BOOK ONE—CHAPTER 3 FIRST KISS Part 3 Secret Crush

As my acknowledgment of remaining an enigmatic stranger to myself—forever—can arouse twinges of anxiety, you may find FIRST KISS intriguingly relieving in this way: This chapter of my life story offers insight into why a sweet (though confounded) young girl developed into a complicated adult who, to this very day, feels compelled to call forth her sense of depth perception in order to gain access to contrasting personality traits, which ignite inner conflicts to flare until intuitive trains of thought spotlight those times when a defensive wall of denial blinds me from expanding my awareness of choices, which prove existentially strengthening rather than unconsciously patterning my decisions to fit smoothly with those that adhere to the herding instinct as I continue to make my way from one stage of life to the next.

Needless to say, I remained blind to my processor’s potential to tap into depths of mental perception until such time as my many-layered wall of denial, erected during childhood, came crashing down, smashing my persona’s effervescence so soundly that my ever-ready smile fizzled and disappeared into the subterranean fog, which, during the middle decades of my life, had continued to thicken, thus blocking my mind’s eye from seeing how often the limited scope of my decisions had served to sugar-coat repressed sensations of tightly condensed frustrations so as to numb bouts of unhappiness, which, having been blocked from conscious awareness, continued to layer up within secret pockets of my mind as decades, somehow, flew by.

It’s also important to note that at the age of twelve (as is true of children the world over) I’ll not yet have gained any conscious awareness concerning conflicts erupting between friends at times when the herding instinct clashes head on with decisions proving to be courageously existential in nature.  In fact, many a year will pass before my processor’s potential to develop the mental clarity to fathom the depths of classic conundrums identifies peer pressure as the culprit that declares anyone whose heightened level of emotional maturity has taken leaps of faith toward hard won personal growth as an outcast unless this individual returns to the beaten path where herds of sheep are seen huddling together, bleating—blah blab black sheep, away with you and your emotional clarity, which distresses group-think’s narrow minded attitudes 

And now with the curtain poised to rise so as to reveal the first scene of the story at hand, I’d like to invite you to play Watson to my Holmes as we claim seats, front row center, in order to gather clues concerning classic misunderstandings that are bound to erupt when repressed insecurities, balled up within the depths of two minds, ignite simultaneously with such spontaneity as to be likened to a face-off between a pair of loose cannons, shooting love’s magic spell in the heart thus shattering the deeply valued friendship, which has naturally connected a boy and girl, both of whom are so inexperienced as to have no clue how quickly intensely confounding emotional reactions, which tend to feel explosive, are empowered to heighten frustration to such a mind reeling degree as to shatter our thought processors connection to logic resulting in tearing two young innocents apart.  The lead characters in this cast of two are named Annie and Joseph.  The year is 1954.

Act one offers attentive detectives sound reason to note the spontaneity with which unidentified insecurities shoot our processors full of holes, repeatedly.

And now that this budding romance, entitled FIRST KISS, is ready to rock and roll, the lights dim; the curtain rises, and a hush falls over the audience as a spotlight highlights a tall, handsome, twelve year old boy entering stage left. Apparently, he is strolling leisurely down an alley in well-kept suburbia, whistling away at a top forties tune, his dog, a blond, short haired, strong bodied mix strains at its leash, sniffing here and there for a place to ... okay, nuf' said.

As this pair of pals crosses the stage, it’s quite likely that the tall, blond, good looking boy, sporting Elvis-like sideburns and a swagger to match, has no clue that each time he walks along this alley toward the backside of a certain red brick, two-story house, a twelve-year old girl's pounding heart is poised at her bedroom window, listening for his whistle (ala Lauren Bacall?)

While Joseph and King amble past flower beds and lilac bushes, bordering Annie's well manicured yard, the first trill of a whistle stimulates the girl's antennae to rise; however, rather than secretly swooning, as usual, her brain alerts her legs to race from her upstairs window, where peering out, longingly, she's just caught a fleeting glance of this dream boat, whom she’s secretly crushing on—from afar—because—well—her saucy self-confidence with guys has recently been ground to dust in a van where a gang of bullies had sullied a budding slice of her self esteem, some time earlier in the year.

