"I can do this. I know I can."
Brianna kept walking even as her brain rebelled. Everything in her wanted to turn around and walk away, except that one tiny piece that was still holding the reigns.
"You know you can't let them win. This is your best chance," it whispered.
So she kept walking. Up the seemingly endless steps, through the doors, name on the sign-in sheet, down the hall, second door on the left. She stood in front of it with clammy hands and spots dancing before her eyes. She leaned against the wall and squatted down to put her head between her knees. Why did she let her friend strong-arm her into this? Recording a first kiss with a random stranger? Who does that? The only reason she'd agreed was because she couldn't get through the anxiety of another first date. At least this way, everyone knew the expectation.
She could feel the ticking clock down to her bones. Crouching in the hallway much longer would let the chance escape. She rocked back and forth a few times and stood. Pushed her hair back, straightened her shoulders. Opened the door before she could second guess herself for the millionth time.
The room was empty, leaving her with more time to obsess. Great. She started to pace, but stopped herself. Then again, standing still made her feel stiff and mechanical. She had to keep moving to hold the panic at bay. She started repeating the script in her mind, each action coinciding with a step across the room. Her friend had written these up and insisted she rehearse for the last week. Talk about embarrassing. Her pillow had a lot of dirty secrets now.
But no one was going to tell her she was a bad kisser again.
Finally, the door opened and he stepped inside. A little taller and a little broader than her. Messy, dark hair like he'd just pulled off a hat.
He started to say something, maybe his name, maybe just "how do you do?", but she heard nothing. Once the door closed, her brain took her to the place where it could complete the steps, follow the path down the rabbit hole. Her ears buzzed every noise and thought out of existence except for the muscle memory to complete the process. At that point, she couldn't avoid it even if she tried. She inched closer to him and started the sequence she'd rehearsed.
As their lips touched, she realized that she never would have gotten through this if her body hadn't known what to do on its own. Her conscious mind had completely disengaged, filling up with as much useless noise as possible.
Her brain went rogue and decided to make her lips into a dirty Frenchman. Her lips started talking in her head with a deep French accent, "Oh-ho-ho, we are nekked and rubbing against other nekked things. Zees ees very nice. Zees massage would be so much better if we were wet and slippery." Nice to see her brain still had a sense of humor, but she was too amped up to notice. She did oblige and use her tongue...just a little bit. Then she pulled away. Script over, process completed.
She finally breathed out. That was pretty much as bad as she expected it to be. At least it was over. She could open her eyes to see what the damage was like.
"Whoa. I didn't know it was going to go down like that." He ran his hand through his hair as the words kept pouring out of him. "You're pretty. Did you practice that?"
She could have taken that offensively, but there was red creeping up his cheeks and he was talking so fast - like he was too flustered and overwhelmed to think about his words. Maybe she wasn't the only nervous one. It helped her calm down and she smiled when she answered.
"So, you could tell? Darn. I was trying to be smooth."
He looked toward the sound booth and asked, "Um, does that mean we're done?" After a nod and a thumbs up from the guy in the booth, his words kept rushing out "Yes? Good. Works for me. I'm Greg, by the way." He turned back to her.
"Brianna." It seemed like that was the only word she could get in around his haste. It did give her some time to check him out, now that the pressure was off. He was pretty cute with the messy hair and the nervous, scratchy voice.
"Well, nice to meet you, Brianna. Since we're done here, you wanna see my viola?" he finished.
After all the stressing about the kiss, the whole conversation was surreal. Did he really say viola? It was so out of left field it made her laugh. Like the ice had broken and she was finally free to take back control of her body and mind. Maybe she had an adrenaline high. The hard part was over now.
"Has that line ever worked for you?" she asked, with raised eyebrows. "That's the cheesiest come-on I've ever heard."
"No, I really mean it. I had to keep my viola outside the door and I don't like leaving it alone," he said.
So, maybe not a creepy pervert, but still...strange? She didn't know, but it wouldn't hurt to see what he was talking about. She had to leave through that door anyway. Who had a relationship with their instrument? Ugh. She couldn't help the blush at that innuendo.
When they walked out, his eyes darted back and forth even though the case was right there next to the threshold. He seemed to be checking to make sure no one had touched it. He picked it up with one hand and shocked her by taking her hand as he started walking. She felt almost giddy from surviving the tough part, so she followed along. It wasn't like she had anything else on her schedule. He hadn't chided her for the kiss so that was a step in the right direction and he was rather intriguing.
They went out the door and down the steps. He sped up and towed her along, like he was the white rabbit and she was Alice. Two blocks away, he stopped in front of a medieval-looking church with the doors wide open. He pulled her up the steps into another new experience.
They walked into the cathedral and he explained, "This is where I spend my Saturdays. It's always empty right now."
He set the case on a pew and opened the lid. His eyes glazed over as he caressed the contents. He looked so spellbound that she couldn't help stepping closer to catch a glimpse. It looked like any other stringed instrument she'd seen and she mentally shrugged, but he stared at it like it was a priceless artifact.
It felt like forever before he got everything unhooked and aligned on his shoulder. He started to play and honestly, he sucked pretty badly. Even after warming up, he squeaked and hit wrong notes every few measures. His music echoed through the building and she cringed with embarrassment for him every time he made a mistake. But he didn't stop; didn't even seem to notice that she was there.
Eventually, she closed her eyes and let the melody sweep her away; accepting the good with the bad. She found that she was spinning, no longer standing on firm ground but connecting to this unique, strange person. Letting go of perfection felt like riding the wind, with air and sound rushing through her whole body. This person with eyes closed, a blissful smile, and haunting, half turned phrases exuded an overwhelming acceptance that seemed to permeate the air she breathed.
She loved how unconcerned he seemed with his imperfections. It fascinated her. This viola and his talent had freed her from the burden of expectations that had been weighing her down.
As he finished his piece, she stepped closer. She whispered, "Put the viola away". She didn't touch him until he complied.
This kiss would be different. She had discovered she liked his brand of crazy and it opened her eyes to the uniqueness all around her. He had offered her a glimpse of unfiltered authenticity. She could do no less than accept his gift and show him some part of her unvarnished passion. Good kisser or bad kisser, it didn't really matter anymore. She knew he's be able to accept her with all of her imperfections and insecurities.
The world was full of possibilities again and she didn't need to fear them. No scripts left, no process needed. She chose to be impulsive and spend this moment right there, with both hands wrapped around his shoulders, leaning close, brushing her lips against his. And this time, letting the music inside carry her away, along with her dirty Frenchman lips.
