Kissing Jacob Jones

It was the evening before the big night and I found myself in there again.

The barn, quite cold this late in the evening, was almost ready for the annual Dolesdale Dance. Popcorn streamers, flickering lanterns, and the half-hidden smell of manure filled the wooden space. The empty barrels used for feed were cleared out to make room for the band and finger foods were set to be served at the back corner, where the dogs couldn't reach. And though I'd been inside preparing for hours, I couldn't wait to return the following day at 6:15 p.m. sharp to welcome the whole town myself.

It was midnight by the time I'd finished setting up. The hem of my ragged gingham skirt was drenched in mud and in the distance, I could hear a familiar voice yelling.

"Oh, I swear Marjorie, you're going to get sick! Come home, now."

"It's almost ready!" I screeched, as I hung the last handpicked daisy over one of the cedar brackets. This was where we'd kiss, I planned. Jacob Jones would take me by the waist, dip me backward, and plant one on me—like Glenn Ford in Gilda.

"Marjorie, you better get in here. Don't make me get your father!"

I took in the satisfying sight one more time and rushed back before I got a beating. Daddy always became angry when I was fooling around past sunset, especially once the whiskey level in his bedside bottle fell below the wraparound label. And you knew it was real bad when he'd rip the sticker right off, so no one could guess how long he'd been at it. I said a prayer, begging to still see the words Jack Daniels stuck to the glass, before running out the gate.

"Oh hush, don't wake him," my mother said, breaking a sweat as she snuck me into the house through the back door past my father, who was sleeping on the couch.

I held my breath until I got both feet under the covers of my bed and heard nothing but silence coming from downstairs. Once settled, I turned off the reality switch in my mind and slipped back into the fantasy of festivities that I hoped would carry out soon. And before I could dream of another kiss, sleep gave me one big smooch instead.

Huffing and singing were all I could do leading up to the event, which was now just one hour away. I'd styled every curl on my head just like I'd seen in Mademoiselle Magazine and pinched my cheeks every hour since, to make sure I'd blush just enough for him to notice. After all, that's what page 5 said to do.

"Why in the world would you wear your Sunday best on a night like this?" my mother asked. "Don't you know that'll cost me a week's worth of mending?"

Her nonsensical nags became meaningless as Jacob Jones made an early appearance. As he approached the barn, accompanied by his younger sister Stevie, I began making out his features. His droopy eyes were not sparkling or mysterious, but I liked them. His barely-there beard was messy and uneven, but I was taken. And his crooked teeth were almost comical, but I couldn't get enough.

"Oh, hell0 Marjorie," he said. "Looking lovely."

He took my hand, shoo'd little Stevie away, and led me straight to the empty dance floor, where we swayed to the sound of guests coming in. Hours passed and we remained. Swaying, swaying, swaying.

"Would you like to accompany me to get some punch?" He finally broke the loop.

I was 17, but I knew what this meant. I shyly agreed and we headed to the freshly topped-up bowl on the bar. On the way, I peeked at my reflection in a forgotten flat shovel from the corner of my eye. I was ready, I thought with certainty, for the kiss.

"Here ya go," he said, handing me a full glass. I chugged the punch in no time and prepared my now berry-flavoured lips for their perfect match. I could feel his breath as he came closer and waited until it was mine too. And before I knew it...

X

"Grandma! Oh my God, there you are. Are you okay?"

Sobbing surrounded me, along with three people I didn't know. It felt like I had just woken up, but I was still standing in the same spot, where the punch was.

"Hello? Who are you? Why are you in my barn?" I asked.

A young woman with bright blonde hair wiped the wetness off of her puffy face and wrapped herself around me. I almost fell over at her weight, barely able to keep my back straight.

"I am so glad you're okay. We were looking everywhere for you," she said.

"What is this? Who are you?"

"Grandma, you got lost. You walked all the way here from the hospital," the girl said. "Where are we anyway?"

The two men who came with her paced around, looking for answers. Finally, the tall one paused and squinted as he directed his gaze toward an old wooden post.

"It says, J+M," he said. "Grandma, is this where you and grandpa met?"

I still couldn't make out who these intruders were and what was happening. They felt familiar, but grandchildren? I'd just had my first kiss, surely they were mistaken.

"Where is Jacob Jones?" I asked. I lost my balance for a moment and leaned on the post he's just looked at, for support. As I regained my posture, I saw my hand. The skin over top it was thin and marked with wrinkles that looked like roots from a tree. Each finger was trembling and the ring I had on my third was tarnished, as though years of hectic living had taken its shine.

"Um... He's gone grandma," he said. "Grandpa's gone."

For a second, it made sense. I'd kissed Jacob Jones, that's for sure, but more than half a century had passed since. And before this unnerving news could completely set in, I resistantly faded back into the dreamy bliss of the life-changing kiss I'd shared in the very same barn back in 1962.