First Kiss

My two best friends would talk about her every day, fighting about who would get her. They said she was cute, blonde, real sweet. She was one grade younger, which could have been somewhat of a deal at that age but seems more ridiculous with each passing year. No matter to my best friends, though, who were each convinced that she liked him and not the other. It was the first time I had seen guys boys fighting over a girl since my second grade love triangle that led me to throw playground sand at my girlfriend and run away from her and our love. I hoped we had all grown up enough that this situation wouldn't end like that. I figured we had matured. After all, we now had zits on our brows.

I didn't know this girl, I had no clue what the big deal was, but their constant talking about her did increase my curiosity. One day the three of us were at the mall and they spotted her. The bickering began again, with great points like "She wants me, man," counterpointed by the powers of, "Nuh uhhhhh, man!" We walked over to her table at the food court. They talked for a little, when my friends said they would be right back. My guess is they were going to restate and refine their carefully thought-out cases.

I was left alone with this girl I did not know, which was cool yet terrifying at that age (I've, um, outgrown this phase, um, of course). She was indeed very cute in a preppy-but-artsy way, signs of being smart and passionate in the way I'd be attracted to years later. What we talked about, how long my friends were gone, I no longer remember. It was an insignificant encounter. But now I had a face to this much-discussed girl.

After that day at the mall I'd talk to her whenever I saw her, but since I was a grade higher, we didn't have any classes together, and those encounters were few and far between. By the time the school year had ended my friends seemed to have gotten over their competition, with neither man boy claiming victory. It was at this time, the start of summer and freedom from school, that this girl and I would say more than just hi.

How we got each other's phone numbers I can't remember, but this was the first time I was talking to a girl on the phone "just to talk." My sister never ceased to embarrass me, shrieking, "Ant, it's a girrrrrrrrl!!!" whenever she called. This flustered me to no end, but I don't think the girl on the other side of the phone cared.

We always had good talks, sometimes great talks. Though we were young, our conversations always had some sort of substance behind it, which had confirmed this artsy vibe she initially gave me. She always remembered everything I had told her during the last call. Occasionally she would write poems about things we talked about. One time she mailed me one after I had told her I was having a rough time. This really touched me.

My friends still had mild crushes on her and were blind to how much I'd gotten to know her over the summer. My birthday was coming up, and I didn't care that the only people she'd know were the two that could potentially make a scene fighting over her; after she sent me that poem, there was no way I was not inviting her. When she came in, she looked nervous, a timidity I had never seen from her. I made my rounds as the host of the party, and every time I looked over, she looked sad. Finally after about an hour, she came over to wherever I was.

She told me she had called home for her mom to pick her up. It looked like she was about to cry. When I asked if she was ok, she said she felt very weird and uncomfortable not knowing anyone, and as she said this her eyes reddened and a tear sank down her cheek. I immediately took her to escape the party.

I closed the door to the laundry room and just sat there with her on our washer and dryer. My incessant babbling was a way to distract her from crying until her mom arrived. I must have said something funny because I remember her half-giggling and smiling as she wiped her eyes. She told me that I didn't have to leave my party. I told her I did. We hugged, with a tightness and depth that I wasn't used to. Then she grabbed my shoulders, pushed me down toward the washer, and kissed me. I liked it.

We did variations of this routine for maybe 3 minutes, when I heard my friends calling that her mom had come. I opened the laundry room door and escorted her out through the garage 007-style. She got into the car, said something to the effect of "Happy Birthday" and "sorry," and left. I walked back toward the house and the rest of my friends. The party lasted another four hours.

Only one person saw us come out of the laundry room: one of my two best friends.

I got another poem in the mail a few days later. It's in a box in my closet.