Musings in Search of a Muse

"Sliding Into First Base"

We shared a warm patch of light from her car's open door while fidgeting quietly in the large, deserted parking lot and searched for something to say. A reverberating music pulse streamed forth from the car radio in perfect harmony with the idling motor. I was barely 20 years old and this was just my second date ever, so my nerves were like the rubber bands on a wind-up-propeller toy airplane that kids fly. They twisted, knotted and tightened with every turn the ticking clock added. She seemed relaxed. Her tombstone-grey eyes revealed nothing. Sweat? Irregular breathing? None. At least one of us was cool.

She stood casually with her motionless fingers finishing a graceful arc that began as her neck flowed into slender shoulders. Her fragrance was pleasant, but hauntingly familiar. I remembered enjoying the same scent a year earlier during a rather inept attempt to start a relationship with her. That time we were sitting in her old, beat-up Ford Maverick; my big, floppy puppy-dog ears being trampled under my big, bumbling puppy-dog feet as I tried to re-create every romantic line I ever heard in every '40s B-movie I ever saw. "I love you, my darling," I wanted to declare. "I, a uh (ahem), I love, um. I think I, uh, love you, C-Christine," I barely managed to croak. "What in the Hell is that supposed to mean!" she demanded. I had never seen frost form that quickly before.

Her shuffling feet impatiently brought my attention (not unwillingly) back to the patch of warmth we shared and I blushed inwardly at the thought that she might have remembered my car crash as I just had. Whether she did or not, we had found ourselves in this parking lot after my excuse for another date: attending a Governor's Mansion reception and dinner with friends. My mind and body agreed: Holding her close right then would be nice. After that point, well . . . My lips were confused. They were thinking kiss but said, "Christine, thanks for a swell evening," instead. Then they proceeded to turn my head aside in hopes of dragging my numb body along. Too late.

We were almost hugging. I say almost because while our arms were around each other, my hands experimented with new airflow patterns behind her back. My big, bumbling puppy-dog feet had returned and stumbled to complete the turn my lips initiated moments earlier. Panic.

She pressed herself firmly against me and found a hobby exploring the region below my back pockets. Perhaps she was interested in me? When our hasty, awkward embrace ended, I could feel her hot breath caress my neck as our cheeks passed. And we just stood there, silently, with our arms continuing the half-ended hug. I looked hopefully into her tender-grey eyes and found the love I sought there before. Her soft eyelids teased my gaze when she stole a quick glance at my mouth and then closed gently. I felt Christines tug and brought her slowly closer. Our lips spoke to each other in the gentle language. My First Kiss.

Written February 6, 1989