I felt him before I saw him, a wave of warmth closing in on me, heat on my lips and strong arms wrapped around my back. It was difficult to come to terms with the fact that Cal was kissing me. It was a moment I’d tried not to think about for years, and it was happening, on an arctic beach under a starless sky.

“What about Abe?” I whispered, pulling back enough for my breath to waft visibly into his mouth.

“He doesn’t own me,” Cal said, swallowing it down. “Nobody does.”

“That’s what scares me,” I admitted, tangling my frigid fingers through his fiery hair as I tugged him back into me, holding on as tightly as anyone could to something so free.

If I wasn’t already intoxicated, I would have gotten drunk on his lips. My heart spun as my brain went numb, his embrace not allowing me to think of anything but him.

We kissed until I could no longer bear the daggers of ice that sliced through my muscles, demanding attention.

“I’ve wanted that for a while,” I admitted to myself, and to Cal, as I sank my hands deep into the pockets of my coat. It was the first time I had shown affection to a man without expecting it to be followed by some sort of sexual gratification. Looking at him knowing his mouth was on mine moments before was as awkward and unnerving as it was enticing. And beyond my confession, I was unsure what to say as we stood on the frostbitten lakefront.

“Why didn’t you then?” Cal asked, the question hanging heavy in the air between us.

“I don’t know,” I replied, but that was a lie. I knew precisely why. It was the reason I would run once I gained the wherewithal to turn away from him. I was scared, terrified of what Cal made me feel, nervous a kiss would make whatever we had more real.

“Yes you do,” he disagreed, never one to let me slink out of a statement. Long fingers cradled my skull as Cal brushed his lips against mine and said, “Come on.”

We shared a cigarette and walked down dark blocks in silence, until we reached the soft glow of State Street, light streaming from the narrow windows of unassuming buildings, full of life beyond the bricks.

“I should go,” I said as Cal opened the door to The Gallery, allowing heat and music to blast into the night.

He didn’t ask why this time, instead he nodded, waved and, from the sound of the music still dancing through the dense winter air, watched as I went on my way.

There were so many odd things happening in city in those days, but the strangest of all was learning I had the propensity to fall for a fruit who wasn’t mine.

10

March 1932