The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters

by C. A. Newsome

  “Let me explain first before you freak out, or pass out. I thought maybe we could go eat a picnic near your dad’s grave. Yesterday you said you were too scared to go visit him, so I thought maybe we could do it together. I think visiting his grave will help you let go of the guilt you carry around with you. I thought it might be nice for you to visit him regularly, and talk to him about your day, or problems you might be having. I just want to help you get over the hurdle of visiting him for the first time.” He is speaking really fast and rambling. I think he might be nervous, and if I wasn’t completely freaked out, I would think it was cute.

  “I don’t know River.” I’m nervous to visit my dad because I’m scared he will be disappointed in the person I have become.

  “We don’t have to. I know I just met you yesterday, and I shouldn’t stick my nose in places it doesn’t belong, but I feel a connection with you. I know we were meant to meet yesterday. I just want to help you in any way I can.” he sincerely says.

  “You’re right. We were supposed to meet yesterday. Yesterday we were strangers, but today I feel like I’ve known you my whole life.” I grab his hand and start walking in the direction of the cemetery. “I can’t promise you we will stay for very long, but I’m willing to go visit his grave.”

  The cemetery is a short walk from the park, so it takes us no time at all to get there. There is a huge angel statue right in the middle of the graveyard. She has her head bowed low like she is weeping for the souls who have left this earth. I know my dad is buried near the angel, so it doesn’t take us long to find his grave. When we find it, I fall to my knees in front of his tombstone and place my palms flat on the ground. So this is it. This is where he has been the whole time. I thought I would be scared to come here, or nervous. But I feel a sense of closeness with my dad. I know he is near me and that puts me at ease. We scoot over a little, that way we aren’t sitting on top of him, and lay out our picnic blanket. River packed peanut butter and jelly, Cheetos, and Pepsi for lunch. I smile at his food choice, there is no way he could have known it, but he packed all my favorites. It couldn’t be a more perfect day.

  “River,” I whisper out. He looks up at me and gently brushes the hair out of my face. “Thank you for bringing me here. My mom has been trying to get me to visit my dad for years. She will be happy to know I came here today. I just miss him so much, and I thought it would be hard coming here, but you know what, it’s wasn’t. I don’t think I would have been able to do this if it wasn’t for you.”

  “There is something special about you Stella, and I want to get to know you better. I’ve only know you for one day, but I find myself thinking of the next thing to do to make you smile. I now live to see that smile.” He softly cups his hand behind my head and pulls me in for a kiss. It’s a soft and tender kiss. I reach my arms up and wrap them around his neck, silently begging him to come closer. I pour myself into this one kiss. I want him to know that he saved me, that he makes me feel special, that he is healing me. How can someone I barely know already mean so much to me? I slowly pull away from him and rest my forehead against his. I see a subtle movement out of the corner of my eye, and as I pull away from River to see what it is, I gasp in shock. Sitting all over our blanket, and flying above our heads are dozens of beautiful butterflies.

  I slowly lean my head back and stretch my arms out. Butterflies land in my open palms, and I start to cry and laugh all at the same time. River is watching me with a smile on his face, and this time the smile reaches his eyes.

  I believe that butterflies symbolize a new life and a new beginning. This isn’t a coincidence that all these butterflies are around us right now. I open my eyes and look towards the sky. A ray of sunshine is peaking through the clouds, shining right down onto River and I. I know without a doubt my dad is looking down on me with a smile. I can almost hear him telling me to take that leap of faith and jump off the swing, but instead of saving the world, this time I’ll be saving myself.

  * * *

  Holli Spaulding is a writer, mother, Coast Guard military wife, nerf gun ninja, Guns and Roses addict, and an avid reader. She resides in the beautiful state of Hawaii with her husband and four kids. When she isn’t writing or being a mother, she enjoys lying on the beach and relaxing with her latest book find. Be on the lookout for her first novel, Alive, coming soon.

