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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Dying for a Kiss
\nBeem Weeks<\/p>\n
It\u2019s like one of those stories you\u2019d read about in Ripley\u2019s Believe It or Not<\/em>. I mean, who ever heard of anybody dying from a kiss? Seriously! But that\u2019s what happened to me\u2014well, except for the dying part. Two weeks in the hospital\u2014that\u2019s<\/em> the souvenir I brought back from my<\/em> spring break.<\/p>\n Okay, let me back up to the beginning.<\/p>\n My parents\u2019 hushed words pierce the wall that separates their bedroom from mine. This particular conversation doesn\u2019t warrant status as an argument, though. And believe me, I know<\/em> what their arguments sound like\u2014lots of yelling, and maybe an ashtray or a bowling trophy gets thrown by Mom. I guess I\u2019d classify this one as just another log of disappointment tossed on the bonfire that engulfs our family\u2014our collective lives.<\/p>\n Dad is a dreamer. The problem is, dreamers make promises they\u2019ll eventually have to break. He\u2019s also the sort of man who\u2019ll spend his last five dollars on scratch-off lottery tickets instead of household necessities, like food, or gas\u2014or our long-planned excursion to Disney World during spring break.<\/p>\n Dad\u2019s the one who sets it in stone over breakfast in our kitchen\u2014Dad, because Mom refuses to play the bad parent anymore.<\/p>\n \u201cSorry, kids,\u201d he tells me and my sister, Amanda. \u201cWe just can\u2019t afford Disney at this time.\u201d<\/p>\n Amanda, being nearly two years older than me, carries a heavier burden of disappointment than I do. She\u2019s had more time to gather her own collection of tales regarding broken promises, cancelled plans, and the jettisoned idea of ever being a normal, well-adjusted family.<\/p>\n \u201cI figured as much,\u201d Amanda mumbles, dismissing herself from the table.<\/p>\n Dad tries to be sincere in his attempt to save spring break. \u201cBut that doesn\u2019t mean we can\u2019t go somewhere that\u2019s almost as fun and exciting.\u201d<\/p>\n When Dad speaks of somewhere<\/em>, it\u2019s usually a state-park campground in some far-flung forest up north.<\/p>\n Amanda hollers from the living room, \u201cJust so you know, Daddy, I hate<\/em> camping.\u201d<\/p>\n I don\u2019t hate camping\u2014though it doesn\u2019t exactly make my top-ten list of fun things to do.<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n A little backstory.<\/p>\n My parents met at a Beatles concert back in 1964. Mom claims love at first sight.<\/p>\n Dad, well, he\u2019s been known to dispute her recollections on the subject. He\u2019s fond of saying, \u201cShe had the hots for John Lennon, is all. I\u2019m just the booby prize.\u201d<\/p>\n Hippies, they were\u2014and still are, even though it\u2019s 1979 now. They only just recently (as in one year ago) got married\u2014despite the fact that Amanda is almost fourteen and I\u2019m already twelve. And though they\u2019d both been college students when they met, neither has ever collected the degree they once intended to earn.<\/p>\n Mom works at the IGA as a cashier\u2014minimum wage, with practically zero opportunity to advance into a higher tax bracket.<\/p>\n Dad? He\u2019s dabbled in various occupations\u2014sales, electronic repairs (TV\u2019s mostly, maybe a few stereos), welding, landscaping, auto repair. Nothing ever really sticks for him, though. My grandfather (Mom\u2019s dad) refers to my father as professionally unemployable. Granddad still blames him for making a mess of Mom\u2019s life. They don\u2019t speak, Dad and Grandpa.<\/p>\n Dad\u2019s a good guy, though. He means well. He\u2019s just not one for responsibilities.<\/p>\n So, anyway, the folded map of Michigan comes out, spread across the kitchen table. Mom eyes the places circled in red\u2014those previous vacation spots. We\u2019ve been all over the state: Silver Lake Sand Dunes, Traverse City during the cherry festival, Holland for Tulip Time. We even spent a few days on Mackinac Island three summers ago\u2014though we didn\u2019t stay at the Grand Hotel.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s Andrew\u2019s turn to choose,\u201d Mom says, dropping the big decision in my hands.