Fifteen years is a long time, but as I looked at Kiera standing uncertainly in the doorway of my hotel room, I realized she didn't look like she had changed much. She still had the same auburn hair. The same mesmerizing eyes. The same tempting cleavage. Realizing she was the same person, despite a modern hairdo and a more experienced look in her eye, brought so many memories flooding back in a flash.
I don't know what I really expected to get out of my 15 year class reunion. A sense of vindication aimed at those shallow cheerleaders who had called me a dike? Recognition that I had been more successful in the last several years than most of those people who had despised me ever dreamed of becoming? I suppose on some level I should be grateful. After all, their small town fear of someone they didn't understand was what drove me away from there in the first place.
At any rate, I was not expecting a message from Kiera three days before the reunion, asking to meet me when we got to town. I had found her on the Internet a couple of years back, curiosity finally overcoming my resolve to never even think of her again. Her page was littered with photos of some kid who looked like he was about 7 years old and who shared the same quirky smile that had always melted me to the bones.
I didn't dig too deeply. Funny how after all these years, it still felt too raw. I have heard people say you never really get over your first love, and after a while I just chalked my experience with her up to foolish ideology and childish dreams. Puppy love. Infatuation.
Kiera had been one of my few true friends growing up. We had played together since elementary school and experienced many firsts together. First grade, first time sneaking out of the house at night, first time drinking beer. What we did not share, and I really wanted, was a first kiss.
Kiera stood up for me when others talked behind my back, championing my cause...insisting I was straight and not a dike. And I never had the guts to correct her. She was my best friend. Would she still invite me to her house for sleep overs if she knew the truth? Would she quit hugging me so tightly if she knew it made my adolescent heart skip a beat? Would she stop being my friend if she knew my most secret desire was to run away with her and live as lovers?
Of course, eventually, she did find out I am a lesbian. I became much less concerned with small town status after I left for college, and when I moved in with another woman, rumors about my sexuality spread through my home town like a wild-fire across a drought-ridden forest. The relationship didn't last, but by then I was well and truly out of the closet, and had no intentions of going back.
My contact with her dwindled to an occasional Christmas card, and after a few years I lost track of her all together. So her message on my voice mail, which I replayed over and over in dumbfounded surprise, was quite a shock. She told me she would be arriving in town Friday night and hoped she could see me.
I called her back, but only got her voicemail in return. I left a message giving her my hotel and room number, telling her to stop by whenever she got into town. The only reply was a text message saying, "I'll be there," followed by one of those little winking emoticons.
But still, when she actually stood there, I could not believe my eyes. Her hair was shorter, a slightly lighter auburn streaked with stunning gold highlights. She wore a loose cotton blouse, khaki Capris, and sandals that showed off her tiny, pink-painted toes. The barest hint of make-up and gold hoop earrings accentuated her features. Framed in the doorway by the dark of the night sky, she looked like something straight out of my summer daydreams, and the sight of her ripped the breath from my body.
We stood there, staring at each other, both of us frozen in place. Finally, I managed to draw a breath of air and my lips parted in a smile. "Hey there, Keery," I said, her old nickname slipping out without thought. The expression that flashed across her face seemed to be a look of joy and wonder and fear all at once, and then suddenly she threw herself into my arms, hugging me close, the small sob unexpected in my ears.
"Hey. Are you crying?" I pulled back slightly, noticing the sheen of tears glimmering in her eyes, then drew her back to my embrace, wrapping my arms securely around her. "It's okay," I murmured, uncertainty tugging at my heart as I rubbed her back in soft circles and she hugged me tighter.
Her body was warm and soft against mine as I held her, and I knew that the pounding of my heart had to be obvious. How many nights had I dreamed of holding her, of stroking her hair, of pressing the softness of her breasts into mine? And even though she had never been crying in my fantasies, she still felt utterly glorious to hold.
Several moments later, she pulled back, wiping her eyes, a gentle blush on her face. "I'm sorry. I hadn't planned on doing that. It's just so good to see you again." Dear God, she was beautiful, even when she had been crying.
I grinned at her. "You can cry on my shoulder any time. And it isn't like it is the first time, anyway." I motioned her into the room and closed the door behind her, absently noting the bag she dropped against the wall as she grabbed a few tissues from the container by the bed. "Remember Bobby Watkins?"
Kiera finally broke into a smile as she dabbed at the left over tears. "Oh god, I had forgotten all about him. I thought I would die when he dumped me for Sally Albright! It was the most humiliating experience of my seventeen year old life." She chuckled as I pulled a couple of cold beers from the mini fridge, and we clinked them together in a silent toast, our eyes colliding once more.
I needed a drink. Badly. I tossed back half of the beer in one swig, before sitting down on the edge of the king sized bed that dominated the room. I took a slice of pizza from the box resting there and motioned for her to help herself.
"So, what have you been up to all these years?" she asked casually, as she kicked off her sandals and bounced down near the foot of the bed, turning to sit criss-cross and face me. She grabbed a slice of pizza and closed her eyes in bliss. "I had almost forgotten how good Johnny's pizza is."