January Sunburn

 

 

January Sunburn

I was 24, my ever-changing hair was red and spiky, with bangs swooped behind tortoise shell glasses. I pretty much always wore my tattered Levi’s with boots and prided myself on my simplicity. I had just graduated college and was ready to become a serious journalist – except I was scared to death, which was true of my attitude to just about everything – especially dating.

That December, I still didn’t have a real job and I craved time with my four sisters who I hadn’t seen. My younger sister Rebecca is an artist; she attended UArts for a few years, and I was able to make it to one of her shows. So, I had been perusing the crafts show when I saw her – the future love of my life. 

Picture her, if you will: she’s tall, towering at 5’7”, with bleached short hair and freckles, stylishly dressed in a blue button down and jeans. She had been peering curiously over the Great Hall balcony, taking in the crowd, when I happened to look up. I stopped in my tracks, admiring her smiling eyes from afar – until she looked at me! “Crap,” I said to myself, “I got caught staring! God, don’t be so pathetic!”

My heart jumped into my throat; my face reddened like a summer tomato. I darted my eyes to the floor.

Since I graduated, I hadn’t had a date, a crush – nothing! My love life suffered a lonely season of suburban solitude; I was living with my parents.  Not to mention, my Polish Catholic family wasn’t ready to deal with the fact that their straight-A earning, overachiever was also a happy little lesbian.  Since I was seeing anyone anyway, I reverted back to high school closet life. Me, a serious journalist, 16 again!  

But, then, that joyful girl on the balcony – she turned out to be Rebecca’s good friend from woodshop, Sarah. Rebecca was her “bench bitch” and I think she was the only reason why Rebecca stayed in school as long as she did. She had a magnetic power. From one glance, she had a little hold on my heart.

“Kimmie, I have someone I want you to meet,” Rebecca grabbed my arm and tugged me across the floor. “This is Sarah Boyle. Come see her work, it’s awesome. You’ll love it.”

Like a mouse, I said: “Hi.”

Smiling, she said: “Hi.”

She had created dreamy, whimsical wooden stools, adorned with colored light blubs. She asked me to sit down – electric glitter energy moving from that stool into every cell of my little 5′2″ body. 

I savored this moment; I loved her. I mean, I loved this moment! I cheered myself all the way home on 76: “Good job Kimmie, you talked to her! And, she’s cute! And, even better, she doesn’t seem to have a drug problem! And she’s an artist – that’s so hot!” I was totally freaking out.

I had this unfortunate history of falling for girls who happened to be in their lowest moments of life. Usually with drug problems, or abusive partners or they were in relationships with men. I liked being their shelter I guess.  Turning my new post-graduation leaf, I was determined to leave that behind. I was ready to meet someone as great as me!

Sarah was different. The memory of the inspired sparkle in her eye warmed me from the inside for days. Fleeting moments like those give a lonely heart hope. Hope in love. Hope for world peace. Hope for a hook up. I wrote her poems I never mailed and dreamed of being girlfriends like a 7^th grader. 

New Years Eve rolled around, and Rebecca had a party. Rebecca and I were outside were having an tipsy, but intense, conversation.  

“Everything will happen when the time is right Kimmie,” she comforted me. 

I sighed, and sipped my lager. The sound of kicked stones echoed down the old frozen street. The surrounding house lights cast a halo around a figure walking towards us. Sarah. 

“Hi, Happy New Year,” she said, smiling warmly, her thumbs tucked into her jean’s pockets.

I squeaked out a high pitch “hi!” 

Inside, we sat on the couch together, petting a puppy, our hands colliding serendipitously. We sat closer and the night drew on; people started leaving. She told me she liked my hair, and pushed her hand up the soft fuzzy back to the crown of my head. My body rushed on fire, in chills! I bravely swirled my hands into her fuzzy shaved noggin too. We pretended to sleep, side by side, on the couch. I wanted only to kiss her, just once. 

“Hey Kimmie and Sarah,” a sleepy Rebecca startled us. “You don’t have to sleep here – you can sleep upstairs.”

Electricity shot through me. 

“Ok,” we said, acting sleepy, trying not to reveal our flirtations. 

Tucked inside an empty bedroom, the door barely shut, I approached her on the bed, sneaking up behind her, kissing her neck. I could not resist! She welcomed me with those big beautiful eyes and kissed me back. It’s hard to explain instant chemistry. But it’s real. What I didn’t know: I was her first girl.

Come morning, we followed the mummer’s parade, fingertips grazing as we turned corners. I blushed for three days – like I had sunburn in January. But, what were we to do? We were both living with our parents. 

We visited Rebecca at her West Philly apartment, staying up late with the Last Unicorn looping in the background, like a movie montage of our love affair. The air smelled of anticipated kissing, sweet breath and lips secretly waiting for each other as we lay face to face in the furniture-less room. Our faces, the only important architecture. 

For three months, our relationship consisted of emails – love letters for the long distance relationships of the electronic age. We often escaped our houses to steal kisses on the steps of the art museum, to walk along Penn’s Landing, or grab beers on South Street, with passing cars smearing a canvas of light around us. Once, we were making in my car outside the Wyndham Franklin at 3AM, like two teenagers on a lovesick summer night, and ran inside to grab a room. What I didn’t know, was that while we were making out in my car, my phone was unlocked and dialing my sister Annie, again and again.

It’s hard to explain, but ultimately, I grew uneasy with my amazing secret love. Really it was the “secret” part of it all. I was a coward. Sarah was Rebecca’s friend and I was afraid to tell her about us. I felt like I was betraying her somehow. In a freakish panic, I made a really bad decision. 

I broke up with the love of my life. 

Within the next three years, I moved out, my car got totalled, I worked two jobs seven days a week, and was engaged to a girl who ultimately fed me my own heartache. And, always, I missed my Sarah. We didn’t know, but we had been in many places at the same time but never saw each other – the universe behind us chanting, “No, not yet. They need more time.” 

For a friend’s birthday, I went to see Ani at the Keswick in ‘04. She hit the lue, and I stood waiting at the bottom of the cascading stairs. Laughter echoed around me. Three girls came bouncing down the stairs – all with jet black hair. The third one in line hit the brakes, stopping in front of me. My Sarah.

I nearly fainted. I thought for sure she would slap me. No, she smiled sweetly and hugged me – gingerly, and I said something forgettable, like, where are you sitting? She stared at her ticket like it was written in Sanskrit. 

We got in touch the next day.  I had no idea if she had forgiven me – or if she would pull me in close, and chop my heart up revenge-like. She had a thin ice layer protecting her warm gooey interior. She still loved me, and I loved her. But I was on trial. In purgatory. Lovesick and ready to die. I wanted in; I wanted to stay forever in those eyes, in those arms, in this true love. Would I ever deserve her?

We spent three months in the sanctuary of my tiny one-bedroom apartment, making up for lost time, talking about life, as crazy pink-faced lovers. Summer came to a close, and I headed to Seattle with a friend and could not leave her side without saying those words that I will never stop saying: “I love you.”

She cried. I cried. We re-ignited a burning love that only comes once in a lifetime, or twice, if you are lucky enough. We really were perfect together. I never thought I would find true love. But, the universe had something else in mind for me. 

“Take care of her Kimmie,” Rebecca said. “She is a very special person.”

I will, Rebecca, forever and ever.

– Kim Kunda

 

Kim and Sarah

 

Question for reader: How did you meet the love of your life?  If you could imagine meeting them, what would that be like?