I opened up the passenger side door to my baby, a red 92 stang with rust patches and faded paint. I then hoisted my book bag onto the passenger seat and started to dig through my purse like my very life depended on it, down past my wallet, sun glasses, lotion, nail care kit, and a bunch of pencils void of lead. But I couldn't find the one thing that would sooth my lips from the harsh wind burn and dryness caused by nerves. My nails finally locate my skin tone shade of Baby Lips, hitting against the familiar plastic tube. I put on a quick but liberal gloss and then tossed the life saving chap stick back into the cluttered abyss from witch it came. Then I spun on my toes and in the same motion, closed my car door behind me with a loving slam. Half skipping, half running, I rounded the front bumper of my boy friend's truck and stopped on both feet to keep myself from falling into him. He had just put on his blue tented shades (which I love) and a dark colored baseball hat that he wore backwards (a style I laughed at him for sporting). We stood between his truck and the tracks and talked for all of 30 seconds before he again reminded me of the curfew I wanted so badly to ignore. "Better if you get home early," he said not wanting me to aggravate my parents or speed while trying to make up time lost. The irritating thing was...I knew he was right and he was being more responsible than I was being at the time. So in agreement that I really did have to leave, I fell into his open arms and hugged him around the ribs like maybe I just might not get to see him again. I kissed his jaw, which was unshaved (just the way I like it), and then I tilted my lips to his and we melded together, even if it was only for one chap stick iced moment.