Kiss

I wonder when the very first kiss in history went down. Did Adam nervously wet his lips and lean in for the world’s first smooch? Was it something given to us by the animal kingdom? Perhaps it was two monkeys in a tree K-I-S-S-I-N-G. Maybe it is a far more modern invention created by Hollywood. The fact that a kiss was two people forcefully throwing their faces together on the black and white screen makes me think maybe it was this option. They looked very unpracticed and uncomfortable. I almost feel as though it was created by someone who was in a terrible accident and lost both arms and legs, leaving only the lips to show affection. Who else would think of this strange gesture? Whoever it was that puckered up first was a visionary and also a bully who wanted to invent something that would socially cripple all future generations. Without kisses, middle school mixers, high school dances, first dates, family gatherings would be so much more comfortable. Deodorant would be only necessary for the most competitive sports and Altoids would have gone out of business a millennial ago. Honestly, I am shocked those powdery tins are still around in the age of breath strips and, frankly, gum. 

The countdown to a first kiss hangs over one’s head for an average of 14 years. This is not fact but simply my own guess. I feel that factors in a few loose elementary schoolers and summer camp Spin the Bottle players. As well as a handful of late-bloomers and closeted gays who pushed it off for as long as they socially could. My first kiss was scheduled. I had been “dating” a boy for the better part of my seventh grade Spring. Being one of the aforementioned closeted gays, I had zero interest in kissing this boy so had managed to limit him to hugs and a kiss on the cheek for months. His patience was running thin though and I could feel our relationship slipping through my fingers. In an effort to salvage our bond, I agreed to kiss him after the last class of the very last day of school, before Summer. It is a bizarre experience awkwardly counting down the hours until you join the ranks of the kissing greats: Romeo and Juliet, Rose and Jack, MJ and Spidey. Nerves and dread mixed together filled my little tween body. I debated faking ill so I could be sent home early or sneaking out the band room door to avoid the unpackaging of my factory-new lips. I got a little too involved in the process of planning my secret escape because all of a sudden it was 3:45: Judgment day. 

I slowly grabbed my backpack from my locker, well aware we had about a six minute window before both of us boarded our separate buses. The front of the school was extremely busy with everyone scrambling to find their rides. There he was. Standing right in the middle of all the mayhem and directly in front of Mrs. Lee, my math teacher. I slunk over and smiled, “Hi,” he beamed at me. I smiled a smile that revealed only the right half of my braces-ed teeth. Without any further exchange of niceties, Boy leaned down and pressed his giant lips onto my face. He held them there long enough for me to think, “Hm. Okay. Lips on my lips. Kinda wet. Do I like this? No. No, I do not like this. I would like this to end. And please this should be over. Curtain down. End of show.” Which in reality, was probably three seconds. I then made sure my face was shielded from Mrs. Lee and I hightailed to my bus, where I began to plot my break up speech.

I was glad for my first kiss to be done. Knowing that I wouldn’t die unkissed was a comfort. Much to my surprise, a handful of more kisses came and went over the course of the years that followed. Some of them wet, some dry, some of them bad and some of them good. There were a few sweet ones thrown in there and one or two that had a semblance of spark. It’s the spark that we are all chasing. A kiss that makes you jump back a little like you just touched a door knob after rubbing your clean socks on the carpet for hours. I have been lucky enough to have a kiss that shocked me like I was fresh out of the shower and poked a fork in an outlet. Sparked like a foil wrap bunch of tater tots put in the microwave. Not that I have ever done that. That would be crazy. I will now tell you the story of this kiss that made, as Taylor Swift would say, “Sparks Fly.”

Approximately eleven years and one month after my very first kiss, I found myself walking down Manhattan Avenue in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. It was Fourth of July, but the weather was pretty mild. The American flag was found hanging off of balconies and on the cheeks of little kids running through the closed off streets. In the spirit of the holiday, many folks had hauled small Weber charcoal grills to their front stoops to grill up hot dogs. I am happy to report that I was offered a total of three hot dogs off of strangers’ tiny grills. Just one of those faces I guess. The Manhattan Avenue street sign came into view, I hung a left, and there she was: the girl I had traveled on three trains to meet. She was standing by a fire hydrant wearing white wash jeans and a fitted black tee. It was probably a little after 8:00 in the evening, because the setting summer sun was creating a watercolor sky backdrop. She turned around and I saw that face. I realize I have mentioned nothing of lips yet, but this first look is where the first mini spark happened. A tiny spark like when you strike flint - has anyone actually done that? I haven’t, but I envision it sparks as much as seeing the face of someone you instantly have an aggressive crush on. I digress. After a few hours of chatting on the roof and some light, nervous foot and hand graces, the sky had turned black. We soaked up the fireworks that lit up the sky as well as that face I had made mention of before. She and I looked at each other and locked eyes for what seemed like the length of an entire firework. And not one of the quick pop ones, one of those long, slow-falling chandelier ones. We were there to watch the fireworks, so seemed a shame to miss an entire one. Unless, of course, it was for a kiss. The eyes were unlocked when her hand came to my chin and her face came close. Kiss! Sparks fly says Taylor Swift! It was the perfect kiss. Instead of counting down the seconds to when it would end, the end came all too soon. I am certain I did a version of awkward laughter immediately afterwards and then quickly began plotting whatever is the most opposite of a break up speech. A marriage proposal? At the very least, how to get another one of those kisses. 

To whomever created the kiss, I do thank you. I don’t love that kisses have the potential to be horribly awkward and sweaty, but when you get a good one, there is nothing like it. It is similar to what I would imagine it feels like to be struck by lightning. The .02% of people who have been struck by lightning can correct me, if I am wrong.