A thousand Boy Kisses

know he’s an extra-terrestrial, because, Lord! That man keeps failing my ass and
giving me the stink-eye!”
“Jorie!” Poppy laughed, laughed so hard that her whole body shook. I smiled at
her happiness, then I zoned out. I leaned further back against the log as our
friends talked. I lazily traced patterns on Poppy’s arm, wanting nothing more
than to leave. I didn’t mind sitting with our friends, but I preferred to be alone
with her. It was her company I craved; the only place I ever wanted to be was
with her.
Poppy giggled at something else Jorie said. Her laugh was so hard she knocked
the camera hanging around my neck to the side. Poppy flashed me an apologetic
smile. I leaned down, tilted her chin toward me with my finger and kissed her on
the lips. I only meant for it to be swift and soft, but when Poppy’s hand threaded
into my hair, pulling me closer, it became more. As Poppy opened her lips, I
pushed my tongue to meet hers, losing my breath as I did.
Poppy’s fingers tightened in my hair. I cupped her cheek to keep her in this

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kiss as long as possible. If I didn’t have to breathe, I imagine I would never have
stopped kissing her.
Too lost in the kiss, we only broke apart when someone cleared their throat
from across the fire. I lifted my head to find Judson smirking. When I glanced
down at Poppy, her cheeks were blazing. Our friends hid their laughter, and I
squeezed Poppy tighter. I wouldn’t be embarrassed for kissing my girl.
Conversation picked back up again, and I lifted my camera to check it was
okay. My mamma and pappa bought it for me for my thirteenth birthday, when
they could see that photography was becoming my passion. It was a 1960s
vintage Canon. I took it with me everywhere, snapping thousands of pictures. I
didn’t know why, but capturing moments fascinated me. Maybe it was because
sometimes all we get are moments. There are no do-overs; whatever happens in
a moment defines life—perhaps it is life. But capturing a moment on film keeps
that moment alive, forever. To me, photography was magic.
I mentally scrolled through the camera roll. Pictures of wildlife and close-ups
of cherry blossoms from the grove would occupy most of the film. Then there’d
be photos of Poppy tonight. Her pretty face as the music took its hold. I’d only
ever seen that look on her face one other time—when she looked at me. To
Poppy, I was as special to her as her music was.
In both cases, a bond that no one could break.
Reaching for my cell, I lifted it out in front of us, the camera lens facing our
direction. Poppy was no longer taking part in the conversation around us. She
was silently running her fingertips along my arm. Catching her off-guard, I
snapped the picture, just as she looked up at me. I let out a single laugh when her
eyes narrowed in annoyance. I knew she wasn’t angry though, despite her effort
to look so. Poppy loved any picture of us I took, even if it was taken when she
least expected it.
When I focused on my cell, my heart immediately started slamming against my
chest. In the picture, as Poppy stared up at me, she looked beautiful. But it was
the expression on her face that floored me. The look in her green eyes.

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In this moment, this single captured moment, there was that expression. The
one she gave to me as readily as she gave to her music. The one that told me I
had her just as much as she had me. The one that ensured we had stayed together
all these years. The one that said even though we were young, we knew we’d
found our soulmate in the other.
“Let me see?”
Poppy’s quiet voice pulled my attention from the screen. She smiled at me and
I lowered the phone to let her see.
I watched Poppy, not the picture, as her gaze fell upon the screen. I watched as
her eyes softened and a whisper of a smile ghosted on her lips. “Rune,” she
whispered, as she reached down to take hold of my free hand.
I squeezed her hand and she said, “I want a copy of that one. It’s perfect.” I
nodded and kissed her head.