END FIRST KISS PART 13: BACK IN THE CLOAK ROOM ...

So here I am, standing next to Joseph—busying myself with mittens, stuffing them into pockets, shmushing hat and scarf into my sleeve, hanging my jacket on the hook next to his—all the while feeling kind of prickly, because, last night in the alley, I'd done such an awful, stupid thing—but then my nerves are mollified by the thought that—Joseph is my friend, and I'm still Annie, so as soon as I smile and say hi, all will be well—just like when tempers flare in my family.


As this unconscious assumption is based in my experience as well as in my negligible understanding of human nature, I'm surprised when my friendly hi receives—no—good natured reply.  In fact, while staring me down, the shine in Joseph's eyes dulls, as if he can't fathom any reason why I'd assume that any part of his heart might find any reason to smile at mine.


At this, my sixth sense smells smoke, as in:  Where there's smoke there's fire, because for a fraction of a second something—like the memory of two fists fighting off his kiss—causes sparks to fly between us.  Then Joseph's brow lowers and his eyes narrow, so I, feeling unnerved, stiffen up, readying my heart to be targeted as a bulls eye at which he's gearing up to shoot darts.


As instinct 'knows' which of two warring bodies has won the high road, the taut body of this tall, blond boy, looms over me so menacingly that I flinch to see his teeth clenching behind lips, pursed in a snarl, and sensing my self confidence shriveling up, I'm swept back in time by the certainty that he's about to dump me—onto THAT BUS.


The fact that I'd never felt such a quivering mass of molten fury bump up this close to my nose arouses my instincts to shield my heart against the fact that our friendship is struggling between life and death.


So scared am I of whatever this Tom cat is bound to spit out that my nerves are a quiver and my heart pounds as fast as a hummingbird's wings until Joseph hands me something that I'd never been given by anyone, in my entire life.


With a sudden upswing of his arm, Joseph's fist jerks up and before my terrified eyes, I'm slugged for the very first time with:

"The Finger"

Uh—in case you're thinking 'no biggie'—how often do you consciously realize that Mother Nature hard wired our brains to leap to spontaneous judgments without asking questions?


Questions like why did my cloakroom encounter with Joseph leave me slumped against the wall, heart pounding with fear?


If it wasn't 'the finger' that made me feel as though a boulder, lodged in my throat, had cut off my oxygen supply, then had something arisen between us that felt as terrifying as whatever had made me beat off his kiss, last night?


When something about a situation
Feels similar to
A terrifying experience
From out of the past
How spontaneously
Doth one's startle reflex
Alert the brain's basic survival instincts
To fight, flee, or freeze?


Survival instincts are
Like burglar alarms
Blaring inside our heads.
And while alarms are blasting away
Loved ones can seem
To transform into
Stranger Danger in a flash ...
On both sides ...


And that's the truth.
So—what did Annie see in Joseph's eyes ...