  *

  The Gift of Gab

  Sharon Delarose

  George, a mediocre insurance salesman, was desperate to land a big account that he’d been assigned to go after. This was do or die. If he failed, he’d lose this job as he’d lost so many others, so he hatched a radical plan. He’d travel to Ireland, kiss the Blarney Stone, and be blessed with the Gift of Gab. Then he’d be a Blarney Certified Professional Salesman. With the money and prestige that the gift promised, he’d be all set to propose to his girlfriend, Rose.

  Without telling anyone, George drove 531 miles from London, England, to County Cork, Ireland, which took him over the Irish Sea on a three-and-a-half hour ferry trip. He envisioned the stone itself to be a giant boulder in the middle of a field. After all, it was called the Blarney Stone, so he expected a hunk of rock. The Blarney Stone, as it turned out, was actually a stone set high up in the outer wall of Blarney Castle, and the waiting line to kiss it stretched for a mile outside.

  He waited with a thousand others who hoped to rise above their mediocrity, and when his turn came, he paid the fee and entered the hallowed halls, where he was whisked into a room out of sight of those still waiting. The walls were plastered with photos of the Blarney blessed: Laurel and Hardy, Winston Churchill, and even Mick Jagger.

  “It’s decision time, laddie! What sort of kiss are ya going to plant on old stoney? Are you going to give her a modern Pop Kiss, or follow the ancient tradition with a Medieval Kiss? We need to know how to prep you.”

  “How to prep me? What do I get with a Medieval Kiss, a red rose or something?”

  “Or something...” the doorman chuckled.

  “Ah, what the heck. I’ve traveled all this way, I might as well go big. Let’s plant a juicy Medieval Kiss on her!”

  The doorman slid a piece of paper across the table, “Okay then, a Medieval Kiss it is. Sign here, please.”

  George frowned. It was a consent form releasing Blarney Castle in case he came to any harm. “Would I have to sign this for a Pop Kiss?”

  “Look laddie, you’re kissing a stone high up in the wall of a ninety foot castle. You saw how many people come through here. We’re just protecting ourselves from daredevils and suicide missions.”

  “I’m not here to jump off the edge. I’m just looking to get blessed with the Gift of Gab, no craziness here.”

  George signed the waiver, and was given a red rose for his buttonhole. It was a good omen, as he was doing this for his beloved girlfriend, Rose. Then he joined the line inside, which wound all the way up the spiral stairs. Slowly he ascended the steep, narrow steps, giving him the opportunity to look out over the surrounding countryside from the windows.

  Finally, he arrived at the top of Blarney Castle, with only a woman in front of him. An older gentleman took the woman’s hand and asked, “Are you ready to kiss the Blarney Stone? Here we call it the ‘Stone of Eloquence’.”

  “Yes!”

  He laid her on a lounge chair face up, and instructed her to scoot through the hole in the side of the castle wall, into an iron-barred basket. The stone was across a gap in a parallel wall, and all she had to do was raise her head up, and kiss the underside. Every precaution had been taken to keep it safe and simple, and George wondered why a man on his way out had warned, “Don’t go up there! They’ll try to kill you! It’s not worth it… don’t go!” The man must have been afraid of heights.

  George’s big moment arrived. The old man took one look at the red rose, and hollered, “Brutus! We’ve got a casket case! You’d better get over here!”

  A hulk of a man appeared, with scraggly whiskers and a cigarette dangling from the c
orner of his mouth. He kicked the lounge chair off to the side, pulled a rope, and the iron basket slid sideways out of sight.

  “You!” the hulk pointed to George. “Over here, and stand with your back to the parapet!”

  “Back to the parapet? I thought I was supposed to lie down and slide through a hole?”

  “C’mon man, we ain’t got all day! Lotsa people waitin’. Hup to!”

  Confused, George looked over the edge of the parapet, getting a little dizzy as he saw how far down the ground was. The Blarney Stone was in the outer wall, with a gap between the two walls. Even on your back, you slid through the first wall, and out over the gap to get to the second wall. Hence the iron basket underneath you.

  George couldn’t fathom why they’d stand him with his back to the edge, so he just stood gaping down at the ground far below. Brutus grabbed George’s arm and spun him around. “Don’t move, until I tell ya.”

