#tsitpgif

Conrad "Connie" Fisher

When we got to the house, it was freezing cold. We cranked the heat up and Conrad started a fire. I watched him squat and tear up pieces of paper and poke at the log gently. I bet he’d been gentle with his dog, Boogie. I bet he used to let Boogie sleep in the bed with him. The thought of beds and sleep suddenly made me nervous. But I shouldn’t have been, because after he lit the fire, Conrad sat on the La-Z-Boy and not on the couch next to me.

The thought suddenly occurred to me: He was nervous too. Conrad, who was never nervous. Never. “Why are you sitting all the way over there?” I asked him, and I could hear my heart pounding behind my ears. I couldn’t believe I’d been brave enough to actually say what I was thinking. Conrad looked surprised too, and he came over and sat next to me. I inched closer to him. I wanted him to put his arms around me. I wanted to do all the things I’d only seen on TV and heard Taylor talk about. Well, maybe not all, but some.

In a low voice, Conrad said, “I don’t want you to be scared.” I whispered, “I’m not,” even though I was. Not scared of him, but scared of everything I felt. Sometimes it was too much. What I felt for him was bigger than the world, than anything. “Good,” he breathed, and then he was kissing me.

He kissed me long and slow, and even though we’d kissed once before, I never thought it could be like this. He took his time; he ran his hand along the bottom of my hair, the way you do when you walk past hanging wind chimes. Kissing him, being with him like that … it was cool lemonade with a long straw, sweet and measured and pleasurable in a way that felt infinite. The thought crossed my mind that I never wanted him to stop kissing me. I could do this forever, I thought. We kissed on the couch like that for what could have been hours or minutes.

All we did that night was kiss. He was careful, the way he touched me, like I was a Christmas ornament he was afraid of breaking. Once, he whispered, “Are you okay?” Once, I put my hand up to his chest, and I could feel his heart beating as fast as mine. I snuck a peek at him, and for some reason, it delighted me to see his eyes closed. His lashes were longer than mine. He fell asleep first. I’d heard something about how you weren’t supposed to sleep with a fire still burning, so I waited for it to die down. I watched Conrad sleep for a while. He looked like a little boy, the way his hair fell on his forehead and his eyelashes hit his cheek. I didn’t remember him ever looking that young. When I was sure he was asleep, I leaned in, I whispered, “Conrad. There’s only you. For me, there’s only ever been you.”

"He was finally crying. I watched him silently. I felt like I was intruding on a private moment, one he'd never let me see if he weren't grieving. The old Conrad liked to be in control. The old pull, the tide drawing me back in. I kept getting caught in this current--first love, I mean. First love kept making me come back to this, to him. He still took my breath away, just being near him. I had been lying to myself the night before, thinking I was free, thinking I had let him go. It didn't matter what he said or did, I'd never let him go. I wondered if it was possible to take someone's pain away with a kiss. Because that was what I wanted to do, take all of his sadness and pour it out of him, comfort him, make the boy I knew come back. I reached out and touched the back of his neck. He jerked forward, the slightest motion, but I didn't take my hand away. I let it rest there, stroking the back of his hair, and then I cupped the back of his head, moved it toward me, and kissed him. Tentatively at first, and then he started kissing me back, and we were kissing each other. His lips were warm and needy. He needed me. My mind went pure, blinding white, and the only thought I had was, I'm kissing Conrad Fisher, and he's kissing me back. Susannah was dying, and I was kissing Conrad."

Belly & Conrad + Hugs

These arms of mine They are lonely Lonely and feeling blue These arms of mine They are yearning Yearning from wanting you

"Conrad Beck Fisher, the boy of my preteen dreams. I loved him in a way that you can only really do the first time around. Completely. With every bit of your being. Without even leaving anything for yourself."

Right off the bat, the boys were a unit. Conrad was the leader. His word was pretty much law. Steven was his second in command, and Jeremiah was the jester. That first night, Conrad decided that the boys were going to sleep on the beach in sleeping bags and make a fire. He was a Boy Scout; he knew all about that kind of stuff. Jealously, I watched them plan. Especially when they packed the graham crackers and marshmallows. Don't take the whole box, I wanted to tell them. I didn't, though--it wasn't my place. It wasn't even my house. "Steven, make sure you bring the flashlight," Conrad directed. Steven nodded quickly. I had never seen him follow orders before. He looked up to Conrad, who was eight months older; it had always been that way.

Everybody had somebody but me. I wished I was at home, making butterscotch sundaes with my dad and eating them on our living room floor. "Jeremiah, don't forget the cards," Conrad added, rolling up a sleeping bag. Jeremiah saluted him and danced a little jig, which made me giggle. "Sir, yes, sir." He turned to me on the couch and said, "Conrad is bossy like our dad. Don't feel like you have to listen to him or anything." Jeremiah talking to me made me feel brave enough to say, "Can I come too?" Right away Steven said, "No. Guys only. Right, Con?" Conrad hesitated. "Sorry, Belly," he said, and he really did look sorry for a second. Two seconds, even. Then he went back to rolling his sleeping bag. I turned away from them and faced the TV. "That's okay. I don't really care anyway." "Ooh, watch out, Belly's gonna cry," Steven said joyously. To Jeremiah and Conrad he said, "When she doesn't get her way, she cries. Our dad always falls for it." "Shut up, Steven!" I yelled. I was worried I really might cry. The last thing I needed was to be a crybaby our first night. Then they'd never take me along for real. "Belly's gonna cry," Steven said in a singsong voice.

Then he and Jeremiah started to dance a jig together. "Leave her alone," Conrad said. Steven stopped dancing. "What?" he said, confused. "You guys are so immature," Conrad said, shaking his head. I watched them pick up their gear and get ready to leave. I was about to lose my chance to camp, to be a part of the gang. Quickly I said, "Steven, if you don't let me go, I'll tell Mom." Steven's face twisted. "No, you won't. Mom hates it when you tattletale." It was true, my mother hated it when I told on Steven for things like this. She'd say he needed his own time, that I could go the next time around, that it would be more fun at the house with her and Beck anyway. I sank into the couch, arms crossed. I'd lost my chance. Now I just looked like a tattletale, a baby. On the way out Jeremiah turned around and danced a quick jig for me, and I couldn't help it, I laughed. Over his shoulder Conrad said, "Good night, Belly." And that was it. I was in love.