Firsts

I've read her blog. We've chatted on Facebook. There's this strange sensation of a real person rubbing shoulders with a finely polished myth. A myth with many layers, sedimentary if you will. Now there's this contact. Plate tectonics. Sending seismic ripples through the hills and valleys of my mind, especially the remote and darker parts.

I just read her entry on her first kiss. Thirteen, Halloween night. What a great time to have it. Costumes provide that security, that other identity, and, along with that, a chance to become someone else. And act like someone else. She described it beautifully, his hands surprisingly soft and vulnerable, the air scented with wood smoke.

He died a few years back of a drug overdose.

Deep breath. Wow. She wanted him to know that he matters, but never got to say it. Isn't that just the way life is? Missed connections and chances. Knowing and feeling that only goes so deep. Uncertainties about others' feelings. Everyone matters. We are all those multi-layered myths, even to ourselves. Sometimes I dig forcefully, and sometimes I can simply see.

My first kiss? It was she, about three years after her first. I'll try to do it justice.

We were in her father's car, parked out front of my parents' house. (She drove before I did, too.) I don't even remember how we got there. Where had we gone? Maybe she had come to my house, and we had an extended goodbye? Some privacy in a warm car on a February night? That's probably it. I'll bet she suggested it, and had a plan in mind. We were talking, our faces turned toward each other, lit by the soft glow from the dash, her brown hair framing her face, her tweed coat open. She said, "I'm going to kiss you." Simple as that. Five ordinary words, rendered magical at this moment, to this boy, still riding high just from her attentions.

And it was good. Electric, even. Completely new. She drew me in, our hands moving into an embrace, her lips warm, her mouth opening. Did she know that this was my first kiss?

I try my best to be in the moment these days. Be real, be aware. I can get there if I am mindful. At that moment, it simply was that.

We kissed lots, that night and other times, but not much else. I simply wasn't ready.

Complicated. Still. You matter, Jenn. I hope I do, too. I'm grateful to be able to say that.