Lindsay Was Kissed By God

Lindsay the dancer told me she'd been kissed by God.

What a strange thing to say out loud!

 

 

I had asked her how she dances so well, and that was her response. Just like that!  "I guess I've just been kissed by God," she said, standing there in the center of the concert-hall auditorium just before her recital, dressed in those stupid little shoes they wear.

I just smiled and changed the subject of course. (I'm awkward with words and making sentences and such.)

  

What does that even mean? Would the kiss be a blessing? The giving of a gift?

If kisses from angels make freckles, and kisses from the sun make burns, then perhaps kisses from God make something like a rash. Not that you could be allergic to God... that doesn't make any sense at all.

Perhaps it's something more subtle; something that moves under the exterior and makes the blood run hot and the breath push faster. Like being caught in a cold wind, or stepping into a shower when you have a fever. 

It's a strange thing to say out loud, anyway. It really is.

 

But I do confess that later that same evening, in the fresh dark of the concert hall, pressed between friends and grandparents and strangers, I watched in amazement from the crowd as Lindsay spun on the stage under those white lights. And in that moment, I think I believed her.