Jill's Journal: This girl’s first kiss was a memory for life
When it comes to the “first” of almost anything we experience in a lifetime, we want it to be special and oh, so memorable.
My first “real” kiss surely was – and was not – that.
It took place in the attic of a neighbor’s garage. The space had essentially been taken over by the older kids in the neighborhood. They had cleared out the clutter to make way for what would become the hangout for the teenaged kids who frequented the neighborhood. There were makeshift chairs made out of whatever somebody’s mom was willing to part ways with, an AM radio blasting tunes of the times, posters of rock bands, all of which were collected by many of our elder brothers and sisters. The upstairs attic also had a barn-like feature – a large-sized door that swung open to let summer’s cool breeze into the stuffy and hot makeshift teen clubhouse.
Younger siblings, like me, weren’t always welcome to climb the ladder to hang out with the elder kids. We either had to be invited or sneak up there when no one was watching.
On this particular day, I was invited up the ladder. And George, one of the “new kids on the block”, was too. I remember feeling a sense of being “one of the big kids” as I climbed up to the dusty and dark hangout. I have a feeling that George felt the same way. Who knew what we’d be privy to or learn from the much older “and wiser” neighborhood kids that day? Although I have little memory of exactly was said that day, I do well remember them teasing George and me about our “fondness” for one another.
I admit, I thought he was cute, and of course, I hoped he thought I was cute, too.
And as older siblings will do, they dared us – maybe even double-dog dared us – to kiss.
Yep, right there in front of God and everyone.
I’m sure my face was fire engine-red – and George’s faced likely matched mine, too, as they egged us on. Finally, with no way out other than leaping out of the open doorway high above the ground, George planted a kiss right on my lips. I’m pretty sure my heart leapt right out of my chest at that moment. As for George, well, we never really talked about it, despite the significance of the moment: my first kiss.
As for George, who knows.
George and his family didn’t live long in our neighborhood, a year or two. I imagine it was a parent’s job change that took them away from our little corner of the world. Over the years, I’ve wandered about whatever became of George and his family. Where did they move to? Was he kissing another neighborhood girl in a makeshift clubhouse in another garage attic? Did he even remember the “moment” like I did?
In the decades that have since passed that monumental “first”, I’ve thought of George, curious about the man he became, the career path he chose, whom he married, whether he has kids and grandkids and where he even ended up. Of course, I’ve perused social media, only to come away with no answers. And though I have no road map that has led me to George, I’ve got a treasure of childhood memories like this one to last a lifetime.
