First Kiss
Sometimes a moment happens as we grow up, that crystallize and become guidepost, milestone, or lighthouse in the wild unknown of our identity. Strung together they form an outline that defines us. One such moment for a newly adolescent young boy or girl is the first kiss. If successful, it will become a badge of honor, propelling us forward on our adventure. Done poorly, and it will eat away at one’s confidence, or word, become a block to further development for years to come.
Summer in the sleepy small town of 7000 people in upstate New York where I spent my childhood was free and lazy and full of discoveries. Everyone knows everyone, parents let kids roam, happy for the freedom themselves. Three whole months to ride bikes around town, play with friends, get into trouble. In the summer of 1989, I began taking showers and caring about how I looked. Too many school photos with a rats nest on my head shamed me, reluctantly, into the world of grooming. Sudden change, brought by a whim of fearlessness at the hair stylist, slammed me into the rush of the adolescent spotlight. The response from other kids, especially girls, was impossible not to notice, and wonder at. I was the kid who hid among his friends, did not stand out, the outsider, inside. This summer was different. Some alchemy was working, circulating ear to ear around the tight circles of friends my age.I felt eyes on me from afar, girls acted differently, like a moth attracted to my new flame. I was acquiescent, curious, and nervously excited by the change. I was powerless to stop it.
One girl in particular was bolder than the rest. Her name was Raquel, and it was clear what she was seeking: the warmth of light and my newfound fire. Even at 12 years old, the portent of this rite was obvious and clear to me. All kids want to become, to break free from the constraints of childhood, whether they fear it or not. Ready to rise to the possibility, I accepted her unspoken request. We started ’seeing’ each other, a nebulous status that was driven more by a change in our friends than any outward action. But as summer was drawing to a close, time became heavy. I had been ’seeing’ another girl -sam- in school the year before; six months of obligatory time spent, movies watched, friends scrutiny endured, and had not summoned the courage to kiss her. I did not know if I could do so this time, and had been steeling myself for this moment in determination to summon enough courage this time around.
A tightness in my belly as this rite of passage approached. One summer afternoon about two weeks before the end of summer, began like all others. Once again I met my friends, and she brought hers, and we wandered the town, from the McDonalds downtown to the school playground several blocks away, but this afternoon in late August was heavy with the weight of destiny, of adulthood. It hung, unspoken, on the humid air, and each step that day led inexorably towards the moment I would be tested, where a first taste of manhood awaited me, inevitable as time itself.
I was attracted to her courage. She was bold. She was initiated. I was not her first kiss, it was known. She had succeeded where I had not yet. This was no mutual discovery, it was a rite for me, and only a rite. Perhaps I was driven by my earlier failure, but I wanted to see where this led. No questions of ‘love’ misunderstood by children, no entanglements, our union was blessed by our peers, outwardly, even if they were more interested in witnessing taboo than in our happiness. The clear path forward added to the weight of inevitability. I took each step that day as a ritual sacrifice heading towards the altar, an intoxicating mix of anticipation and fear. Would I be a good kisser? Would I pass the test? She stood as judge and vessel. The time had come. I was assured by her overtures of initiation, and accepted my fate.
When a boy and a girl start ’seeing’ each other in 7th grade, it's inevitable that the boys friends and the girls friends size each other up, maybe another pairing is possible? Sometimes pairs are assigned, by the group, resulting in suffering of expectation without any real interest from the two designated partners. Make no mistake, my friend’s interest in this moment was for themselves, basking in the pleasure of playing matchmaker, or the pain of being assigned a pairing. The chatter among our friends was quick, furtive, and the laughter too loud, all of it seeing to swirl around us like a shell, leaving us along in awkward halting conversation, having arrived at the playground, no further procrastination was possible. The less artful among our friends could not help but make some comment, delighted that it wasn’t them in the crucible. The pressure was unbearable.
I was determined not to fail. My hands were sweaty. I felt a numb flutter in my belly. Flashes of my long pairing with Sam the year before, flashed before my eyes. What secrets awaited me? What would her mouth feel like, taste like, what would I do with my tongue? I had never tasted the taste of another, such an adult fare. My thoughts raced and fluttered, as I stood apart, waiting for the moment as it approached, second by determined second. Sensing her own discomfort, my hour come round at last, I leaped into the unknown.
“Want to take a walk?” I asked.
