Running Barefoot

by Amy Harmon

We walked down the stairs and through the back door. He gathered the big bucket, the bowl, and the towels, putting the now empty water jug inside with everything else. The music had long since ended. We walked around to the front of the house, silent. I wished he wouldn’t go. “Goodnight Josie,” Samuel said quietly. I didn’t respond. I thought I might reveal my desperate disappointment that the night was ending. I tried to smile and then turned and began walking back towards the house. I heard a guttural groan behind me. I heard the pail and the silver bowl hit the ground with a jarring twang. When I turned, Samuel was striding towards me, and I gasped at the vehemence in his face. I was suddenly gripped tightly in his arms, the force of his embrace lifting me off my feet. Then Samuel’s mouth was on mine, his hands buried in my hair. His lips were demanding, his hands holding my head firmly beneath the onslaught of his kiss. My hands gripped his head in return, fisting in his hair, pulling him into me, feeling his arms around me, holding me to him, breathing him in, triumphant. The kiss was endless and infinitesimal all at once.