Schrödinger's Kiss

A case for the kiss than never happened

We had an argument at book club last year about what it meant to be a real lover. It was a lively debate, just as time with a group of friends can be. Voices peaked and dipped. At one point, people stood up and pointed fingers.

“You are a real lover.”

“You are not.”

“You wish you were.”

I am not a real lover, as is likely evidenced in my perpetual singleness. I am something other: a yearner.

I tried to explain to a friend.

You know how most people really love kissing. I love the moment right before the kiss. The long tension that feels like a loaded rubber band.

The moment before my first kiss felt like it lasted forever because it did. My friend and I had been performing the dance of oblivious flirtation. I thought she was funny; she thought I was sweet. One night, we took a walk to a coffee shop owned by someone with the same name as her. We shared earphones and listened to songs by James Bay, Jaymes Young, James Arthur and James Blake. People named James can really sing. One day, the person I was meant to see a movie with cancelled at the last minute, and she stepped in to accompany me, even though she’d seen the movie twice already. It’s funny, the entire time, I thought we were just friends; she thought we were just friends.

I was a coward.

On a Friday marked by drama, our university went on a sudden strike, and she slept over at my dorm. We chatted for hours until we turned off the lights and chatted some more. Then we stopped chatting and lay quietly, unable to sleep. I could hear and feel her breath. She could hear and feel mine. I closed my eyes, but could still feel the space in front of me where her face was. It could have been a minute into the silence, or an hour, but at some point she said, “I wish you could read my mind.”

We didn’t kiss.

In English, we call it the ‘pregnant pause’. You find it in the space just after someone calls your name with a drawl at the end. It is heavy with potential.

I think I’ve always sort of liked that heft. There’s so much in it. It could be everything you want and everything you fear at the same time. I’ve always liked that uncertainty because it means I can hope.

I used to be more passionate about the argument that the moment before a kiss is better than the kiss itself. The drumroll. The drumroll is a perfect thing that cannot be ruined except by a kiss. Because the drumroll is a thing that never happened. A kiss is a thing that did.

What if you find out they are bad at kissing?

What if they find out you are?

What if the kiss makes them realise that they are still in love with their ex?

What if it makes them realise that you should stay friends

I recently texted my bestie saying, “I really enjoy having crushes.” He replied, “Same like mad.” We grow older, and people treat crushes like this unserious thing that only children should have.

As an adult, you should have more agency. Go after what you want. Be frank about your intentions. If someone doesn’t like you back, move on.

We say all these things that make emotions feel mechanical. As if we choose what we feel.

Someone once said to me on a first date that I should be myself, which I found to be completely unhelpful. I'm hoping you like me. I’d like to be the person you like.

I had my first crush when I was 10. Her name was Eunice. I was too young then to know what a crush was or what to do with it. All I knew was that I wanted to be around her all the time, which was a confusing and pleasant experience at the same time. I didn’t even know how to talk to girls then. Sometimes I would look for her trouble in hopes of getting some attention. Any attention would suffice, even if it was disdain.

I think I very greatly enjoy the not yet knowing. It’s truly exciting. The longing. The kiss that almost happened.

What if the person likes you too?

What if that long, lingering touch of fingertips means something?

What if their heartbeat is also racing towards yours?

This is my case for Schrödinger’s kiss. The one that never happens but almost does. Where your faces drift so close that you think maybe the same thing is on their mind. Maybe they are thinking what you are thinking. Maybe. Maybe you kiss and kiss again, and it begins a whirlwind romance that never ends. Maybe. Maybe they smile and pull away, and it’s sweet, and you continue to talk, knowing that something has changed. Maybe. Maybe you never kiss, but you remember the moment for the rest of your years, and you wonder what would have been if you did. Maybe. Maybe you lie in bed later, asking yourself, ‘Why didn’t I kiss her?’

‘Maybe’ is kind of perfect. It’s everything you want and everything you fear at the same time.