Staying Cool

I have always known the importance of being cool. Just to be cool I confronted Grace the Grape after she had spread rumors that my family bathed with pigs. I walked over to her with my miniature but intimidating posse, shook my seven-year-old neck like a snake, and pinched her left cheek till her olive skin turned grape. I left Grace in tears, my posse behind me, and I was so cool. I also dethroned Linda, the new girl in my sixth grade class, in the name of coolness. In the middle of lunch I asked my new posse to cast their votes. Raise your hand if you like me, I asked. Six hands were raised, including mine and Linda’s. Raise your hand if you hate Linda. Five hands were raised, minus Linda’s. She never sat with us at lunch again and I was totally cool. And I can’t forget how many cool points I earned when I spotted my high school boyfriend leaving his dormitory with another girl. Instead of pulling her hair out and coloring his pale cheek red, I pretended to be unaffected, waved and smiled. I walked away and I was cooler than cool.

My capacity to stay cool was of the utmost importance when Elijah and I reunited. I had to show him I looked great, felt great, and was great, without him. It was a Monday night. My stomach churned as I waited for the buzz of my doorbell to indicate his arrival. I began to adjust myself on the coach – legs crossed, legs uncrossed, legs crossed – when there was a knock, not a buzz, on my door. My heart pounded as I uncrossed my legs and walked toward the knock. My clammy hands twisted the lock, unchained the chain, clenched the golden knob and opened the door. There he was – tall, dark and handsome – and there I was – jittery, clammy, but still cool. I took a step back and waved him in. Elijah then wrapped his arms around me in an embrace. I turned my face to prevent him from kissing my lips, pecked his cheek, and let go.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thanks,” I replied. “Come on, sit down.”

Elijah walked over to my loveseat, took a seat, and stretched out on the couch. I sat a few inches away, facing him.

“Come here and give me another hug,” he said.

I obliged, leaned over and held him for as long as I could without loosing my cool.

“God I haven’t seen you in so long,” he said as I let go.

I nodded and smiled, as he traced the curves of my face, my breasts, and my legs with his eyes. My legs shook. My hands were clammier. I felt my coolness slipping, transforming itself into a blend of giddiness and cheesiness.

For an hour, we sat on the coach and spoke of classes, schedules, and work. I refused to react when his hand brushed mine, when he rested his warm hand on my thigh, when he said he had to get going. We stood by the open door, my hand on the lock and his hand on my waist, and I knew what was coming. Elijah held me tight; my chest pressed against his chest. My breathe quickened. My body struggled. I have to pull away. I twisted my neck, looked away from his hypnotic gaze and faced the open door. His arms remained around my waist.

“Can I kiss you?” Elijah asked.

My eyes darted from the door to his eyes and then back to the door. I wanted him to kiss me, but then he would know I still cared.

“I don’t know. I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t know – “

“If you don’t want me to kiss you then I won’t,” Elijah replied.

His arms loosened their grip.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to, is just that, I don’t know if it should happen because of everything…”

Elijah picked me up and kissed me. We kissed, and kissed, and kissed, just like before. We went to my bedroom and made love, just like before. I had lost the battle, lost my throne, and was indeed affected. I was so not cool.