A Man of His Word

True to his word, Tank dated me as though we were in high school. A peck on the cheek and a hug when we’d first see each other for a “date” and when we left each other’s company. He initiated all the phone calls, albeit less frequently than before. And he decided on what we’d do when we met.

One day, a few weeks after this all started, I found myself at his house, washing his cherry red Porsche. And then his conventional white car for work. And finally, my grey Honda truck.

I’d been silent for most of the hour we’d been together. Finally, I couldn’t contain myself.

“Tank, do you think you’ll ever kiss me passionately again? I miss those kisses.”

His response was immediate—and firm. “If you have to ask, you don’t deserve to be kissed like that.”

My response was visceral. I could feel the sting of his words in every cell in my body. As I wondered what I’d have to do to be deserving of such kisses again, a single tear scrolled down my left cheek. A few minutes later, I walked in the house, got my things and quietly left—without a hug or a peck on the cheek.

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