"America the Beautiful"

I wrote this story because I just spent last week pouring over a large section of my journal and I thought I had remembered every minute of this night...and I didn't.

I was barely sixteen. It was summer. My friend was turning seventeen soon. We were sitting at a bagel place in south Provo being kindly lectured by our other two friends. We were going to get in serious trouble someday if we didn't stop finding random guys to kiss and date or just kiss, they said. We nodded and stared dreamily out the window. At that moment, a white Jeep pulled up to the light just outside the window, right in front of my friend and I. There were two really hot guys in the Jeep. Driving around without their shirts on. They saw us, looked over, smiled, and we smiled back. Whoa, did we smile back...and giggled a bit. They turned the corner still craning their necks to see us. So my friend and I did what any pair of normal teenage girls would do--we ran outside and stood on the street and watched them drive away...much to the annoyance of our friends who had just discovered that we were hopeless. Moments later, those two guys came back around the block. They pulled up to the same light, slowed down, and as we stood there pretending to not be 16, they asked us if we wanted to go for a ride. We agreed without looking at each other and while waving goodbye to our friends in the window.
We climbed in the back as they drove away and set off to make introductions. The passenger, the blonde one, I claimed. The driver, claimed my friend. He asked me what my name was, and I held out my pinky, as the rest of my hand was covered in cinnamon bagel. "Sticky," I said. He laughed and his blue eyes sparkled. "Nice to meet you Sticky. Are you legal?" I shook my head as if to say no, though time will tell you that he swore I had said yes. "I'm Craig," he said as I tried to keep my eyes on his face rather than let them travel down the perfectness that was his shirtless self.
We drove around for a while and then they took us back to the bagel shop. I was on Cloud 9. At some point they had arranged for a double date and we whole-heartedly agreed. They picked us up a couple of days later and as we drove, my friend and her date teased Craig and I relentlessly about kissing. He had just returned from serving a two-year mission for the LDS church in Japan, and had gone that long without kissing a girl. He was 21. I was 16. I had only kissed one other person and I was still nervous about that whole situation. I had pretty solid ideas about how I wanted to be kissed and really needed him to fit into that mold. We scooted closer in the back seat and he grabbed my hand.
The friendly jibes about an 80's band that wore lots of makeup, came from the front seats. My friend suggested that we drive by this park...you know, the PERFECT setting for a first kiss. Ah, we were so young. While my friend and her date chatted away in the front, Craig turned to look me in the eyes. My heart was pounding. He squeezed my hand. He leaned closer and his lips touched mine, ever so slightly. He pulled away slightly and left his forehead touching mine, "America the Beautiful," he whispered. I was still reeling as I SWORE there really were fireworks. It became our little secret...our friends hadn't known. We stopped at the park and they got out to walk around. I couldn't move. My stomach was doing flip-flops and my knees, if I could have stood up, would have left me in a jello heap on the ground.
We sat in the car, both nervous and excited, and kissed gently. We'd talk for a bit then he'd kiss me again. The rest of the night is a blur, but his kisses were the standard by which all kisses from thenceforth were measured.
I wish that were the end of the story. It would have made the next two years much less emotional. Much easier to handle. Craig was my first love and held that place among all others that came and went until the time came where we could actually date...as two adults. It was for him that I wrote my first love song. It was his name that littered the pages of my journal for years. It was his heart I broke when it was decided that we could not be together. It was Craig that left me questioning the very foundations of my faith when that decision was made. It was Craig who crept into my thoughts for years after we had said goodbye, and Craig whom I called when life found me single again. It was Craig who reminded me, years later, how a woman should be kissed. And it IS Craig who I will always pray for and hope that life finds him happy and well.

"I couldn't wait any longer..."

I couldn't resist. A Brillig SOS AND a First Kiss Contest with Scribbit? Entirely too tempting...