  Brutus knelt down, grabbed George by the ankles, and hoisted him up over the edge, so that George was dangling upside down from the top of the castle. Nothing stood between George and his head smashing into the ground like a Halloween pumpkin, except for Brutus holding his ankles.

  “Kiss it! Kiss the Blarney Stone, quick, before my fingers slip!”

  George swayed back and forth trying to reach the stone with his lips, and the red rose slipped from his buttonhole, falling ninety feet to the rocks below. George’s face was dripping sweat, and he could see the stones below, darkened with human blood. “Oh dear God,” he prayed, “please don’t let my ankles start sweating!” He kissed the stone and hollered, “I’m done! Pull me up!”

  “If you weren’t so red in the face, I’d swear you’d turned Irish green!” Brutus laughed, exposing stained, crooked teeth.

  George was sweating hard. “Is that blood on the stones below?”

  “Hell yes, matey! That’d surely be blood, didn’t they tell ye? I’ve never lost my grip, but the man before me, he lost somebody once — a man by the name of Jack. They say you could hear the man hollering all the way down until his head hit bottom. He hit so hard that his head went splat, and there was nothing left of it. He was like the Headless Horseman, he was, when they dragged his dead body away! I’m sure you’ve heard of him… Jack Splat.”

  Brutus laughed, and the man in line behind George turned around and hightailed it back down the stairs. “No refunds!” Brutus hollered as the man disappeared out of sight.

  “Don’t go up there! They’ll try to kill you!” the man warned as he fled.

  George was right behind him, though George hoped he’d gotten his money’s worth. Surely this was just some silly old legend, and kissing the Blarney Stone couldn’t possibly bless you with the Gift of Gab. Nevertheless, everyone swore by the legend, so he held on to the glimmer of hope.

  On his first night back home, he tested his newfound ability. He’d never been good with words, and he was ready to romance Rose as he’d never been able to do.

  He smiled, and caressed her face, building up the words to tell her how beautiful she was, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her nose. That mole on the end of her nose, it was the only blemish on an otherwise perfect face. She should have it removed. It was simple, in-and-out surgery. Snip, snip, and the mole would be gone. Ah well, back to the business at hand, romancing his darling Rose. He was about to utter words of beauty, poetic all, but the color had drained from her face.

  “Plastic surgery?” she spat. “You think I should have plastic surgery? Snip snip?”

  “But… but… I was going to tell you how beautiful you are!”

  “That’s how you call someone beautiful? You son of a bitch!” She slapped his face and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

  He hadn’t realized that he’d said the words out loud, those ugly words about the mole on her nose. He’d only been thinking it, but somehow it just popped out. That hadn’t gone at all as planned. Instead of setting the stage for a marriage proposal, he’d just insulted the woman of his dreams. He’d gotten so excited, that his thoughts just slipped out.

  The next day was the opening at an art gallery for Bertie Butte, an artist from Grimsby that his company was trying to land as a client. Her paintings sold for thousands of dollars each, and signing her would be quite a coupe. The only reason that George had even been allowed to pursue her, was because the top salesman was out of town on holiday, and George was all they had. Against their better judgement, they’d sent him to the gala.

  He hung back watching Bertie, gauging his approach, and saw that she was drinking some sort of fruity tropical drink, so he went to the bar.

  “Excuse me, do you know what Ms. Butte is drinking?”

  “Why yes, she’s drinking Mai Tai’s this evening. What a sweetheart she is, too! She gave me a $50 tip and told me to treat my wife to dinner. A rare bird, to be so nice!”

  “Could you mix up another one for her? I can’t tip you $50, but how about a fiver?”

  “Sure thing, boss! Thanks!” The bartender handed George the Mai Tai with an Irish green umbrella stuck through a pineapple and cherry. George was relieved to hear that Bertie was nice. This would be easier than he expected.

  He handed Bertie Butte the drink with a gentlemanly bow, and she smiled. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. He’d rehearsed what to say, but first, he had to make small talk and crack the door a little.

  “Your falcon painting is stunning! I could almost hear its talons ripping into the fox.”