<\/p>\n Hiawatha National Forest had been my first choice the last time my turn came up. But Dad broke his foot, which cancelled our vacation that spring.<\/p>\n \u201cThe Upper Peninsula, it is,\u201d Dad says.<\/p>\n Amanda despises me in this moment. \u201cI told you I hate<\/em> camping.\u201d<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n Radio songs fill the van once we hit US 27 going north. The Bee Gees squawk about a tragedy twice before we\u2019re even on the road for forty minutes.<\/p>\n \u201cI hate that song,\u201d Amanda complains.<\/p>\n Dad says, \u201cWell, I like it.\u201d<\/p>\n Mom tries to lighten the mood. \u201cI spy<\/em> with my little eye\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPlease don\u2019t!\u201d Amanda begs. Without warning, she socks my shoulder, yells, \u201cSlug bug red!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOuch!\u201d And just like that, it\u2019s on. We\u2019ll both of us be battered and bruised by the time we spy the top of the Mackinac Bridge.<\/p>\n \u201cSlug bug green!\u201d Thwack!<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cSlug bug blue!\u201d Thwack!<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cSlug bug\u2014oh, never mind. That\u2019s not a VW.\u201d Thwack!<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cHey! No fair!<\/em>\u201d<\/p>\n Blondie sings about her heart of glass and Amanda momentarily abandons our game\u2014just long enough to sing the few lines she actually knows.<\/p>\n Many hours later, I\u2019m the one who spots the top of the Mighty Mack! \u201cI see the bridge,\u201d I say, hoping it\u2019ll irritate Amanda.<\/p>\n But in truth, she doesn\u2019t mind losing this game. It\u2019s not a thing to her anymore. She\u2019ll leave us the day she turns eighteen\u2014or even sooner, if she<\/em> has her<\/em> way. Grandpa promised to pay for her college, knowing my parents will never be able to afford it.<\/p>\n Evening spikes the sky with an orange-pink sunset by the time we find a campground inside Hiawatha. Dozens of tents and RV\u2019s occupy the prime camping spots.<\/p>\n \u201cAndrew and I will set up the tent,\u201d Dad says, parking our van on the last vacant lot within sight. \u201cYou girls can get dinner ready.\u201d<\/p>\n Kids\u2014loud and rowdy, as Grandpa would say\u2014run from lot to lot, chasing after somebody\u2019s collie, darting across the road without so much as a glance in either direction.<\/p>\n \u201cToo stupid to last long in this<\/em> world,\u201d Amanda says.<\/p>\n Mom gives her the eye. \u201cThey\u2019re just kids, for crying out loud, Mandy.\u201d<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n \u201cAndy and Mandy,\u201d the girl teases, laughing at our introductions. \u201cThat\u2019s cute. Are you two twins or something?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOr something<\/em>,\u201d Amanda says.<\/p>\n Her name is Nora, this girl with short brown hair. Already fourteen\u2014unlike Amanda, who still has another month. The tents across the street are her family\u2019s\u2014it\u2019s their collie running wild.<\/p>\n \u201cFive kids,\u201d Nora says, answering my mother. \u201cI\u2019m the oldest. Three younger brothers and a baby sister.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSounds kind of crowded, that many people in just two small tents,\u201d I observe.<\/p>\n She looks right at me when I speak\u2014like I\u2019m really truly here, standing in front of her.<\/p>\n \u201cYou don\u2019t know the half of it,\u201d says Nora. \u201cI asked if I could just stay home, sit out this vacation. That\u2019s<\/em> not happening anytime soon.\u201d<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n Blue jean shorts and a red bikini top\u2014that\u2019s what Nora wears the following morning. And a pocket full of salt water taffy\u2014which she gladly shares.<\/p>\n Mom\u2019s not impressed. \u201cLeaves little to the imagination,\u201d she says, regarding Nora\u2019s top.<\/p>\n \u201cBut you and Daddy used to skinny dip,\u201d Amanda reminds her. \u201cSo how is that better?\u201d<\/p>\n Mom\u2019s hard gaze issues silent threats. Her words aren\u2019t quite as harsh. \u201cAren\u2019t you kids going boating?\u201d<\/p>\n It\u2019s not really a boat, this thing we rent; it\u2019s more like a canoe\u2014but only plastic. I sit in the rear, my paddle steering us toward the middle of the lake. Amanda has the other paddle, though she\u2019s not really doing anything with it.