Sunday, January 3, 2010

Sunday Memories: My First Time


How the past new years eves were spent I have no idea. There were no celebrations in our home, no watching our parents dress up for some party and no loud horns blowing at midnight. In our neighborhood, new years was celebrated in the fall and the only horn that blew was the shofar at sunset announcing the new year had begun and the fast of the Day of Atonement could be broken.

Then came high school in another neighborhood with kids from other neighborhoods. It was very exciting. Especially when one classmate announced that her brother who went to another school in still another neighborhood which had even more kids from even more neighborhoods was going to invite his friends and she could invite her friends and it would be a real co-ed new years eve party.

Then it got even better. The brother and sister lived right by Central Park and there was going to be a rock band playing so we would even go dancing. Boys, dancing, new years eve. This all added up to one thing. Kissing.

Other than my insistence that Florence kiss me or my kissing my father good-bye in the morning, kissing-kissing was non-existent in my corner of the Lower East Side. However, Didi, a classmate who was also invited to the party had kissed. She dragged me into the girls bathroom of the 6th Avenue Horn and Hardart.

"Ok! If he [imaginary love of my life boy] goes like this..." and she tilted her head inches away from mine..."then you go like this..." and I tilted my head the other way.

"Now, if he goes like this..." and she moved straight into my face..."Then you tilt like this..."

We practiced. Tilting one way and then the other always stopping inches away from one another. I was 13 years old. I was ready.

The parents were welcoming but the only thing that mattered were the boys. It began to rain as we headed to Central Park. I don't remember anything about the music except that it called all of us to dance and dance and dance in tons of puddles and the cute boy with the sweet smile was great to dance with.

What happened after that belongs to the fog that embraced me for years before and years after, surrounding any event that was overwhelming and too upsetting to me. But some vague details remain. There were some negotiations with the other boys and girls to allow cute boy and me kiss in the bedroom the boys were suppose to sleep in. And that first kiss and the couple we got in after were dazzling and breathtaking and I felt things I had never felt before and was really really enjoying myself when a tall lean and very angry parental figure appeared.

The party was over.

3 comments:

onlythejodi said...

sweet, those first times. I often wonder what happened to those boys of my own early memories. not enough to search them out and have them back in my life, but wouldn't I love to just be a fly on the wall for a day....

cityofstrangers said...

CO,

yeah, reminds me of my first kissing party in a friend's downstairs after a great party and walking home in the fourty below cold in the little northern Canadian town I grew up in . . .

I can relate to the fog, since it closed in not long after for years and years, and only when I settled in New York in the early 90's did it begin to clear away. It's still clearing . . .

Tim

c.o. moed said...

Was ruminating on the comment. The fog -- took me almost 35 years to reclaim myself from that fog. Even now I feel like San Francisco at times - it just rolls in... I am pissed that spontaneous joy was so crushed then and I want to reclaim now. and I wonder what happened to that nice boy I eventually was not so nice to...