Flirting

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I got out of my office in a hurry. The elevator was busy as usual. I clicked on the up and down arrows couple of times. The arrows did not seem to care. It was the typical "leaving the office" traffic. Everybody wanted to go home immediately, before anyone, so they have more time at home than the others.

As it happens in times like this, when I have time to think, that is when I stand in front of an elevator door waiting, that wicked question came to my mind: What do I really want? The up and down pointing arrows are curious metaphors and they are lit up too. Busy metaphors for life.

I work as an assistant editor for a public relations company and my job is to review annual reports for industrial companies. It is a mundane job, yet it gives me the freedom to think whatever I want to think while I work. So, I do not complain about it. Repetitious tasks are what suits me the best. It was in fact couple of weeks ago while I was busy with formatting some numerical tables on a spreadsheet, I started thinking about a story that a friend of mine had told me earlier. He told me that he went onto a website to search for his childhood friends and he actually found couple of them, including a girl who is supposedly his first love. They met and now they started dating, again. It was meant to be, as they say.

I don't know why, but waiting for a never arriving elevator made me think about my first love at that moment.



Trying to capture the essence of a lost feeling is indeed hard to accomplish.



I felt uneasy when I had hard time remembering my first love, my first kiss. Or rather, I was not sure about the chronology. Was she the fair blond girl with braces who looked like a scary doll from a horror film who slapped me after she kissed me or the other one, the chubby daughter of the neighborhood butcher who pushed me into a dark passage in a deserted death end street? I remember kissing them both.

But I was not sure which one came first. I remember the moisture of that first kiss and how I licked my lips for days following that very first experience to regenerate the same wet feeling.

But trying to capture the essence of a lost feeling is indeed hard to accomplish. So, I closed my eyes again and licked my lips like I did all the time when I used to tell my friends about my adventures with girls. It is a sense memory, I read it on somewhere online, that makes us remember things that we actually thought that we forgot. In fact, we never forget. It is somewhere in there, still, waiting to pop up again behind a door and ready to scare us.

I was not sure how long I licked my lips but when I opened my eyes an elevator full of people were staring at me with clueless faces. The door closed and they went off to their homes.

I ran back to my office, turned on the computer and went onto Facebook site my friend had told me about. I have a good memory for anything related to words and numbers. I typed in the butcher's daughter's name first. I remember that she was like a beast when she kissed me forcefully in that death end street, therefore she must be on this site. And yes she was. I sent her a message and asked if she remembers the date when we kissed.

Next, I went onto my search for my other first love. She was on there too, I poked her instead of sending a message. In the meantime I received a message from the butcher's daughter who was obviously online all the time. She did not seem surprised about my message as if she receives these type of messages every other hour and wrote back that she did not remember kissing me at all.



She looked totally different than I remember her.



However, she would like to meet me for a coffee or something. I was heartbroken. Did I invent this story or because it was not a good kiss, did she forget all about it? I replied with vengeance. I was so sure about that kiss, and she should be well aware of it, and in fact it was she who forced me to kiss her, and even bit my tongue. I also said I would like to meet her again to straighten this issue. I was somewhat getting nervous.

I checked my profile page and saw that my other first love, the skinny fair blond with pony tales and braces poked me back. I looked at her profile. She looked totally different than I remember her. She is now red haired and without braces. In one of the pictures she is wearing a black bikini, lying on the deck of a surf board on some tropical island beach.

I asked her the same question. When did we kiss?

In the meantime I received a vampire kiss from the butcher's daughter which actually made me happy because she was like a vampire biting my tongue that day and this proves my point. So, I threw her a sheep. I checked my inbox. The fair blond red haired love of mine, the other first love, had invited me for a drink.

I thought the roles must have changed. The butcher's daughter was more likely to seduce me but it was she, that skinny girl with braces is trying to make me drunk and kiss me again. Things were getting complicated. I felt the same sudden fear of both of them. The childhood is full of scary memories.

I shut down the computer and went to the elevator. I pushed the buttons again. The elevator was no more busy and stopped on my floor in a couple of seconds. The doors opened with a bell ring. My elementary school teacher was standing inside. She said it was time to check my nails. I went into the elevator and the doors closed behind me. I was happy that I can now reach the bottom floor button of the elevator when I jump.

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