Short Story: Minutes to Ten
By: Flora Jessy

“It’s Saturday night and I am at a mellow club at Rodney Bay. It is minutes to eight and my curfew for being home is past due, but I like the vibe here. The cool breeze coming into the tropically set building, enmesh with the pervading scent of the pine walls. These in turn blend with the spicy potpourri sitting on the tables and hanging from the wooden ceiling frames. The background music is light, yet evocative. Chimes located at every door and window post whistle away, acting as percussion instruments to the Jazz tune coming from the small live band in the far corner. The room is centered and shielded by wispy shades of cloth encasing the true luminosity of the bulbs above, giving the atmosphere an ardent aura.

Outside on the patio, are primarily singles looking to have their lives changed in the next couple of hours by prospects passing by. Across, is the bar, where at this point only three Caucasian guys are sitting, drinking and laughing about the hangovers they had this morning (yeah, they were that loud). The bar has more light than inside in the lounge. Bulbs illuminate from every other few bottles of rum on display. The bartender is busy chatting with the waitress, while giving the occasional circular wipe of the bar top with a towel. He looks rather comfortable in his flamboyant Hawaiian shirt, as he bids everyone passing a most amiable “good evening” in a British accent. I reckon he owns the place.

Activity is springing from all four corners of the room with couples chatting away, with warmth and smiles at the very breath of their partner. Some are double and even triple dates. A couple has now gotten up to dance on the floor. It seems that their love has drawn them to do this, and let’s not forget the empty glasses at their table; they’re probably drunk.

Here I am, in one of those corners, my feet curled up under my thighs like a comma, lounging on a plush, cushioned love seat. Our corner is closest to the salty sea breeze. It seems to intentionally direct my withdrawn curls toward my face, so every now and again I have to inconspicuously comb through with my fingers to relocate them. We’re alone. My lips, sipping on a virgin cocktail, my eyes now focused on the young man that I’m with; and I am excited about the whole affair.”

It was by the beach that I was introduced to him (which was only about twenty minutes ago) by his brother, a close friend of mine. I instantaneously put up the ‘play’; not many guys get the Fiona ‘play’. It’s the type where I pucker up my thick lower lip and my left eyebrow lifts slightly while my eyes relax themselves in a comfortable, yet passionate stare in every direction but his. My talking is reduced unless if asked a question, I sit up straight so that the true breadth of my hips are revealed and my hands and fingers engage in all manner of idle gesticulation with the occasional clasping when I slide them between my thighs. Of course this is only a play if it is a successful one; and boy was it! I was feeling him and he was feeling me; and we quickly found ourselves round the corner to the club.

“The residue of laughter lies all over my cheeks as he’s just given a joke. It was a hearty laugh and a funny joke; it’s a riddle actually, about popcorn. Conversation is running great; a rare occurrence with men, so I take advantage of it. We talk about ourselves as if it were a dating show with a more casual flair. The truths of features aren’t related that well under the lighting but I can see him giving me the look with those eyes of his. It is a look that every woman desires. This look not only encompasses a man’s yearning, but also a deep respect for the being that is before him. Fallacy? Maybe. That just might have been his play, along with his sultry tone and that chuckle every now and again that stimulated every nerve in my spine. Ladies, he looks utterly attractive in his navy blue muscle shirt, honey-brown khaki three quarters and his Sebago footwear; looking fresh from the barber’s. Is that a play also? If it was, the snare had me, emotions and all! Above the music, the silent interval is here, where he clears his throat to relieve time of its inoperative passing, and I go on sipping my cocktail.”

It was eight twenty, and I was sitting rather comfortably in a club with a guy that I had hardly known. It is beyond me how I became a partaker of this theatrical event; I knew nothing of this type of living, yet like an actress I took to the stage and presented with finesse. Even my ‘play’ was still was in its empirical stages. Thoughts are now coming to mind like, “What would my Pastor think if he was made knowledgeable of the actions exhibited by his Youth Dance Troupe Leader?” or “My dad would throw a fit if he found out.” I had preached against such occurrences to my friends, and here I was; talk of a hypocrite. I was no longer just an observer and critic of such experiences. I had become part of the world that my friends laughed- and cried about; I had gone native.

“Fiona,” he says, I look up from admiring his toned legs, “the pizza.” We both double up in laughter. My friends and I had earlier on ordered from a nearby pizza parlour. They’ve left me with the receipt (as usual) thinking that I have no rendezvous of my own. Oh how the tables turn! “They won’t die.” I reply. We leave the club to head for the parlour which is just a building away. As far as I am concerned at that point, they are the least of my worries. But first impressions are lasting ones and I don’t want Eric to think that I am the inconsiderate type. We get there and the guys look frustrated and a bit drunk while the girls bitch about the receipt, the toppings that they allowed me to choose, along with the “phenomena” of the NO MORE COKE sign near the cashier, their fading eye shadow, chipping nails as a result of the seawater, and last but not least- my whereabouts, even more as I pull up with Chris’ brother at my side.

