Saturday morning, Kyle and I went golfing and shook hands on the fifth hole fairway, promising one another that we’d both kiss our girlfriends before the weekend was over. It was freshman year of high school, and we both started dating girls at the same time. We were true confidants and shared in great detail how much we loved our girlfriends of two months. He was dating Abby; I was dating Maisie. Maisie was a good foot shorter than me, which of course was adorable.
A few months in, Kyle and I both admitted to each other that we hadn’t kissed them yet, but both really, really wanted to. We were both SO close a couple of times—which really just meant we thought about kissing them once—but just couldn’t pull the lip-locking trigger.
I always envisioned I’d be as cool as Aaron Carter was when he kissed Lizzie McGuire underneath the mistletoe during the season one Christmas episode. I wanted to be as smooth as a thirteen-year-old Aaron Carter. Yah know, like a complete loser!
I remember everything so vividly about this day.
I had things planned to the point where I knew the exact time of night I needed to lay one on her. I wrote my plan out on a piece of paper just to make sure we’d have the upmost privacy. My parents were seeing Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind at 7:15 p.m. and my sister would be going to a visit a friend soon after Maisie arrived at 8 p.m. That’s literally all what was written on the piece of paper.
After an hour’s worth of pacing back and forth to and from the front window of my house waiting for her arrival, peeing every ten minutes, and doing push-ups to make my scrawny chest look like it had a hint of muscle, I was ready. Maisie got dropped off by her parents.
She had light blue jeans on with a plain white long-sleeved shirt underneath her favorite pink zip-up jacket. She wore her dark brown hair down, like usual.
I made sure to dress up for the occasion, wearing my khaki cargo shorts and undershirt with pit stains, my hair so long it covered my eyes like a bowl cut where they left the bowl on my head after they were done cutting.
I ran to the front door to greet her and yelled to her parents as they pulled away.
“I’ll have her home by midnight!”
They didn’t laugh.
I couldn’t even drive yet. What the hell was I talking about?
Soon after, my sister and her friend left.
I set the mood by pouring her a glass of orange juice and offering her a Snickers before sauntering over to the VHS to play the romantic galactic drama, SPACE JAM.
All right. One hour to make this happen. I nervously shoved two pieces of Polar Ice gum (that I had purchased earlier in the day for the occasion) into my mouth and sat down next to her on couch, casually draping my arm over her shoulder. It was now time to break out my inner Aaron Carter and kiss my Lizzie McGuire.
An entire hour passed with ample opportunity to make my move but instead, I say there like a coward holding in a ton of farts. You know the feeling.
My sister and her friend came home. Then my parents.
I was a big fat failure who would go his whole life without kissing a girl.
I casually closed the doors to the TV room and went back to cuddling on the couch, sulking in my misery as the next hour passed by, paralyzed by fear.
The entire night, Maisie remained calm and collected, so sure of herself. Her apparent confidence made things so much harder for me.
I still had time, though. It was now around 10 p.m. and the night was nearing its end. I had to make my move. To make things “easier” on myself I counted down from ten, with plans to kiss her when I got to one.
Ok, restart, that was way too fast.
Okay. Deep breath
“Are you okay, Isaac?”
“Totally!!” (laughs out loud)
DUDE HOW DO YOU KNOW SHE EVEN WANTS TO KISS YOU!?
DON’T DO IT, MAN!
Uh oh, here goes……
Now, with any first kiss, you have two options:
- You just go for it
- You ask.
I chose option three:
“Would you be scared if I told you that I wanted to kiss you?”
I have nothing to say.
“Uhhhhhh….okay. How should we uh……yah know, do it?”
“I don’t know”
She sat there, just as confused and deflated as me, blindsided by my sheer insecurity in the situation.
“Would it help if I was sitting on the other side of you?”
“Why would it help if you were sitting on the oth–“
“I DON’T KNOW SORRY!”
I clearly needed to make things better, so I hugged her and whispered something in her ear to lighten the mood.
“I love you.”
As I neared closer to the top of the imaginary hole I had dug myself in, I pulled back from the hug and looked right into her reluctant brown eyes, leaned in, and our lips connected. EUPHORIA!
THIS IS WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE A MAN!
And not just because Kyle and I made a competition out of this.
I, Isaac Vis. The scrawny, pale fifteen-year-old whose mom still cookie-cut his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches into heart shapes. Had. Kissed. A. Girl!
After three seconds of salivated bliss, I muttered the smoothest and most romantic words I could think of:
“It felt like I just kissed your eyeball.”
I kissed Maisie six more times that night, and three on Sunday.
I saw Kyle at school on Monday and brought him the good news. He had no such story with Abby.
I am Aaron Carter.