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Wishing it was Fiction (1 Viewer)


Senior Member
I considered putting this in the short stories, but since it actually happened, I guess it more belongs here. I was hoping writing it would be theraputic, but it still sucks to think about, maybe I will be able to laugh about it someday, but that might take a while.

I forgot today was my mother’s birthday, so instead of handing her a card right now my hand was wrapping around the cold vase of hospital gift shop flowers.
The mini fridge for the pre-made bouquets slid closed swooshing the same sound the medical cabinets creak. I needed 5 ccs of guilt flowers, stat. Carnations were 12 dollars, roses, 18, the lilies looked too much like death. I sifted though my backpack with my volunteer shirt in it until I found my wallet. I paid for the carnations and as a lady in a red smock pushed a small square of paper at me that told me telling me to “get well”, I asked, do you have anything else?
In the car my hand shot out to stop the tipping vase as I made a sharp turn mimicking the gesture parents learn when they slam the breaks with their toddler in the front seat. I pulled into the parking lot at exactly 7:30. Tonight was going to be a good night. I felt a little guilty about missing my mom’s birthday dinner to go to a poetry reading, but this might have been my last opportunity to see Derrick Brown and I think she understood, or I hope she did. Any lingering guilt faded as I stepped into the gym and took a seat in the bleachers. Will took the seat next to me, though it’s not entirely his fault, I didn’t stop him.
Afterwards I was high on too many perfect words and a quiet night made asymmetrical with a misshapen moon. Tonight would be a good night, and since Will had parked all the way in the lot behind the school, would I give him a ride? He fidgeted in the passenger seat as songs I had never heard before played on the radio, now I can’t remember the station. The lot was empty because we had hung around after to get autographs. Tonight was too perfect, and I didn’t belong.
I turned off the ignition and paused before getting out of the car, and we held a hesitating hug. I stood waiting to be kissed, I expected it the night and the empty dark parking lot demanded it, though he paused, stuttering he had never kissed a girl, I returned flippantly, neither had I. The sarcasm sank back down in my stomach. This wasn’t right, and I was so sorry, but Will I didn't really like you but I was nearing 18 and every dorky day that passed with me never having been kissed became even more embarrassing. That’s a lie, it wasn’t just that, but the constant impulse to kill every part of myself that was awkward and vulnerable, everything about myself that is sweet and naïve, I wanted it dead and buried. So here’s where you come in. You stumbled, “You know” then stopped short, I had to know, “I think about you a lot.” Please, please stop being sweet, why couldn’t I have found a jerk who liked me, why couldn’t I have found someone like me. And yet, you wouldn’t kiss me. I took a step closer and you must have seen my frustration. “Maybe”, you suggested “just on the cheek” I sighed and gave up. Maybe it was for the best, maybe I wouldn’t hurt you this way, but after my cheek your lips were on mine, brief, dry though I must have felt your teeth. That was it, I had found myself in the scene of an awkward indie movie, when though I would never admit it, I wanted the music swelling Hollywood smooch. My friend told me her first slobbered cheeto dust and spit into her mouth. I might have wanted that instead, at least I would have known it actually happened.
You shook and stuttered good night and got into your car. I winced when you said in too clear a voice “I love you”. Though I wrote it off as a verbal slip, like accidently saying it to the pizza delivery guy on the phone because you are so used to saying Iloveyougoodbye to your parents. Back at home I had flowers to give to my mom and a calc test to study for, and I wish you really did matter more to me. The drive home was numb, but for now the asymmetrical night would not judge me. And all I can do is hope you will learn to hate me before I hurt you.
Last edited:


Senior Member
you have a gift for telling a personal tale and it's definitely got potential, but needs work to be reader-friendly and marketable...

you say it's a true story, but i have a hard time believing that, at 18, you'd never been kissed!... even way back in my day [early 50s], that was a near impossibility, except for what the boys would consider the dog-ugiliest girl in the school/neighborhood...

if you want some help with this, drop me a line...

love and hugs, maia
[email protected]


Senior Member
Any tips would be greatly appreciated. I wrote is kind of quickly, so now I'm coming across some grammar errors and such, but other than that I would like any feedback (even if you basically called me dog-ugly). The story is true, yes I know, awkward and embarassing, but as far as I know I'm not a troll, though since this is online I guess you'll never know...
Thanks for commenting,


Senior Member
ack!... i certainly didn't mean you!...

anyway, you need to separate your paragraphs and dialog with line spaces, since it's a pain to read solid blocks like that... indents don't work in posting, which is why we have to resort to spaces...

and the bold is also a headache-bringer, so i suggest getting it into a nice, normal, slightly smaller font, as well...

then, i'm sure you'll get more feedback...