We exchanged a heavy look, both relief and recognition in her eyes. ’Sure’ she said.
We wandered a short distance away, pretending to be interested in the jungle gym. Our friends grew quieter, pretending not to notice, but unable to look away.
My heart beats in my chest now, flush with the adrenaline of having crossed the first hurdle. I was caught in a current of hormones and biology set in motion. My heart beats now, as the rush of that moment returns to me in the guise of memory. I was alive! Such brilliance lit in the heart! I am alive again now, walking this path again in reflection. The sweet fleeting fated vitality of youth, passed in courage and rising to its destiny. This moment would never happen again, and was upon me now! By the iron monkey bars we stood, our friends pretending not to watch. We drew together, exchanged a look, eye catching eye; a pause... my mind raced to a standstill as she drew her lips towards mine. I can not remember if my eyes were open or closed, this happened out of time, out of mind. I was wishing that I was watching from afar, like my friends, and also I was here, this was happening to a me I was no longer in control.
Our lips met. How soft! And yet firm, hers moving under my own. Her mouth parted. I obliged, unable to do otherwise. And wanting to. My skin was on fire, my heart raced, what cocktail was coursing through my veins?
Tongue met tongue, and danced. I simply followed, she led. I moved with her, responding to her, going where she was not. Our lips still sealed. It was wet, and the boy in me screamed ‘gross’! I kept doing, moving past the boy, into the man. I felt the softness of her hips, the hard bulkhead of her teeth, the structure of her wire braces. We danced, we moved, my head tilting sideways to better meet hers. Hours passed, out of time, the sensation taking over all else, my mind quiet, my heart racing. Days. years. Some part of my mind was still apart, aware of the gaze of our friends, seeing myself from outside, but the sensation was too great. Unable to do otherwise, my mind resigned itself to my destiny.
And suddenly it was done. We drew apart. Nervous excitement overtook sensation. I had done it! Now came the judgement. Was I a good kisser? This moment would cement my future for years to come. I could not meet her eyes. We broke our embrace, her body against mine a forgotten soft promise of future rites, other secrets. We drew apart, and turned to join our Chorus, the Observing Crowd, who still pretended to ignore us, allowing the forms of social rites to be observed. We walked back to them, into my future a s a no-longer-a-boy, and picked up where our friends were talking, joking, pretending nothing had happened.
My friend Andy turned to me, a grin on his face, ostensibly from some past joke, but clearly from the vicarious pleasure of sharing my rite of passage, of the delight of breaking taboo from afar. His eyes grew wide as he looked at me. Aloud, too loud to be ignored by the rest of the group, he said
“Your lip is bleeding”
Time changes some things, not others. I smile, as an adult observing the folly of children, even as my heart beats faster for having re-lived the moment. But the boy, just returned to earth, was shocked, embarrassed, unsure whether to be mortified, angry, or both.. I had just passed the rite, but I did not emerge unscathed. I was wounded and unaware, so great was the temporal distortion of the moment. I touched my lips, and as I drew my hand away and looked, there was blood.
I looked at Raquel, only knowing my own fear of judgement, my face flushed with excitement and embarrassment. When I saw her face, my own mortification faded, melted, disappeared. Her face was ashen, her shame clearly written all over her body. I realized in this moment that I was not alone in the soup of early adolescent emotion, she also felt everything, and more. It was clear she felt she was to blame for cutting my lips, a shame compounded by her own embarrassment at having braces. I can only imagine the depths of her despair.
“I’m ok” I said. “It’s nothing.”.
I said it to her, but it was meant for my friends. My own fear of judgement faded away with the rush of affection I felt for her, as the girl who had shared this moment with me, turned to anguish for her own embarrassment. It was clear, in the cruel laughter of children, that my friends were not so kind.
“I’m sorry” she said to me, for everyone else too.
After just long enough not to show how humiliated she was, with just a few looks to me, she left with her friend. My friends begged for details as soon as she was out of earshot.This was just too delightful for them, living through my moment, and casting judgement on her. I refused to speak, sensing a shark feeding frenzy if I did. And eventually they stopped asking. I was not angry, did not blame her. She was the courageous one, that had allowed me to rise to the occasion of my own rite of passage. I will never forget her and am grateful to her still. But that was the last time I saw Raquel; school started a few weeks later, and we were strangers once more.