Hello all! 20SB is having a January Blog Carnival, and the topic is First Kisses – so I thought I’d participate (since you don’t know enough embarrassing things about me. *smile* ) Here we go…
I’m not sure if it’s a characteristic of youth, or if memories of summers themselves have a quality that allows them to exist so vividly despite the passing of time. But the summer that I spent at our cottage? When I am old and forgetful I will remember that summer and smell of food and sun on skin and aloe vera and Cepacol lozenges. Just wait.
We spent (what I remember in kid years) as months and months at that cottage, sandwhiched between a quietly crafting grandmother and beer swilling four wheeling bonfire whooping ya-hoos. Mr. and Mrs. Yahoo who had two boys – Curtis (the name I remember because I cross stitched it on a bookmark in rainbow thread..for him) and his brother, whom I have no memory of. Well, except that he was deaf, and I subsequently learned the signs for train tracks, best friend and hot dog. Pretty much the only signs you need to know as an 11 year old girl in the summer.
I have a vague memory of Curtis, I am only 100% certain that he had wavy brown hair and braces. The old fashioned full metal jacket brace face braces. It is strange that my memory falters here, since I remember crouching down behind the tree that had fallen on the beach separating our houses and watching him for hours. He would sit at the campfire with his family, ride around on the ATV’s, have water fights and eat sandwiches.. for HOURS I watched folks. And I decided, behind that log, bitten by sand flies, sun burnt and full of lobster and butter and tzatziki, that that boy would be my first kiss.
So certain was I that he was going to kiss me, and so certain was I that the garlic tzatziki making competitions held in my kitchen that I dutifully ate the products of was going to put him off me and girls forever.. That I began to eat Cepacol lozenges. The medicated ones. The medicated ones that if you are an 11 year old girl waiting to be kissed are the only things in the house that you could use as a breath mint. The medicated ones that make you smell like an alcoholic grandfather. The medicated ones that if you eat enough, completely and utterly destroy your taste buds and leave you unable to taste anything for a week.
So began my campaign. Lurking. Laughing. Getting him to notice me. Hanging out. Being interested in the sign for hot dog. He liked me! He used to disappear with a red headed girl sometimes sure, but he liked me. I’m sure of it. So one day when our parents had a bonfire together and I was sufficiently numb from the lips to the lower intestine from the lozenges.. Curtis Yahoo walked me back to the cabin to get a bottle for my then very young sister. (I know. Romantic hey.) And we stood there. And stood there. And he leaned in close, and he kissed me. And tore a hole in my lip with his braces that proceeded to squirt blood everywhere. And said to me –
“Oh! The rose has thorns.”
I wish I was making this up. In my little 11 year old mind I thought to myself… WTF. Well, probably not WTF. I actually thought “YES! He kissed me! I’m going to call Erin first thing tomorrow! I WIN!” I thought it was sorta romantic. Then I thought.. buddy.. you’ve got the thorns. Observing the blood on my face and probably mistaking my look of practiced rapture for pain (it happens) he said –
“If anyone asks, I punched you.”
That was it. And funny enough – that is where my memory of that summer ends. No packing up the cabin, no colder days, no sadness and no Curtis. I have absolutely no further memory of him. But I do have a tiny little scar, and I don’t much like roses. Or braces. But I do have a boyfriend who loves garlic.