revised for a short stories class in april 03

i got to perform a version of this on the stage of RENT in front of 1300 people at a theatre workshop!

cherry lip gloss

I’m laying here and feel like I’m going to die in this song and I would give anything to feel your touch and taste your breath as it left your lips. Those lips I can only imagine are soft linger in my mind, taunting but comforting at the same time. They’re so pink—the pinkest lips I’ve ever seen—and I love your lip gloss, it’s cherry and smells good and I remember when you let me borrow it in English class last year. I was chewing on my lip and nervous about that stupid presentation we had to do. How did she expect us to talk for five minutes about a boring book, anyway? And then you handed me your lip gloss, “Here use this,” and my hand brushed against yours as I took the tiny tube from it. And then everything was okay. I don’t even remember what I said about whatever book it was, but I remember the lip gloss...and your hand. Your skin was soft, smooth like...like something really smooth. I don’t know; I’m no poet. And it definitely wasn’t like a baby’s butt. I always thought that was gross. How can you possibly compare something as wonderful as your skin to a baby’s butt, covered in a diaper and crap all day? But that hand was smooth. All I ever wanted was for my presentation to be over so I could maybe touch it again. I put on the lip gloss and went on up with it in my pocket. It fit perfectly in that little fifth pocket on five-pocket jeans that doesn’t quite fit anything right except your lip gloss.

I must’ve sounded pretty good up there, ‘cause I got a 95 on the project, but I have no clue what I said. I didn’t then, either. I didn’t realize ‘til I sat down that it was cherry. And then the bell rang and you were gone, like now, and your lip gloss was still in the tiny pocket in my jeans. I grabbed my bag and looked for you in the hallway, but you had vanished and I began to wonder if this wonderful, good-smelling, soft-skinned, lip gloss-giving girl was real or if I had made her up. But then I stuck my hand in my pocket and felt the lump from that fifth pocket and remembered the lip gloss. It was solid and very real. I pulled it out of its snug home and opened it up. Yup, definitely cherry. So thoroughly cherry that I could almost taste it just from waving it under my nose. I put some more on my lips, which were still sore from being chewed on all through class. Then I realized the halls were clearing out, and I was going to be late, so I closed your lip gloss and walked past the empty halls of lockers. It didn’t really matter if I was late, anyway. I had your lip gloss, I could get up in front of the class and speak for five minutes and not remember it, and I could handle anything Mr. Deene could dish out for me being late. I was invincible.

Mr. Deene almost gave me detention, but instead he said I looked kind of out of it and maybe I should go to the nurse. I tried to tell him everything was okay, I just had your lip gloss and I was so happy and floating, but it didn’t come out too good and he sent me to the nurse anyway. She let me lay down on the hard cot, but I didn’t fall asleep. I just lay there in the dark and thought about you and your soft hand and cherry lip gloss and how I forgot my math homework and it’s good Mr. Deene sent me down here before he checked it. At the end of the period I was still in my cherry-induced daze, but I had to go to my locker. I looked for yours on the way, but then I realized I didn’t even know the people whose lockers were right next to mine, and that was depressing. But I still had your lip gloss, so it was okay. I passed you in the hall a couple of periods later but you were with all your friends, the ones who don’t even know I’m alive, all smiling and laughing, so I felt stupid walking up to you like “Oh, here’s your lip gloss,” and walking away. So I didn’t. Instead, I looked down and trudged on to class. And when I got there, I opened up the cherry goodness again and covered my lips with its smooth wax. I looked for you the rest of the day, but we didn’t have any other classes together, and you were always surrounded by so many friends. They could all make you laugh more than I ever could. And with all those boys around, I was sure you were with one of them. You know, like with them with them. And the girls would just look at me funny like I was a roach or something and move away and I’d take your lip gloss out of my pocket and hand it to you and someone would say, “You let her use that?! Burn it!” and turn away in disgust.

I don’t usually go to my locker at the end of the day, I go before last period so I don’t miss my bus, but that was the last chance I had. I came up behind you as you closed your locker and I almost turned and walked away. I guess I ran up too loud ‘cause you turned around and I took the tiny tube out of my pocket and handed it to you. I didn’t get to touch your hand this time, but I think it was still smooth. You smiled at me and I said, “Its cherry,” and you giggled softly, “I know.” And I had to leave and run to catch my bus. And I really wanted to be your friend and make you laugh and smile like the others, but even more than that, I wanted to kiss you. But the bus was pulling away as I got to the door; at least it stopped and let me on. And I never had the guts to talk to you again in English class, even that day you looked like you’d been crying, or in the halls or with your big group of friends who looked at me like I was a leper, but I smiled sometimes when you passed by and if you weren’t talking sometimes you smiled back.

And I still really wish I had gotten to kiss you and find out if your lips really were as soft as they looked, and they probably were after all that cherry lip gloss. But I stopped seeing you around school, and then I heard in the hall that you’d killed yourself…and you never even really looked unhappy, except on Mondays. And Mondays are Mondays and everyone looks unhappy, it’s just a given. But I never even got to talk to you or thank you for how wonderful you made that day with your touch and smile and I’ll never ever forget the smell of waxy cherry lip gloss and I’ll never forget you, even if you did. And the next time I find a girl who makes me feel as good as you did, I’m going to give her cherry lip gloss and tell her not to die. At least after I get up the nerve to say hello. Or maybe I won’t but I won’t let her slip away from me like you did, with out even a conversation to maybe keep you alive.