  Bertie laughed. “Yes, hunters love the falcon series. It’s the most popular. They’ll all be sold before the night is over.” She spoke with pride for creating something that others loved. You could tell that it wasn’t about the money for her. As they chatted, his mind drifted.

  She was a big woman, with rolls of fat bulging over the neckline of that hideous red dress. Gaudy, and cheap looking. You’d never have taken her for an artist whose paintings commanded thousands of dollars each.

  Rumor had it that Bertie liked to play blackjack, and he had no doubt that the casino staff joked about “the whale” in red. She was the meat that stuffed sausage jokes were made of. His mind had drifted, and he needed to steer the conversation to the business at hand.

  “Well I never!” She looked horrified. Never what, he wondered? What had they been talking about?

  Sticky red liquid hit him in the face, and dripped down his white shirt inside the suit jacket. He’d done it again! He’d uttered his ugly thoughts out loud! He’d just called Bertie Butte a big, fat whale to her face! He could kiss his job goodbye, just as he’d kissed Rose goodbye the night before.

  He’d never been good with words, but he’d never said such ugly things out loud before, not until he’d kissed the Blarney Stone. Something had gone wrong, terribly, awfully wrong, and he had to go back and fix it. So George drove 531 miles back to Blarney Castle.

  “You’ve got to remove the spell! It’s horrible! You wouldn’t believe the awful things I’ve said to people. I lost my girlfriend. I lost my job. I’ll lose my sanity if you don’t get this blasted curse off of me!”

  “But didn’t they tell you, laddie? Didn’t they explain it to you? If you kiss the Blarney Stone upside down, the effect is reversed. You aren’t blessed with the Gift of Gab, you’re cursed with the Gift of Blab!”

  * * *

  Sharon Delarose is the author of several books including two non-fiction alien books: Alien Nightmares, and Ancient Aliens and the Lost Islands. Sharon has also written a nature series called An Acre of America Backyard Nature Series with full color photos, each with a story or legend, shows you the really cool entities that might live in your own back yard. Look for The Wizard of Awe, Over the Hummingbird’s Rainbow, and King of the Forest. Also available are dog books, humor, and how-to’s such as Wedding Anniversary Gifts for Coin Collectors.

  You can find Sharon’s books at http://books.gityasome.com. Or check out the blog, under her narrator name of Allie Mars at http://www.alliemar
s.com. Thanks!

  *

  The Graveyard Kiss

  Meghan Ciana Doidge

  When she turned twelve, Lucy changed her name to Luci. Then, at fourteen, she added the little heart over the letter I. But now at sixteen, she was starting to worry that the name itself was a little … frivolous. Not that she condemned anyone else who liked being frivolous, and she certainly thought of herself as being fun. She totally cheered for school teams, painted her toes in bright pinks, and — since she’d started wearing one two years ago — always made sure her bra matched her underwear.

  Still, she was about to enter her last year of high school — after she got through this spring and summer, but still, soon — and maybe Luci-with-a-heart-over-the-I just wasn’t her anymore. Unfortunately, when in search of a more serious moniker, she’d asked her mom what Luci was short for, or who she’d been named after. Her mom hadn’t had any interesting answers — except that Luci could change her name after she turned eighteen and at her own expense.

  Thus foiled, she was forced to sign her most recent love note Luci-with-a-little-heart-over-the-I even though it conflicted with the serious tenor of the message.

  How do I love thee? Let me count the —

  Her pink sparkle pencil slid with a smooth sort of grip across the register tape. Luci always liked writing in pencil. Not that she ever had to erase anything, but because she liked the sound of it. The register tape, pilfered from the register of the card shop where she worked, was streaked with red, though in some other stores those warning lines were streaks of green or blue. They let the cashier know when the tape had to be changed. And since the end bits were unenvironmentally thrown out, Luci had no issue with using the neat little rolls to pass love notes. Or, much more specifically, to carry a bit of her heart and poetry to her boyfriend Colby. When starting one of these notes — as she just had — she always made sure to draw the O in Colby’s name as a heart as well. She was really big on symmetry.