Prompt: Your first love and first kiss; if separate, discuss both.
Hmm. My first celebrity loves were Peter Frampton and Shaun Cassidy. In terms of real people, I’m beginning to think I don’t even know what that means: first love. Love in general. Love in its specifics. With each boyfriend, as I look back, I wonder: did I really love them? Did I even know what that meant? I thought so at the time. But maybe I was just in love with the idea of love, of having a boyfriend, of wanting love so bad I’d accept anything that came close. Knowing what I’ve learned about myself and the way that “love” was displayed to me growing up, I seem to have had it all wrong.
I honestly don’t know who I loved first. I had crushes on a number of boys but they didn’t like me back. I was never popular. At a party in 7th grade, a group of us played spin the bottle. My spin landed in front of a boy I had a huge crush on. I couldn’t believe it. What luck! We went into the pantry off the kitchen and stood in the dark. I waited to be kissed. He said, “Well, we’ll just stand here for a minute and they’ll never know whether we did or didn’t.” Even for the sake of a silly game, he would not kiss me. Crush took on a whole new meaning.
First kiss: In first grade, I kissed a boy named Paul. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for a few weeks. And then he moved to Texas. He was nice but I have no memory of what he looked like or even what his last name was.
Years later: I remember kissing my “boyfriend” (a status that lasted maybe as long as a month) in 7th or 8th grade in my living room with my Siamese cat, Kitty Cat, standing and watching. Or maybe he was being protective. Who knows with cats? But there isn’t much to say about it. We made out, he left. And a few weeks later he dumped me for a girl who was rumored to “put out”. He was a year or so older than me and I supposed that appealed to him. I wasn’t much to look at then so while I was hurt, I certainly wasn’t devastated.
Watching my girls go through the middle school wringer, it’s interesting how little has changed. Red keeps me apprised of who’s dating who and who dumped who for someone else. It’s an interesting little dance, like trying on people instead of coats. Will this one fit? What about this one? You wear it for a week or a month and then discard it. You can’t go anywhere or do anything unless you’re at a party and can steal away for a grope. Otherwise, it’s all kind of pointless except it isn’t. It’s part of learning what you like and don’t like. Part of learning how to handle rejection, how to get up the nerve to expose your vulnerability to someone else, to say yes, to say no, to hurt someone intentionally or not. I’m still learning.