June 26, 2001
First Kiss
I have always had a weird memory for dates, particularly where my romantic life is concerned. In high school I prided myself on knowing the exact date each of my relationships began and ended (and some of those dates were only a few days apart, I think three days was my shortest "relationship"). For one relationship (and I'm not naming names here), I actually marked milestones on a calendar (first kiss, first makeout session... you get the idea). Why? I have no idea. It seemed important at the time.
In June of 1985 I was twelve years old, almost thirteen. I had just finished eighth grade, and was looking forward to high school, because that was the big time. Eighth grade was a good year for me in a lot of ways. I spent most of sixth and seventh grade (particularly seventh grade) being tormented by my classmates, especially the "gifted and talented" group that I'd been stuck with since about fourth grade. For the first part of eighth grade, I stayed in the "advanced" classes, with the teasing getting so bad I looked for ways out of school. Science labs were always the worst, as they were so freeform and had little supervision. I remember lying to get out of several labs, saying that this dissection or that one was too upsetting for me, and I was allowed to write a report instead. I don't remember exactly what triggered it, but one day I decided I'd had enough. It may have been the day I told an ugly-faced boy named Steve to go to hell -- the first time I ever remember swearing. He laughed. Anyway, I found myself crying in the guidance counselor's office. I told him the teasing was too much, and I wanted out of two of my classes, advanced science and advanced English. He tried to talk me out of it, but I insisted, and I switched the two classes. Same teachers, just flip-flopped the periods. It was nothing short of a miracle. I went from being the token object of scorn to being the really neat smart girl in both classes.
So anyway, summer of 1985. In May a gospel quartet from our preacher's hometown in Missouri came up to our church and sang. Looking back, I realize that they weren't all that great, but they presented themselves well and (perhaps more importantly at the time) were comprised of four boys all around 17 or 18 years old. The girls in our church youth group were all immediate fans. When the youth group was scheduled to go to Missouri at the end of June for a mission trip, we all signed up.
The trip was fun, in that lots of church activities sort of way. We spent our days going from house to house inviting people to a gospel meeting and trying to set up Bible studies, and spent our evenings going to said gospel meeting. On Tuesday of that week, the 25th, our friends from the quartet showed up, and after the meeting was over came much socializing. I forget how it happened, but one of them, Tim, started flirting with me! I was absolutely giddy with the attention. True, I hadn't thought he was very cute before, in fact, I thought he was sort of funny looking originally, but as I've discovered through the years, someone's attractiveness always increases dramatically when I learn they might be interested in me. It's also worth mentioning at this point, that when I was twelve going on thirteen, I did not LOOK twelve going on thirteen. On one memorable occasion I was mistaken for twenty-one rather than twelve. Anyway, the next night I contrived, with a little bit of teasing from my friends, to sit next to Tim during the meeting.
Well of course, as crowded as the pew was, we had to share a songbook. And since he forgot his Bible, I was happy to share mine with him. (There you go. Evangelical flirting tips.) Halfway through the sermon, he took my hand underneath my Bible. It was the first time I'd ever held hands with a boy, and I thought I was going to pass out. My face was flushed and I was sure the whole world knew what was happening. After the meeting was over, we started talking some more. Turns out he'd just graduated from high school, and was eighteen years old. I grinned and told him to guess how old I was -- I think he knew then he was in trouble. "Uh, sixteen?" I shook my head and told him that I'd be thirteen in less than two weeks.
Tim blinked. Then blinked again. He promptly circled me around, arm around my shoulders, and said to fellow quartet member Mark, "Mark! This is twelve!" Mark looked puzzled. "Twelve what?" Neither of them believed that I was twelve years old until one of my friends confirmed it. Nonetheless, apparently Tim was still smitten, because when we all left the meeting (to go to a devotional, of course -- I did say it was a week full of church activities) Tim somehow managed to get the okay for me to ride with him in his car. And what a car. It was a Firebird, a relatively new model I think. I remember being awed that a boy interested in me was not only old enough to drive, but drove an awesome car to boot.
We held hands all through the devotional, gathering curious looks and knowing grins from most of my friends (and no doubt some worried looks from the chaperones). By the time it ended, about 10:30 or so, my head was spinning. A boy! Interested in me! We managed to wander out by his car, away from everyone else. It was, in memory at least, a perfect moment. The night air was warm and soft, and there was a full moon overhead. In the distance I could hear people talking and laughing as Tim and I stood looking into each other's eyes and -- on my side at least -- being shy. I think we talked about how amazing all this was, and I know at least once he lifted my chin to stop me from staring at the ground. Like all teenagers, we were certain we were the first two this had ever happened to. Finally he told me that he loved me, then leaned in and kissed me. My poor brain. After spending three years in middle school convinced that I would NEVER EVER have a boyfriend (compare to my crazy cat lady fears of today), it seemed I had hit the romantic jackpot.
I spent the ride home that night blissed out, while one of the chaperones lectured me and told me to be careful, and what would my mother think. I wasn't listening. Every song on the car radio seemed to be about Tim and me, and I watched the moon up in the sky, thinking she shared my secret.
I saw Tim again on Friday, the day before we went back to Michigan. Our group spend the day in St. Louis, doing touristy things like visiting the Arch and the zoo and going to a Cardinals game. Tim and I spent most of the day dodging my preacher, who was (understandably now) watching us like a hawk. At some point during the day Tim gave me his class ring to wear "just for the day". We said goodbye outside of Busch Stadium, acutely aware of everyone watching us. He told me to keep his ring. We exchanged addresses and phone numbers and promised to write.
And write we did. We dated long distance probably until October or so, when we drifted apart. My mother's reaction to seeing her 12 year old daughter come home with an 18 year old's class ring around her neck can be imagined. She and my dad were both very calm about the whole thing, and to this day I wonder what they really thought. You're probably wondering what kind of 18 year old would start dating a 12 year old, and to tell the truth, I've wondered the same down through the years. I might have learned the answer when I was in college, when I ran into Tim again, but that's another story for another day, and I think for now I'll let the fairytale part of things stand as they are.
Posted by Lisa at June 26, 2001 09:09 AM
