I can still remember it, even after so MANY, many, many years.

He was on the football team, played baseball and drove a silver Camero with bright orange flames painted on the front quarter panels. I was the weird kid, the smart girl and friend to the freaks. We were an unlikely couple.

I think we were maybe sophomores, juniors at most.

He was still at school because of some sports practice or something. I was still there waiting for a ride home after band. (No, I didn’t play an instrument, I was in the Rifle Corps. I liked wearing the white go-go boots and navy blue hot pants.)

There was a short set of stairs leading from the main bus ramp of our high school down into the cafeteria. I was sitting on the top step. He was standing up, leaning over the hand rail.

We were talking, laughing. flirting. I was shy, he was popular. I could not believe that he wanted to date me. ME!

At some point I knew that if I looked up at him one more time he would try to kiss me. I looked up.

He kissed me… the first time, the first real kiss from a boyfriend.

After, I wasn’t quite sure what the etiquette was. Do I wipe off the spit ring he had left or just let it dry naturally?