So if you wonder how this star crossed romance, foreshadowed with dark clouds soon to gather, overhead, gets its chance to pick up steam, well, on this sunny day, a twelve year old, blue eyed, brunette feels an old-time surge of courage swell within her budding breast at the exact moment that her tall, handsome heart-throb whistles by the side yard of her new home.  And before yesteryear’s social self-confidence takes a powder, the damsel, fleeing the safe haven of her ivory tower, flies down the stairs, and as she streaks past her mother, who's making dinner, we see Juliette, unlatching the kitchen’s screen door so as to dash outside with trash can encircled within her arms …

Upon reaching the alley, Annie’s natural sparkle ignites a quick, shy twinkling ‘Hi’, catching this strong bodied, dreamy guy off guard while our blushing maiden deposits her load, and once she and he exchange a fleeting spark of recognition, Annie spins her pounding heart around quick as a top so as to sweep across the expanse of her yard straight toward her back door where, dashing inside, she deposits the empty trash can, which had served as a 'prop', on the kitchen floor before flying upstairs, where, within the relative safety of her tower, she throws herself on her bed, feeling every bit as shocked at her chutzpah as she'd felt astounded to have won Joseph’s smile, which had miraculously matched the warmth of her own.

From that day forward at the first waft of a whistle, Annie's dark lashed, bright blue eyes sparkle with delight while the wheels of her mind, spinning with the speed of light, make haste to race toward the leash, which clips onto Pixie's collar—because—miracle of miracles—Joseph has continued to greet her presence and that of her black and white spotted, toy fox terrier with the welcoming smile that thrills her heart, inspiring her spirit to soar!  And just like that, no fuss no bother, a friendship, soon to be deeply valued by both, is won.

With no time like the present to rejoice, the natural spring in this young girl’s high-spirited step excites the swing in her long dark ponytail to bounce like a plume atop her head. And with pup and boldness in tow, our heroine runs outside at the same hour, every day, having stuffed all worries about this boy’s natural reaction to her presence into the can, which contains the trash that remains in the kitchen of her new house.  And under the guise of taking Pixie, whose petite presence frolics happily along side that of big strong, blond shepherd-mix, King—Annie's naturally winsome smile floats on air—day and night—because her heartbeat enjoys a relaxed state of peaceful repose wherever she goes, no thoughts of personal travails suffered on that van darkening her spirit’s lightness of being.

The fact that this scene repeats itself, day in and day out, frees Annie’s long lashed, twelve year old, blue eyes to gaze up adoringly at her master—I mean—King's master, while girl, boy, Lady and Tramp amble forth down this alley, which, connecting with that alley, offers no conscious clue that all four are treading, step by step, along the yellow brick road, suggestive of the fact that OZ lies in wait, directly ahead.  And thus do boy and girl go blithely toward the future, hearts, spirits and minds comfortably intertwined as long as conversation, flowing naturally, back and forth, is clearly understood by both, and as comfort levels mesh, the degree of emotional safety shared by this good natured, young 'couple' grows accustomed to teasing each other, as friends, who are enjoying (while denying) a strong mutual attraction, often do, since the ease of mutually respectful laughter connects one spirit with the other as simply as the alphabet starts with A,B,C (NO MORE BULLIES FOR ME!) until—

We imagine Annie's spirit awakening, each morning, floating light as air as she readies herself to approach the pearly gates of teen-aged heaven, her feet barely touching the ground, knowing that within moments, she'll see Joseph in school though, over time, heaven gets to feeling a little rocky when Joseph begins to toss out questions and comments concerning his growing interest in certain classmates—who just happen to be a variety of really cool, good looking, slim, long-legged girls—while behind Annie’s amiable, warm spirited smile, no one sees the needle of my spirit's metronome fluttering back and forth or hears the humming gears of a young girl’s mind grinding to a stop as subconscious thought patterns throw the throttle of my heart into reverse as if my processor, flooding with fleeting spikes of latent anxiety, offers up the merest hint of a Grrrrrr, which, barely wafting through the breeze, turns your attention and mine toward the natural arousal of animal instincts, which must have been released by—King, because, surely, animal instincts, stimulated to growl silently within, cannot be attributed to a damsel, whose repressed distress hath been numbed, sedated, and buried in the past—right?