In a COMPLETE departure from despair and angst, I was reading a blogggg that mentioned a book filled with stories about people's first kisses. And I thought about my first kiss, and what a shame that it was a mistake, and I realized that I am not 100% sure now what his NAME even was. I think it was John. He was my friend Tisha's older brother, not really much in the intellect department, and he was probably only interested in me because my breasts had made a pretty impressive debut by that point. O, adolescence, you cruel joke.
It was a silly mistake and I think he had cigarette breath and I was so caught off guard by his casual request of a kiss as he was leaving that I kissed him even though I wasn't 100% sure I wanted to. I was in 7th or 8th grade and I kissed him in my parents' driveway. It was just a peck, but a kiss is a kiss and your first kiss only happens once and I threw it away!
I threw away a LOT of kisses; that's the truth. I was a fairly easy gal as far as kisses went - if i was unattached and a guy was cute enough, or smart enough, or strategically advantageous (there's a story in that one!) I'd kiss him. Kisses occasionally got me into trouble, and there were definitely kisses that should not have been given out. Like that first one.
I do remember the first one that counted. Oh, how in love I was. That awful, terrible first love when you think you'll be together for the rest of your lives until - poof - you aren't anymore. Some of you remember that one. We kept in touch sporadically and now we're in touch on Facebook and I'm proud of us both for being able to love each other as old, old friends who have no desire to "rekindle the flame" but just care deeply about how we both turned out. I think I loved him so much then because he really needed somebody to love him that much. I loved quite a few people because they needed to be loved. I didn't save many of them.
I am getting far too sentimental now. I'm going to go kiss D.