| Rosie and Me |
| My first kiss |
| My friend, Rosie, had always led the way so when we were thirteen I was not surprised that she was the one to experience the first kiss. Before long she was on to kiss number nine. "Who's counting?" she would laugh as she reeled them off. "There was Harry at the bus stop. Then Joel during science lab and Tim at the school dance." She paused to savor that particular memory. "Ian kissed me under the mistletoe," she continued. "Of course Ian kissed everyone, even the teacher, but Troy reallymeant it when he kissed me at the park." "Shut up!" I said."You're making me sick." "For heaven's sake," she said."It's only a kiss. It's all right to kiss someone, you know." I wasn't about to tell Rosie that I was not shocked. I was envious. While she strutted around town, her eager mouth the target for every pimply youth in the area, my lips languished untouched by human contact. I didn't want their steamy faces pressed against mine, I consoled myself, but the truth was -- I did. Strange sensations churned inside my body, blinding me to their blotsand blemishes, as the snotty little boys of my childhood developed before my eyes into incredible hunks who regarded Rosie as desirable and treated me as one of the boys. Although Rosie continued to boast about her romances we were as close as ever. She would try to set me up. "I think George likes you," she told me. When nothing came of that she said, "Max says he enjoys your jokes. He thinks you're really funny." Funny! I would fume to myself. Funny! I don't want to be funny. I want to be . . . well . . . I don't know . . . kissable. I was sure that I was going to be an old maid. At thirteen the prospect of being funny but unloved for the rest of my life loomed heavily on my soul. The kiss finally came. It more than lived up to my expectations. It was long and lingering. It was soft and gentle. I closed my eyes to relish the moment. He sighed as our lips parted. I murmured "Richard." But without a word he turned and was gone. He must be too emotional to speak, I thought, and dashed off to report this exciting turn of events to Rosie. Rosie was talking to a boy who looked like Richard. It was Richard! They did not notice me. He was pleading with her. "You promised me, Rosie," he said. "You promised me." "I never promised anything." "Yes, you did," he insisted."You said if I kissed her, then you would go to the dance with me." I didn't wait to hear any more. As I ran I heard Rosie calling me but I ignored her. How could she, I thought, I'll never speak to her as long as I live! She has ruined my life. That beautiful kiss was a fake. Rosie was still calling my name as I scrambled over the wall to the graveyard and sat beside my favourite headstone which read: Anna Maria Feroletti 1892 -- 1894 "God took his Angel back home" You were only two years old. Poor little Anna Maria, I thought. Do you miss having a life here? Is it better where you are? Where are you? Does anyone ever kiss you? And then I heard some boys talking on the other side of the wall. "Richard," one boy asked. "Is she really a good kisser?" "Yes," said Richard."I was surprised. Rosie said it'd be her first kiss but I don't believeit. She knows how to kiss all right." "Really?" said the boy. "Is she a better kisser than Rosie?" Richard thought for a bit. "They're both about the same," he said. "Wow!" said the other boy. Word travels fast in a small town. And so Rosie and me had plenty of company for the rest of that summer. Copyright 2001 Brenda Ross |
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