walked silently past him, down the hallway and back out to the car to get
my camera.
I returned to the house to leave the car keys on the table in the hallway. As I
entered, Mr. Litchfield walked from the living room. I stopped, rocking
awkwardly until he reached out his hand for the keys.
I dropped them in his hand and went to turn to walk away. Before I could, he
asked, “Did y’all have a good time?”
My shoulders tensed. Forcing myself to respond, I met his eyes and nodded.
Throwing a wave to Mrs. Litchfield, Ida and Savannah, I walked out the door
and down the steps. As I reached the bottom step, I heard, “She loves you too,
you know.”
Mr. Litchfield’s voice brought my feet to a stop, and without looking back, I
replied, “I know.”
I crossed the grass to my house. I went straight to my room and tossed the

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camera onto the bed. I intended to wait out the next few hours before I went to
Poppy. But the more I stared at the camera bag, the more I wanted to see how
the photos had turned out.
The pictures of Poppy dancing in the sea.
Without giving myself the chance to walk away, I grabbed the camera and
sneaked down to the darkroom in the basement. As I reached the door and turned
the knob, I flicked on the light. I sighed, a strange feeling settling within me.
Because Poppy had been right. My pappa had prepared this room for me. My
equipment was exactly where it would have been two years ago. The lines and
pegs were ready and waiting.
The process of developing the pictures felt as if I’d never been away. I enjoyed
the familiarity of each step. Nothing was forgotten, like I had been born with the
ability to do this.
Like I had been given this gift. Poppy recognized that I had needed this in my
life, when I was too blinded by the past to see it.
The smell of the chemicals hit my nose. An hour passed, and I eventually stood
back, the pictures on their pegs forming into shapes, second by second revealing
the moment caught on film.
The red light didn’t stop me from seeing the wonders that I’d captured. As I
walked along the lines of hanging images, of life in its glory, I couldn’t stave off
the excitement burning in my chest. I couldn’t stop the smile—for this work—
playing on my lips.
Then I stopped.
I stopped at a picture that held me captive. Poppy, holding on to the hem of her
dress, dancing in the shallow water. Poppy, with a carefree smile and windblown
hair, laughing wholeheartedly. Her eyes bright and her skin flushed as she
looked over her shoulder, right at me. The sun lighting her face in an angle so
pure and beautiful it was as if it was a spotlight on her happiness, attracted by
her magnetic joy.
I lifted my hand, keeping it a centimeter away from the picture, and traced my

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finger over her beaming face, over her soft lips and rosy cheeks. And I felt it.
Felt the overwhelming passion for this craft burst back to life inside me. This
picture. This one picture cemented what I had secretly known all along.
I was meant to do this with my life.
It made sense that this picture brought this message home—it was of the girl
that was my home. A knock sounded at the door, and without taking my gaze
from the picture, I answered, “Ja?”
The door opened slowly. I felt who it was before I looked. My pappa entered
the darkroom, by only a few steps. I looked at him, but I had to turn away again
at the expression on his face, as he drank in all the pictures hanging from the
pegs across the room.
I didn’t want to confront what that feeling in my stomach meant. Not yet.
Minutes passed by in silence, before my pappa said softly, “She’s absolutely
beautiful, son.” My chest constricted when I saw his eyes on the photo that I was
still standing before.
I didn’t respond. My pappa stood awkwardly in the doorway, saying nothing
else. Finally, he moved to leave. As he went to shut the door, I forced myself to
say a sharp, “Thank you … for the camera.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw my pappa pause. I heard a slow, ragged intake of
breath, then he replied, “You have nothing to thank me for, son. Nothing at all.”
With that he left me in my darkroom.
I stayed longer than I intended, replaying my pappa’s response in my mind.
Clutching two photographs in my hands, I climbed the steps of the basement
and headed for my room. As I passed the open door of Alton’s bedroom, I saw
him sitting on his bed, watching TV.
He hadn’t seen me, standing there in his doorway, and I carried on to my room.
But as I heard him laugh at whatever he was watching, my feet stuck to the floor,
and I made myself turn back.
As I entered his room, Alton turned to me, and in a move that made me feel a
crack in my chest, the biggest smile spread on his cute face.

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“Hei, Rune,” he said quietly, and he sat further up in bed.
“Hei,” I replied. I walked toward his bed and nodded toward the TV. “What are
you watching?”
Alton looked at the TV, then back to me. “Swamp Monsters.” His head tipped
to the side, and then he pushed his long hair from his face. Something in my
stomach tugged as he did. “You want to watch it with me for a while?” Alton
asked nervously, then dropped his head.
I could tell he thought I would say no. Surprising both him and myself, I
replied, “Sure.”
Alton’s blue eyes widened to the size of saucers. He lay stiffly on his bed.
When I stepped forward, he shuffled to the side of the narrow mattress.
I lay down beside him, kicking up my feet. Then Alton leaned against my side
and continued watching his show. I watched it with him, only looking away
when I caught him staring up at me.
When I met his eyes, his cheeks flushed with red and he said, “I like you
watching this with me, Rune.”
Breathing through the unfamiliar feeling his words brought out, I ruffled his
long hair and replied, “Me too, Alt. I like this too.”
Alton leaned back against my side. He lay there until he fell asleep, the timer
on his TV kicking in and plunging the room into darkness.
Rising off the bed, I passed my mamma, who had been watching silently from
the hallway. I nodded my head at her as I entered my room, turning and shutting
the door behind me. I flipped the lock, placed one of the photos on the desk, and
climbed through my window and ran across to Poppy’s.
When I entered her room, Poppy was still sleeping. Taking off my shirt, I
walked around the side of her bed to where she slept. I placed the photo of us
kissing by the water on her pillow, for her to see as soon as she woke up.
I climbed into her bed, Poppy automatically finding me in the dark, laying her
head against my chest and wrapping her arm around my waist.
Four footprints in the sand.

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