Ah, young love. Come on, you remember … those single and early double digit years, before we got older and life started showing up in mortgage payments, grocery lists, and — God help us — $4.65 Frappucinos. Those were the innocent years, filled with wishes and endless possibilties (“When I grow up, I want to be a famous writer!”) and, first kisses.
My first kiss – not the kind delivered by exuberant parents and grandparents, by the way – was much anticipated and came in the fourth grade. It was towards the end of the school year in Houston, Texas, and I had a crush on Jason Harris. Jason lived on the next street and had a clubhouse in his backyard. One hot afternoon after school, we huddled together in the clubhouse and I knew that this was it. Jason Harris was going to kiss me. OMG, Jason Harris was going to kiss me!
We faced each other and, well, nothing happened. I started giggling. Jason’s smile was frozen on his face (translated = he was just as terrified as me). After a few more seconds of this, he finally made the move, leaned forward, and pressed his lips against mine. And there it was. My first kiss. Then the ice cream truck came down the street and the moment was lost as we scrambled to find change for Fudgcicles. That or a Rainbow Push-Up Pop. Decisions, decisions (you see, life was just preparing us for Starbucks after all).
As fate would have it, my family moved a few short months later. Jason and I wrote a few letters but then fifth grade came and then sixth grade … you get the picture. We were literally an ocean apart and a reunion was unlikely (that sort of thing only happens in romance novels).
There’s nothing like a little anticipation to keep you going – wondering what might have been (with Jason and other, ahem, “firsts”) is certainly fuel for lots of great stories, all waiting to be written (side note: I have an ex who actually made me SWEAR I wouldn’t write about him. Yeah, right!). But maybe some things are left better as memories, especially with the Debutante Mascot patrolling the grog. Besides, we write fiction – no real life stories there, right? *cough*
PS. My official temp page is finally up: www.miaking.com. Now if I can only get the rest of the site going …
Why you little early bloomer, you! 🙂 From first kisses to Fudgicles, nice! In fact, I think that should be required. First kiss, then ice cream immediately afterward. See, now that’s a great childhood memory.
I think kisses should still come with fudgicles myself.
Fifth grade, fourth grade…hmm, guess Anna knew that she would be considered a “late-bloomer” compared to the other Debs. ;o)
Fourth grade? Impressive. In Montreal, we were busy holding our breath to make ourselves faint behind the baseball diamond in fourth grade.
You know that Jason is out there somewhere pining away for you, right? Or maybe standing in line at Starbucks, struggling between a shot of hazelnut in his latte, or going whole hog with the mochaccino….
I’m convinced that my childhood wiring of kissing = chocolate has somehow carried into my adult life, except now it translates into any kind of emotion = sugar sugar sugar. That, and the ice cream truck doesn’t come around any more …
And, for the record, I’ve always considered myself a late bloomer with the exception of this first kiss … ahem …