Eric becomes reserved at their chatter and goes to sit in a vacant booth well away from the ramblings. “Emily’s a friggin vegan, Fiona! What do you want her to eat; the crusts off the fucking pepperoni pizza?” First of all I don’t even know this Emily, but she did look like Jenna and the crew picked her up from Slutville (with her holey net stockings and overdone makeup) where, she probably did eat a lot of meat. With my sweetest voice I say, “Well I had no idea we were gonna have guests- sorry- vegan guests.” Eric stands from his booth and makes an offer to purchase her a fish burger down the block at the mall. He gives Jenna the money and off the whole bunch go, just to get a burger for Emily…………….Yes my friends.

Eric motions for me to come sit by him. I do. We’re in the light deprived area of the room, but I am not complaining. I apologize and thank him for the offer he made to ‘Emily’. “They were gonna eat you raw Fiona, someone had to save you.”

“I guess you’re my knight in shining armor then?”

“Whatever you want me to be.”…….

At these words he gives a purposeful glimpse at my lips. I look at him then look away.

“What should be the reward for the knight saving the damsel in distress?”

Jokingly, yet in a sultry tone he says, “Girl you don’t want me calling the shots here.”

I look at him confused at first, but he looks at me; more than just at my eyes, my lips, and then my bosom. He looks away resisting some sort of pressure that I as the opposite sex fully understand. We start talking about relationships and love and he is stunned to find out that I have never even kissed a boy for the least. More so he is dazed to know that I am just sixteen.

“I look older?”

“Fiona you look and talk like a twenty year old- in a very sexy way.”

I blush. He sees and laughs. He of course lets me in on his previous relations, and from them, we can say that he is experienced.

Eric is twenty-four but doesn’t look a year over twenty.

We’re laughing and as it begins to die out he moves closer, then closer. My heart drops to my stomach but I hope that my face shows confidence. He moves out of range quicker than he moved in as if testing his proximity comforts; and maybe mine too!

I had dreamed of this all my life; my first kiss. Yet I came this close to it happening and I had not the damndest idea what to do. If he had kissed me at that point I would have gone frozen on him, which is a big “no no” in the clauses of Kissingdom. Thank God he was only testing my comfort.

“What would you do if I kissed you right now Fiona?”

I am shocked at his question and my facial response is one of extreme astonishment; I know, because I can feel it. Nonetheless I participate, amused with the theatrics.

“You must be crazy!” I laugh.

Like a dog knows his prey, he recognizes my attraction to him. My weakness he feeds on. Eric moves in again but commits no crime, still testing my comfort levels.

If you know Fiona; you know woman power. I have burnt the bra and chanted the slogans of independency of women. Debates, arguments and conflict usually arise with guy friends (and female) when I stand predominant on my beliefs that women, under no circumstances need men for fulfillment in any area of life. I admit that sometimes I go overboard; it’s just my upbringing. Guys tell me that they often feel intimidated by me; which makes me think less of their species anyway! I have friends who are attracted to me and would want to ask me out but hesitate after analyzing my objections.

You’d now ask the question, “Why?” on the subheading of “my thing” for Eric. I myself have yet to fathom it. Was my theory inaccurate all along? Do we women at some point get needy for some testosterone?

It is minutes to nine, and my friends are back and seated enjoying their pizza and chatting. The pizza and friends aren’t that appealing at this point and so I stick to Eric who is passionately whispering in my ears.

“I want to taste those lips, Fi,” he says as if he’s known me for so long.

I have my teeth grip my lower lip in.

“I can come get it in there, you know I can. And I am not afraid of doing it in front of your friends.”

A smile forces my lip out. I turn to look at him. “You’re crazy, you know that right?”

I look toward the booth where my friends are at and Mel’s eyeing me like, “What the hell Fiona??” while Jenna’s looks scream, “FINALLY!!’. I ignore them.

I was no longer going to be the chick they came up to for counsel when their boyfriends would push for some affection and I resent that. Instead they would bring up this night if I did. So what? Fi Fi’s got a life too! Now I sound like them.

It’s minutes past nine now. Chris is taking me home. He came with Eric, and will be leaving with Eric. So this means that Eric and I will be together for a little while longer. Chris comes from the car and tells Eric and me that the vehicle is unlocked. Eric and I leave the parlour and head for the parking lot. Isn’t “Eric” a nice name?