It had been a rough four years. I was married young. Had two kids young. Got divorced young. But I was beginning to settle into single parenthood and the thought of dating again. A few months earlier, fresh out of the divorce-gate, I had run into an old friend/boyfriend that I had dated many moons before. We had so much fun together and oddly enough, he made the transition from sad, angry, divorced mom, to fun and single, much easier.
After quite a few months, I realized that this particular direction wasn't taking either of us anywhere, and didn't know if I really wanted to be going in ANY direction that involved a serious relationship. I tried to ease out a bit, call less, go over to his place less, make him jealous more. So mature.
One night, in a burst of spontaneity, my friend who was nine months pregnant, called me and said she desperately needed to get out of the house. My kids were fast asleep, but the urgency in her voice tipped the scales in her favor. I woke the kids up, drove them to their dad's house, then made the trip to her Target 30 minutes away.
We both got baskets but knew we weren't shopping. We walked aimlessly around the place for almost two hours, stopping to look at every piece of jewelry and touch every item of clothing on the sales rack. The announcements came over the loud speaker that the store would be closing soon so we meandered to the front where we parked ourselves in an aisle and began to thumb through the magazines.
After a bit of reading, I heard someone say, "Excuse me." I gingerly stepped to the side without looking up, thinking I was in someone's way. Again, "Excuse me." This time I looked up, saw a guy standing there, looked at my friend in a confused way, wondering if he knew her, and then looked back to the guy. He was looking at me.
"Sorry, I've never done this before and I feel kinda dumb, but...you are stunning. Would you go out with me?"
I'm pretty sure I looked over at my friend again to make sure this was all really happening. She grabbed his arm, gave it a little squeeze, said, "That was the cutest thing I have ever heard. I'm going over here now," and off she went. What followed was a ridiculous display of giggling and blushing on my part, nervous handwriting on the back of a business card, and the remembrance only that he was wearing brown Pumas...'cause that's the only place I could manage to look.
A few days later, after that embarrassing display, he still called. The first thing I told him was that I was divorced and had two kids. I wanted to get it out on the table. He said Awesome. I was silent for a bit, having prepared myself for the awkward point afterwards as he tried to find a way to hang up and never call again. It didn't come, and we talked for two hours.
The next few weeks were a blur of phone calls and missed opportunities to see each other. Business trips, other trips, etc. We finally planned a time to meet up and I worried about not even being able to remember what he looked like. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised. He was taller than me, with plenty of height left for heels. His hair was dark and his eyes were green and his scruff was perfectly scruffy. Our dates were comfortable, easy, and a breath of fresh air. We held hands, but agreed there would be no kissing for a while. We wanted to give the relationship a fair chance without the mind-numbing cloud that comes from utter attraction and hormones.
Weeks went by and every doorstop goodbye was filled with tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. We would hug, he would take a step back, and then keep walking backwards until he reached the stairs to my apartment. I would watch him go until I couldn't see his lights in the parking lot anymore. I kept wondering when that moment would come. It made every day together ripe with excitement and anxiety at the same time.
One night, as we sat on my couch, having put my girls to bed and foregoing the movie for talking, he laid his head down on my lap. Falling sleep was common on our dates, as we stayed up way too late, worked all day, but still insisted on spending time together. This, I thought, was just one of those times. He turned to face me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I ran my fingers through his dark hair and inhaled a little too much as the smell of his clean white t-shirt and cologne wafted up to my nose. We were both quiet, not talking, mostly listening. Every now and then I would sneak a peek at his peacefully sleeping face and wonder why he liked me. I was a broken woman. I had baggage. I had issues. I had two beautiful children and he was living the life of a world-traveling bachelor--free to come and go as he pleased.
He adjusted his position a bit as I was lost in thought and then he opened his eyes and looked up at me. The electricity between us was tangible. It had been building and building and we had not, as of yet, given it an outlet. To me, time fell away. I remember looking at him, and he at me, and tried desperately to see beyond that face and into his soul. He had shown my children and I nothing but respect and kindness, he was intelligent and open. He was kind beyond words, helpful to a fault, effortless with life, and he liked me. Me. Of all the girls he had ever dated...amazing girls with much less--stuff--he was here with me.
While I searched for those answers in the depths of green, he leaned up on his elbow and leaned toward me. With the most gentle touch, he kissed me. When I opened my eyes, he was looking back at me and a smirk spread across his face.
"I couldn't wait any longer," he said.
Not sure if I was breathing yet, I smiled and my eyes fell on the little magic place on his lip...the one I had been dying to kiss for some reason. It was the smallest spot. A little strawberry. A tiny red birthmark on his upper lip that suddenly became a beacon. His impossibly soft lips met me halfway and the lights flickered. His breath was like candy to me...gum and him...and I breathed deeply each time I got a chance. But there were not many chances.

For months there were not many chances to breathe.

He still catches my breath.