First Kiss

The Sunday Scribblings prompt is First Kiss.

The first time I was kissed, other than by my close relatives, I was outraged. Phillip had no right to seize my face with a hand on each cheek and press his mouth to mine. I was almost four years old. He was a few months younger.

Yes, I guess I was pretty cute.

As far as I was concerned, kissing rights belonged to one’s daddy or mama, not to a playmate chosen by Mama. Phillip lived on the high side of the street and I lived on the lower side. One or the other of us had to be escorted across the street so that Phyllis and Phillip (and weren’t those names cute together?) could play while their mothers visited.

Yes, I was truly outraged by that unsolicited kiss. I burst into tears while Mrs. Lathrop told my mother how they had always encouraged Phillip not to inhibit his feelings but to express them freely. She frowned at me. Apparently she felt that I was expressing my feelings much too freely.

With this early conditioning against kisses, I managed to avoid most of them for the next fourteen years or so. That’s when I had my first real kiss, the kind that can resonate for a lifetime.

Early sketch that I did of Otto

It was a late afternoon of a spring day, the air balmy and fragrant. I felt pretty in a floaty green dress with white polka dots instead of my usual sweater and skirt for a day of classes. I knew that he - he of the blue eyes and wavy brown hair - would probably be sitting on the curb in front of the art building in which he thought that I would be working on an assigned project.

We had held hands. We had compared philosophies. We had hiked together, gotten poison oak together, sung together. But we had yet to kiss. And I wanted desperately to be kissed by Otto.

As I crossed the quad and skirted the chapel, I entered a cloud of fragrance from a planting of small trees with tiny flowers with the texture and scent of gardenias. I broke off a twig and stuck it in my pocket. The sun was setting and the first star appeared, and, quickly, before the appearance of other stars destroyed the magic, I wished on the first star that tonight he would kiss me.

I don’t remember exactly how we reached the hill overlooking lake Lagunita, on the waters of which myriads of stars were now afloat. I think I may have positioned myself so that it would be very easy for him to kiss me. And he did so.

It was the first of seventy years worth of kisses from the one I love forever. He couldn’t return our last kiss, which I gave to him in the hospital as he lay dying. I miss his kisses, but I have a treasure trove of ones to remember. Especially that first one.

K is for Kisses and Kites

Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday Round 4 has reached the letter K. For links to participating blogs, click on banner or above link.

We have been having trouble with our internet access, so forgive me if I make fewer comments than usual. I will rush through to view as many posts as I can get to before our server crashes again...

Also in the interest of haste, I just grabbed some photos from my archives: K is for Kiss, and K is for Kites - two of my favorite things. None of these pics have been posted before, although the first is taken just a few minutes after a similar one that I used for a story that I posted a while back.

Kisses

The above photo was taken at the wedding
of Daria and Andy Bishop way back in 1991.

And this kiss is being given to great-grandson Jon
by his mother, Josie Andersen

And now for the Kites

This dragon kite was photographed by
Josie or Charlie Andersen on a beach expedition.

And finally one that I photographed
at the Berkeley Kite Festival.