First Kiss

FIRST KISS:

I found boys or they found me. I never had the birds and the bees sex conversation with my mother, so I didn’t know much about anything. I went to a Catholic school so even talking to boys was a big deal. It was the 1960’s and times were different. Easier, or so it seemed. We only had one car and dad took it to work at his corner bar every day so I walked to and from school with my six siblings. We crossed busy streets and took quick glances into dark bars that smelled like cigarettes, stale cherries and alcohol. We passed grocery stores, drug stores, Five & Dime stores and even an ice skating rink.

Mostly it was fun, being all together walking up the hills to our house. But once in a while the bigger kids from the public school would torment us and I would be scared. They threatened us with a beating if we didn’t give them our red licorice we purchased for a penny a piece at the candy store. We gave them up begrudgingly but we stayed safe. We never told.

In grammar school, friends always had full names—never just Robert, but Robert Williams. And in seventh grade I knew I loved Robert Williams.

My shoplifter sister taught me the mall was a great place to hang out without getting caught—no official dates, just being with friends, not as a couple.

Communication in our house was complicated. We had two phones—one in the kitchen on the wall, one in my parents’ bedroom. When my father was home, we got three minutes max. He’d set the oven timer, and if we were still talking when it went off, he’d hang up the phone mid-sentence. We didn’t even get time for a goodbye. They could try to call back, but usually another call would come in immediately. After all there were ten of us with one phone number. No caller id, call waiting, or voice mail either - you never knew who was calling, always a surprise in keeping a young heart hoping.

But love finds a way. My shoplifter sister went to school with Robert Williams’ sister, Joan Williams. They were hardly real friends, but they became champions for our young romance. Since I was not allowed to get calls from boys, Joan would call my sister. I would take the call on the upstairs phone, and she would put her brother on the line. Then they would both hang up. So, in the kitchen it looked like no one was on the phone. No one ever wondered why the phone didn't ring, and Robert Williams and I got to talk for more than three minutes.

One weekend, he joined a group of friends hanging out in a wooded area by San Francisco State College. This was where we met on weekends and stashed our Red Roof cigarettes. We found the best way to buy them was at The Red Roof Restaurant. They had a cigarette machine in the hall right by the bathrooms so it was easy to be a little bit hidden. There was always concern of course when they dropped into the holder. It was metal and loud, so there was chance there someone would see you. But it was worth the risk. Free matches were placed above the machine and we had total access. And we never got caught. None of us could keep the cigarettes secretly at home. They thought we were too young to smoke.

It was an isolated little wooded area we found in the middle of the city and yet close enough to walk, about 45 minutes from home, next to the shopping mall. But we had nothing else to do, so the walk was always part of the adventure. We dug a little hole under a tree and put a metal box there with our cigarettes and matches. Sitting around that tree, digging for cigarettes, Robert Williams turned to me and said,

“Let’s lie down and raise a family.”

I had no clue what he meant—was this his idea of a pick-up line? His way of asking for a kiss? I was embarrassed, thinking it meant something more than kissing but not knowing what. I was embarrassed and flattered that at our age, when boys barely spoke to girls, he spoke TO ME, just me. Gratefully, I didn’t know what he meant, and didn’t respond by laughing at him, or worse yet, lying down.

Around the same time in seventh grade, I got my period but didn’t dare tell my mother because I saw what she did to my three older sisters – she would parade each one in turn, announcing to my father this daughter was “a woman now” - sharing intimate details which should have stayed private. It was so embarrassing and invasive I knew even then when my turn came, I wasn’t telling. I told my oldest sister instead hoping she would help me with some explanation and guidance. She helped me sneak phone calls, so I felt I could trust her.

She totally helped me and understood when I swore her to secrecy. But she told anyway. I should have known better. Although I kept all her secrets—her sneaking out, her lies, her thievery—she didn’t return the favor. Our love wasn’t mutual.

Several days later, my mother appeared at the doorway to what I can’t really call my bedroom since it was shared with wall-to-wall sisters. My mother plopped herself on my bed and, in a dramatic pose with her arm over her forehead, sobbed, “Where have I failed?”

It was the first full sentence she’d said to me in I don’t know how long. I didn’t think she wanted the truth, so I remained silent and continued turning pages of a magazine I had no interest in. End of conversation. At least with her.

She cried, I pretended like I didn’t care. She finally left and I felt sad and relieved. She was the last person I wanted to confide in; she told my father everything.

My oldest sister helped me through the transition and taught me how to take care of myself and this new responsibility. For all her faults, she somehow always made me feel special and loved, even while betraying me. It was instinctual love, survival of the fittest, and I knew even at an early age she was a survivor. Her continued defiance and disrespect for rules looked like bravery to my trusting eyes, introducing me to an independence that would serve me later in life.

I did get to kiss Robert Williams once before he transferred to a new school, never to be heard from again. He was my first kiss ever.

I still remember he had soft lips.