The sense of nothing

The first time.

Church bells were ringing in the distance. The church bells were always ringing. Every hour. Every half hour. White noise to us.

His lips touched mine and they tasted like Fanta. A soda bubble rested on my lip as he pulled back from me. The ringing of the bells rocked the air around us. I felt like I was on a boat. His hands reached for my fingers. He smiled. My stockings ripped as I pulled myself across the old wooden play set we were sitting on. My mom bought us a new pair of stockings every Saturday. Church girls needed to wear stockings and slips. Church girls always had a sweater to cover their shoulders. Church girls wondered what it would be like to kiss the boy that worked the camera during service. I ran the taste of orange over my lip, mixed it with my chapstick.

I laughed. The bells stopped.