Vincent's Kiss Page #3

As a gay man who came out late in life, I write stories about the struggles of young people trying to figure out who they are and the obstacles they face along the way. I try to paint pictures with words of those experiences

• Short story
• Fiction

								

The last time I saw Vincent was just a few days before the start of school at the end of the summer. I had gone out to sit on the steps of the front porch after my mother announced, with some sarcastic relief in her voice, that a moving van was parked in front of the house two doors down. Vincent’s house. I watched as the men, all dressed in the same dark green uniforms, carried the big and small boxes out of Vincent’s house, and set them inside the big truck. Two other men arranged them inside the truck. After a short time watching I was almost ready to go back inside when I saw Vincent’s mom and dad come outside and head toward their car. If they noticed me, they didn’t let on. I heard his mother yell “Vincent! Come on!” and he slowly walked out of the house. He paused on his front steps, and I’m pretty sure looked to see if I was outside anywhere. His dad then yelled for him to hurry up and get in the car and he quickly cut through the yard. But instead of getting in the closest back door of the car, he walked around the back of the car and got in the side closest to me. I heard his parents raise their voices at him but couldn’t make out what it was. Vincent slumped back in the seat and, making sure his parents weren’t looking, looked over in my direction. I can’t say for sure if it was sadness I saw on his face, but it sure looked like it. I thought about waving, just to show that everything was ok, but instead, I reached up and pointed to the cheek that he had kissed, motioned blowing a kiss, pointed at my chest then pointed to him. He looked puzzled from what I could tell as the car started to back out of the driveway but just as his face disappeared from view, a slowly growing smile filled his face, and he sat back. I could swear I saw his mouth move saying “nothing” to something one of his parents must have said. I got up and went inside. My mom asked if they were finally gone and all I said was “Yeah, they’re gone.” But I said to myself “not really” and my journey began. 
Many years later, as I laid in bed, wrapped up in my husband’s arms, soon after our marriage, I thought about Vincent’s kiss and what he was trying to tell me. “Thank you, Vincent,” I whispered ever so quietly to myself. A tear formed in my eye then slowly journeyed down my face, stopping only for a second as if to make sure I understood, then it freed itself from touch and in its lifetime transformed, captured and refracted light, cooled, and landed gently on my pillow.
								Rate this book:5.0 / 2 votes