First Kiss Optics
Strolling home from the grocery store earlier this summer, I rounded a corner where two young girls — no more then eleven or twelve — were sitting on the grass, you know, just hangin’. As I drifted nostalgically back to that awesome time of chilling with your friends — leaving the house at noon and not coming home until right-before-your-parents-would-freak-out o’clock — something abruptly yanked me back… “Did you kiss him?”
My first thought was, “NO! You’re too young!” — which quickly reminded me I am now of an age to think such things — instantly followed by a keen awareness that I had slowed my pace, also eager to know the answer.
“Yeah, it was bad. But I’m glad I got it over with!”
It took everything in me to not pivot back and say, “Don’t worry girls, it gets better.”
My first kiss happened with a British boy at fourteen while on vacation with my family in Vermont. It was almost movie-like — as my friends like to describe much of my life experiences, which I think is actually code for dramatic.
But before that came plenty of almost-kisses, like that time at my friend Mac’s house. Being tweens and pre-driver’s licensed teens in our suburban dwelling meant almost every Friday and/or or Saturday night was spent gathered in large groups in someone’s basement. Hormones abound!
And, even more exciting? When someone brought friends from a DIFFERENT school — and by friends, I mean boys. At my friend Mac’s get-together was just such an entity in the form of Paul. After hitting it off, Paul and I decided talking in the crowded basement area with all our friends around was TOO loud, and therefore, lying on the floor in the closet under a blanket was a MUCH better idea.
And we did just that — we talked. Seriously. Basements are cold, thus the blanket. I think we liked the idea that people THOUGHT we were making out without having to actually DO anything.
It’s that weird time in tween/teen life where you have pressure to hit certain milestones and have certain experiences, and you’re ALMOST there, but not quite — which can leave you feeling embarrassed, and falsely assuming you’re falling behind all your other friends. And I don’t know if this ever goes away — who hasn’t told a white lie as an adult to pretend they’re further ahead then they actually are, “Oh yeah, I contributed 20 per cent of my salary to my RRSPs this year too!” Note to self, open an RRSP.
But the BEST part about that memory? The effortless conversation? The sexual tension? The new and exciting rush of crushing on someone? Nope. It was when Mac’s mom unceremoniously opened the closet door to find us both lying there face-to-face under a blanket and me innocently shooting up and blurting out, “We were just talking!”
Even I don’t believe that and I was there.
My real first kiss may have happened later than most — with a boy with a beautiful British accent on a warm Vermont summer night under rows of trees wrapped in twinkle star lights (see, movie) — and I take that back, it didn’t happen later than most, it happened right when it was supposed to.
Nineties kids will remember Choose Your Own Adventure, a brilliant series of books for so many reasons… but mostly, CHOOSE. You don’t have to start at page one and follow a predetermined path written by someone else, you can skip around, try different things, YOU decide the order of when you want to do what… and if you don’t like any of the options? Write your own.
Love,
Grace