The two of us are in the back seat of a forest green Civic. The environment is different but the atmosphere remains, tense like a hurricane. I am sitting on leather seats and not someone’s living room pillow cushion, hiding the remains of what used to be a car seat. There’s an overwhelming scent of spices from the air freshener hanging on the mirror; just like the potpourri back at the club. Our fleshes share a common agenda but I try to get my mind off it. “Who did Chris borrow this ride fro—“

Before I even finish my sentence, he gently but firmly locates the side of my chin with his fingers, and moves his face toward mine. This is no comfort test!

His lips brush against mine. A tingle goes through my body, while my heart beat increases. I feel his tongue moving in at a gradual pace, with a repetitive motion. My act of ‘resistance’ is passive; I push my hand the gentlest way against his chest and I feel firm muscle. He is apparently turned on at my doing this and moves his tongue further in with an ongoing, tender, tugging of my lips (I tugged on his lips too). I pull back to catch a breath of the whole situation. My heart is thumping now.

I had just been kissed for the first time ever. In my dreams, I had always tried to imagine this happening but I never did feel it. That night I felt it. Its depth I have yet to comprehend for expression. One thing I do know though is that the things we have difficulty in grasping are really prospective steps which lead to our ruin. A kiss can cause so much.

Chris comes up to the vehicle, but from where I sit I can only see his shirt, arms and a beer that his left hand is holding. He opens the driver’s door and sits in, while shouting at Jenna. Now I see him fully.

“They think I’m lying about my age Eric.”

Eric replies, “You look as old as they say because of all what you drinking Chris!”

“Fiona, how old do I look, honestly?”

“It doesn’t matter how old you are baby; once you don’t get too drunk to drive me home.”

“I’m not drunk Fiona.” His words are a bit too slurred for my liking.

“That’s reassuring dear.” I reply.

Chris rummages through the glove compartment, “Here it is Jenna!” he shouts victoriously, and runs back to the parlour with the beer in one hand and a paper with a big, red and round stamp on it.

I worriedly shake my head and say, “They think he’s twenty-five, but he says he’s nineteen. Can you drive?”

He laughs, and then I laugh; and then the laughing dies out, again. We start talking more about ourselves. Then the scene before Chris came runs through my mind. Eric asks me if I’m alright and I reply with a comforting ‘yes’. But I’m not alright; I badly want another kiss; once you pop you can’t stop. He seems to read my thoughts and advances. This time I’m a more active participant. His right hand is on the nape of my neck; his left on my right thigh, gripping it at my every tug of his lower lip. My hands too, are engaged; my right, clenching his chest and my left, embracing the area just behind his earlobe. Our tongues are deep in and it’s the first time that my mind focuses on nothing. The kiss is passionate, and I start breathing heavily. He starts gripping my thighs a bit more fervently and drawing my body nearer and nearer to his with his other hand no longer holding my neck. Both my hands are now around his neck in total submission. What the hell is this that I am feeling?

I look back at that scene and wonder what on God’s green earth came over me. Was it the potpourri? Was it the cocktail? Did Eric put something in the cocktail? If he did, that still doesn’t explain my consciousness or my natural application to something that was so foreign to me. The human mind is a very unpredictable one. We do one thing all our lives not knowing of the umpteen other things we can do, and this is usually because we cannot yet fully fathom the capabilities of the mind. Our competence however is not always proven righteous and so there comes a time when we need to halt. Such is my testimony. I needed to release my foot onto that acceleration pedal and break.

I come to my senses. I mean I still like it, and want it to continue; but I know I have to stop. It has gone a bit too far for one night.

It’s nine twenty and we’re on the road back to Castries. I am going back home to parents who gave a curfew that was five hours ago. That’s grounding worth a month and confiscation of my gadgets; so I hope the ride lasts long. Chris and his girlfriend Lisa are in the front while Eric and I are in the back with Emily. Apparently she had no ride so Lisa asked Chris to drop her home. He didn’t want to but he didn’t want to upset Lisa.

I rest my head on Eric’s shoulder while he whispers sweet nothings in my ears. I have just met this man, and I am drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

In these moments I block my mind to forces that come up against this potentially great relationship namely; my parents, my Bible Club peers, my best friend(whom I can say knows me better than I know myself), and finally, the guy that I have been casually dating for the past five months. The latter is for another piece. I am sorely tired at this point.

It has been a day; the beach, from ten in the morning with friends to this.

It is nine thirty and Chris is still talking, and talking some more and this time it’s about Cupid stabbing Eric and me; no worries though. He sounds like he’s had a bit too much to drink, but he’s driving on the right side of the road. That is all that matters to me at,… hold on, let me check my watch; Father! Minutes to ten!

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