When I read certain blogs from those in the same age bracket as me, it's almost like having a front seat to the premier of my own life story. As different as we all are, it's almost like we all experienced the same things prior to turning eighteen. Then high school graduation comes and suddenly, we all find our uniqueness.
One thing I have enjoyed here is finding those people I shared my youth with... those friends I partied with or those girls I once wanted to marry or those douches I hoped would die or just those random people I knew or watched from a distance.
About a week ago, I found the profile of the girl who was the unlucky recipient of my first real kiss.
There she was... with her glorious blonde hair sitting next to some dude,I am guessing it's her husband as he is sporting a 1978 mustache and 4 kids to their side. She sure looks a lot different from when I last saw her. Certainly, she isn't as pretty as I remember but she looked so happy in her picture and that's what really matters.
I wanted to friend request her here but there's something that always stops me from pushing that button when I see a happily old married friend. It's almost like I feel like I would be intruding. And really, what am I going to say to her if she does accept my request? "Hey, remember that time I felt you up. Babe, you had a great rack."
But seeing her on facebook did take me back to that Sunday night in front of the library....
This girl was the envy of all girls and the desire of all boys at the time. She was notorious for making out with everyone. It was 9th grade and finally, I was next on her to do list. She liked me. I couldn't believe it. She liked awkward 9th grade me.
We got out of the suburban, just her and I. She leaned into me; ready for me to kiss her.
Then it happened... it was like I mistook her lips for a piece of fried chicken. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and proceeded to try to swallow her face. She jerked back politely and then leaned back in to give me another chance. This time, I simply stuck my tongue out and licked her mouth.
I had no clue what to do.
She was intimidating. I knew her reputation and I also knew she was always making out with guys. Sure, I kissed girls in junior high and even before that but none of those girls were her. It was like I thought kissing her had to be a cinematic moment.
I failed. I was embarrassed. She never laughed or said a word. Our brief love affair was over as quickly as it began. All that remained was a shameful memory and a gallon of my saliva left on her face and in her mouth.
A year later or so, I did get my chance at redemption. Apparently, she always had a crush on me. I suppose she decided to wait a year or so to give me a chance to catch up with her in my making out skills.
One day when I was 16, mom spent the summer in California and I was living alone. This girl shows up unannounced.
She made it no secret why she was there. I finally had my chance to kiss her right. She sat on my bed with that kiss me look on her face. Because I remember my past failure with her, I ignored her look. I just rambled on about music and other nonsense. She tried everything; hand on leg, accidental touching of parts and so on. I played coy.
Eventually, she gave up and went home. I blew it. Twice.
I don't remember much about her. I remember her long blonde hair. I remember she was adopted and never really felt normal like the others. I also remember that she seemed sad all the time.
Apparently, since those days, she's had several life saving surgeries and various health problems. But seeing her so happy with her new family was really a great thing for me to find.
I do wonder if my kiss in 9th grade is what almost took her life years later.
But I am pretty sure that if I had kissed her correctly, I would probably be the dude with the 1978 mustache standing next to her in her picture.
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