After Sean Carswell....

The Moment you Know…

-After Sean Carswell

When you walk into your second period English Lit. class on tender

teenage legs with nothing but fifteen years of angst to live up to

and you take the blue plastic seat in the back near the row

of huge sun-filtering windows, you fix a decidedly nonchalant look

on your face (though English is your favorite class) then she

walks in, your friend (and more…?), and takes the seat next to you

and you realize since she arrived you’ve held

your breath.

When she grabs your sweaty palm, smiles at you mischievously and drags you

to the empty girls bathroom; you sit on top of the dirty fifty-year-old radiator

and act cool and collected when really you’re all bundled nerves.

She sits next to you, legs crossed and lights a thin cigarette, recounts

some story that you only half listen to, because her thigh is pressed

against yours and she leaning conspiratorially into you. Her voice

becomes indistinct echoes and all you want to do is swallow kisses

from her neck or brush your suddenly dry lips against her

still moving ones. She asks, through thin smoke trails, “Are you listening?”

the only answer you can give is an ever-reddening blush.

When your best friend asks you to deliver his hastily written love note

and you jealously do, not because you’re a great friend, but you’re curious

what did he write? what will she say? and why are you feeling this way?

After she reads it, she laughs and you laugh too, she shakes her head

and you shrug, walk back to him trying not to be a happy bearer of bad news.

When she’s got you alone in her boat of a car, outside your house

and you both stall for time and then she gently kisses you, instantly

you increase her momentary boldness, as you break moments later, breathless

her smile reaches her eyes and she knows and you know she knows

you know.