I Find That I Cannot Kiss You

• Samantha Ho, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2021

'For centuries, sculptors vied with one another to turn human emotion into stone.'
The words that captioned Michelangelo's ‘Slaves’ on the website of the Louvre come to the forefront of my mind as I gaze at the real life sculptures. There are two of them, of marble figure, both 2.15 metres in height.
I look at them, and then I look back at you.
You’re looking past the slaves, at the monumental portal behind them, framed by figures of Hercules and Perseus. You’re offering me an ethereal perspective of your sharp jaw, straight nose, full lips. The beige sweater you’re wearing complements perfectly those light grey chinos; the same ones you wore to my sister’s wedding yesterday.
The muscle and sinew of the human body in motion are carved into the statues. For a split second when you turn back to look at me, you seem to be carved out of stone, too.
‘Kenji!’ you call, and your stone facade crumbles as you smile. I watch as you step toward me, and I wonder what it would feel like to kiss you. I wonder, too, what you’re thinking about.
'The sculptures were carved from carefully chosen stone. Michelangelo had already envisioned the statue to exist within the marble, and he saw it as his job to set the statue free.'
The voice of the tour guide interrupts us. Perhaps the both of us were likewise imprisoned in stone. The cold, sharp stone of a society who expects otherwise of us. If I kissed you now, what would all these people think?
An American family stands no more than a metre to our right, a brunette girl chasing her fair-haired brother around the statue. A Chinese man stands to our left, intently reading the caption beneath the statues, averting his eyes from their nudity. A Japanese couple behind us, their intimacy not at all offensive to the group gathered around.
I find I cannot kiss you now.
And even if I did, what would you think?
'I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.'
When you teared up at my sister’s wedding, I was also wondering what you were thinking. Love is beautiful. Beautiful, but in my world, laced with poisonous futility.
It’s unfortunate that I could never be your bride. And it is nothing but futile, for me to hope that one day I would be the groom asked to kiss the groom.
The sky outside is dark with rain clouds, and suddenly, the lights inside the Louvre flicker. For a moment we are enveloped in darkness. I find that I cannot see you clearly, and I move toward you.
No one can see us clearly.
I bring our faces close, and I kiss you anyway. Your lips are softer than I imagined, and you respond eagerly to me. You taste sweeter than I imagined, and I bite you gently.
The lights flicker back on.