30 Days, 30 Stories

Day One: The Kiss

What I remember most about our first day together (after five months of being separated by an ocean) was that he kissed me like there was no beginning and no end. The first kiss--a quick kiss in an airport--didn't count. We were too shell-shocked that we were finally together again after so many months apart. Lack of sleep and jet lag frayed my edges. The air smelled different here--dry, cool...without the strange damp I was used to from Richmond and Philadelphia. I was in Sweden for the first time--why did he seem so much taller, so blonder than I'd remembered? He'd let his hair grow. It waved and curled now, silvery blond locks that made him look much younger than twenty-four. The only thing that mattered was that he felt the same when he hugged me and when I breathed in his scent, it rekindled the intensity of our summer together. 

He took my suitcase and led me out of the arrivals hall. Outside the sky was a flat gray--I'd come to learn this was standard Stockholm in winter weather--and not as much snow as I'd assumed there'd be. We held hands. I loved the strength of his grip on me. I was his girl. He was mine. I felt safe, I felt home. I loved his nervous smile. I loved how different his voice sounded when he spoke Swedish--deeper, self-assured, somehow grounded. I couldn't understand the language then, but even the act of buying bus tickets and hearing him speak his native tongue made me love him more. 

We boarded the bus to the city. He told me it would take 45 minutes. Once we found our seats, he did what I had been longing for--he dove in for a kiss that sealed our fates. That kiss that never seemed to end, that carried us from Arlanda into downtown Stockholm, past all the crowds and onto the subway to Norsborg, past the snow-covered hill and into his bedroom.

That kiss changed everything.

I knew I'd go wherever he asked me to.

I was his.