#eatsnightlockforbreakfast

His name was David.

He had been my boyfriend for three whole days which meant practically a lifetime to our adolescent selves and in those three days, I barely spoke to the boy.

It was only through the recess grapevine did I find out that he even liked me. Our girlfriend/boyfriend status had been set up by representatives—friends of ours—who communicate our messages to one another including the message in which he asked me to be his girlfriend.

My best friend, Michelle, accepted excitedly.

On that third day, David and I found ourselves behind the yellowed cement walls of our school; our friends crowded in a semi-circle around us. I remember only his face: tanned with a sharp chin, unremarkable brown eyes behind circular glass frames, and floppy, dark hair split down the middle reaching his ears.

We knew what people wanted—they wanted to witness a kiss from a pair of fifth-graders. A pair of fifth-graders who never communicated, never spoke to one another and could barely look at one another at this point.

My best friends, Michelle and Karen, flanked my sides as he stood, his back to the school wall, in front of me. 

Our eyes met once, and I spied a small smile on his lips.

I was never one to dawdle—I always knew what I wanted as a girl. I was bold, and I was brave. I never cared what anyone thought.

Somewhere along the way between adulthood and standing behind that school I had lost it. 

I miss her. That girl with no fears.

The girl who stepped forward and pressed her lips quickly to David’s before turning to walk away.

Do I remember that kiss? Just barely. His lips were dry.

But I remember the girl.

The girl who I used to be. The one who walked with a little more bounce in her step after that day. That girl with dreams of so many more romantic kisses and marked that day in her Hello Kitty day planner as ‘The Day I Got My First Kiss’. 

She had so many expectations for love and romance. She was unaware of what the future held but it didn’t scare her. It excited her.