Grace Tran
If I Could Love You
1
The first time I kissed a boy, I was sixteen and in a sundress. Our bodies were hidden behind the citrus grove and his arms entwined around my neck. I remember the taste of oranges still burning on my tongue, their rinds tossed to the ground, discarded as if the fruit were not the sweetest we had ever tasted. I no longer ran from boys, fearful of their fantastical illnesses. My feet curled in the warm summer grass, arching as I reached for his shoulders. I traced his skin beneath my fingertips, a labyrinth I could not escaped even if I wished to.
Sandra knows this story as well as I do, having recounted it myself time and time again in our pajamas, lying on the ground with a flashlight between the two of us, whispering so that my mother cannot hear our voices.
I remember his breath, hot on my neck, as he whispered words so softly I could not comprehend them. I didn’t understand nervousness nor curiosity, neither my desire in this act nor why I could not bring myself to touch his lips first.