<\/p>\n Nora sits in the middle\u2014facing me<\/em>!<\/p>\n I think Amanda is intimidated, not being the oldest for a change.<\/p>\n Nora talks\u2014a lot. But I don\u2019t mind. She tells us all about life back home in Detroit\u2014well, the suburbs, really, a place called Royal Oak. She used to have a boyfriend, but he cheated on her. Her parents separated last year, intending to divorce, but her mom ended up pregnant.<\/p>\n \u201cAmazing how an unborn baby can save a marriage,\u201d Amanda says.<\/p>\n It\u2019s after we bring the canoe in that Nora says, \u201cWanna go for a walk?\u201d<\/p>\n Only, she\u2019s not talking to Amanda. Amanda is already halfway back to our tent.<\/p>\n We end up in a picnic area near the lake, just me and Nora. She tells me more about herself, her family, what she intends for her future.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re cute,\u201d she says, sitting right beside me on a park bench.<\/p>\n My cheeks get hot, probably bright pink.<\/p>\n And she\u2019s two years older than me<\/em>, I think, as her lips press against mine.<\/p>\n My first kiss\u2014well, first real<\/em> kiss.<\/p>\n On her tongue I taste salt water taffy and excitement and all things possible.<\/p>\n What I don\u2019t taste is the meningitis in her saliva.<\/p>\n Amanda intrudes, tells me lunch is being served at our tent.<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n It strikes without warning, leaving me confused, nauseated. Words tumble from my mouth, though I have no idea what I\u2019m saying.<\/p>\n Mom\u2019s hand finds my forehead. \u201cHe\u2019s burning up,\u201d she says. \u201cWe need to get this boy to a hospital.\u201d<\/p>\n Only, I don\u2019t hear it that way. What I hear is, \u201cWe need to get this boy a pretzel.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut I don\u2019t like pretzels,\u201d I mumble.<\/p>\n * * *<\/p>\n Two weeks later, I\u2019m back home. It\u2019s a blur, but my parents say I nearly died.<\/p>\n From a kiss<\/em>!<\/p>\n Is that a Ripley\u2019s<\/em> story or what?<\/p>\n And what a kiss\u2014totally<\/em> worth dying for!<\/p>\n Well, almost<\/em> dying.<\/p>\n We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA<\/strong> or RRBC<\/strong> catalogs.\u00a0 Thanks, again, for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!\u00a0 Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:<\/p>\n Beem Weeks’\u00a0RWISA Author Page<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Dying for a Kiss Beem Weeks It\u2019s like one of those stories you\u2019d read about in Ripley\u2019s Believe It or Not. I mean, who ever heard of anybody dying from a kiss? Seriously! But that\u2019s what happened to me\u2014well, except for the dying part. Two weeks in the hospital\u2014that\u2019s the souvenir I brought back from … Continue reading “Welcome to the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RWISA”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[3,1,466],"tags":[530,537,657,677],"class_list":["post-1220","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-general","category-uncategorized","category-writing","tag-beem-weeks","tag-rrbc","tag-rwisa","tag-showcase-tour"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p9wA33-jG","jetpack-related-posts":[],"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1220","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1220"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1220\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1224,"href":"https:\/\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1220\/revisions\/1224"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1220"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1220"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1220"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"Beem](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.nomadauthors.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/07\/Beem-Weeks-300x225.jpg?resize=184%2C138&ssl=1\")
Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour <\/strong>today!\u00a0 We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA<\/strong> site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.<\/p>\n