Christopher Prato - Little Boy or, Enola Gay

“There will be time,” I said. “There will be time.”

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say,” she replied. And then she gave me a hug.

It was getting late. Maria and I had been talking by the bench for maybe four or five hours. Actually, during much of that time, we were in one another’s arms, loving that feeling you get when you lay close next to someone you love. Beneath the quieting trees, shaded from the sunlight but warm from the air and each other, we slept for hours, only shifting occasionally to get closer. When we awoke around 5 p.m., Maria had to go home.

As we walked to the R train, I kept thinking that within a few weeks, my seventeenth birthday would arrive, and then I could drive her around instead of taking the subway all the time. I could drive to her house, and have dinner with her family, and watch a movie or in her living room. I’d go to school each day anticipating one thing: the next time I saw Maria. And I’d drive to her house every weekend and weeknight that I could.

She knew I was getting my license soon. But the great thing about Maria was that she didn’t really care. What I mean is, it didn’t take a car to impress her. She would’ve been just as happy riding the subways with me. I respected her so much for that. More significantly, I respected myself for attracting such a noble person. The Central Park sun, coupled with Maria’s radiant spirit, assured me that the future was mine to shape. There was so much to look forward to.

I hadn’t even been inside her house at that point, but I knew that I’d be going there a lot in the future. At that moment in the park I could see it all—our wedding, our children, growing old together. The future was reflected in Maria’s eyes. I knew she felt it, too. And I hadn’t even kissed her yet.

But that was the next step in my plan. I always planned little things to happen on dates, and I was proud of my plan for Maria. And I had no regrets about it, no ulterior motive. I planned on kissing her that day. I knew it would be a little difficult, because of Lynn. But I also knew that she wanted me to kiss her.

As we descended the stairs, a guy walked by us smoking a cigarette. So I asked her if she had ever smoked.

“I recently quit,” she said.

“What?” I was shocked. First there was the thing about her father, and now this.

“Well, I hung around with a lot of people in my neighborhood who smoked, so sometimes I’d smoke too.”

“How often did you smoke?”

“What difference does it make? I don’t do it anymore. It was a stupid thing to get into, so I stopped.”

“How much did you smoke? I asked.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that you’ve been so open with me, I just want to know everything about you.” But I was more than interested. I was really pissed off. Only losers smoked.

“About a pack a day,” she said.

“A pack a day? God, that’s so much! What’s wrong with you?”

Maria became visibly pissed off at me for pressing the issue.

“People make mistakes, A.J. And people learn from them. That’s what happened with me. I hung out with the wrong crowd; but now I’m with you, and I won’t do it anymore. I promised myself right after I met you that I’d quit smoking. Because you gave me so much hope that I didn’t think I needed to do it anymore. Instead of having a cigarette when my father frightens me, I’ll call you, and I know you’ll make me feel better.”

I was touched, but still angry. I kept thinking: What else don’t I know about her?

“Okay,” I said. “I’m sorry. Well, as long as you quit, it’s all right.”

“Thanks for your permission,” she said. Her abrupt sarcasm surprised me.

“No, really,” I said, “I’m sorry. As long as you tell me everything about yourself, it doesn’t matter what you say.“ She just glared at me. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me everything, only what you want to tell me. Uh, anyway, I just want you to be my friend, and I want to be yours.”

What I didn’t tell her was that I smoked, too. And I wasn’t planning to quit any time soon, either. But I wasn’t like all those losers in my school. And I probably wasn’t like Maria, standing on a street corner with a bunch of hoods and losers smoking cigarettes. I don’t know, it was just different.

I didn’t want to let the revelation ruin the day—I still wanted things to go as planned—so I figured I’d just forgive and forget. It was no big deal, really.

We finally made it back to Ridgewood. It was such a long ride home--two trains and a bus. Standing on the corner of her block, 69 thStreet and Fresh Pond Road, I leaned toward Maria like I was going to kiss her. She drew closer, but I quickly pulled away. It was a little trick I’d pull before. Just a way to see her reaction. I think she was a little embarrassed by that.

Again, we looked at each other, happily anticipating what was about to happen. I kept waiting for the right time to make a real move. First I thought that I should give her a peck on the cheek, and then make out. Then I thought it would be best to kiss her forehead first. And then I thought that maybe I should just go right in and kiss her on the lips.

But Maria threw me for a loop—she kissed me first, smack on the lips!

“You don’t know how to kiss!” I interrupted.

“What?” she said. She was surprised that I was so goddamn blunt. But I was telling the truth. She didn’t know how to kiss. She did it like all those jerks at the school dances I went to—like Lynn, like Rachel—like she was trying to inhale my face. All tongue, no lips. I hated to kiss that way.

“What I mean,” I said, “is that I prefer to do it this way.” And with that I placed each hand on either side of her tender face. I pulled Maria toward me and leaned against her. I kissed her just as I’d dreamed. At first, just the lips—no tongue. Just a few gentle pecks on her soft lips, my mouth hardly open. Then I let my tongue slip in a little. But it wasn’t disgusting; it was passionate. It was beautiful. Just like in the movies.

“You kiss like all those people in the movies,” she said, with a huge puppy dog look on her face. “It’s not like all the other guys.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes. Yes, I really did. It was the best kiss I’ve ever had.” She was so happy.

“Then that’s all that matters,” I said. “You’ll find that I do a lot of things different than all the other guys.” Maria and I embraced. God, her body was so warm and accepting, a blanket in the cool spring evening air.

“I’ve done a lot of talking today, A.J. But you’ve been pretty quiet. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to say to me, nothing you want to get out in the open? I can’t imagine that you’re as perfect as you seem, but that’s okay. I don’t want perfection. I just want a confidant.”

Wincing at the thought of unveiling my dirty little secrets, I placed my arm around her shoulder and goaded her to continue walking. “No, don’t worry. It’s not that I’m perfect. I’m just not very interesting.” We chuckled in unison.

“You’re the most interesting person I know, Hopeful . But if you say you don’t have any secrets to share, then I believe you. I care about you either way.”

At that moment I realized that Maria was perfect despite her faults, perfect for having the courage to be honest. It was a bravery that I’m only now beginning to truly appreciate.

It’s amazing that sometimes one part of my life flourishes, while the other part founders like the Titanic. Case in point: the summer before my last year of high school, right around my first real date with Maria. At that point in my life, I had almost everything a guy could want—almost. My beautiful girlfriend went hand-in-hand with my bright future.