The First Kiss

I remember my first kiss.
That is, in itself, no small feat. I often have a hard time recalling what I had for breakfast, but yet I remember my first kiss.
I was awkward. She was sweet.

She had a wonderful smile, blonde hair, light sapphire eyes. We had "gone together" for a while in middle school. Through almost pathological respect, or doubt, or, likely, fear on my part, we'd never kissed.

The weather was summery. Our group of friends met at our friend Carolyn's house to just hang out. I don't remember much else, except when it was time to make my four mile bike ride back home, I led her around the corner of the garage. And there, we kissed.  Just one time.

It wasn't exactly smooth, but it was magical enough for me to still remember forty-some years later.

If I recall, it was also our only. Summer came, she left on vacation, high school came in the fall, and interests and opportunities took us in different directions.

This past weekend, I attended my 40th high school class reunion. I really hadn't spoken to her much since eighth grade. But she sought me out to say hello. She was happy to share with those around that I was her first kiss (she was unaware it was mine, as well). She asked if I remembered. And I was touched to know that she did, too.

Some things change. I've a few more pounds, a more salt-than-pepper beard. Her light sapphire eyes are now framed by eyeglasses. We both met wonderful partners--she, another member of our high school class, and I, an amazing woman, coincidentally with a wonderful smile, blonde hair, light sapphire eyes. And as the years have passed, we've each lived, thankfully, full and blessed lives.

And some things don't change.

I'm still awkward. She's still sweet.

But that moment--that summery, sweet and awkward moment--will forever be remembered as
the first kiss.