For Valentine's Day: A True Story

My first kiss was on Valentine's Day when I was sweet sixteen. I had been dating Chris for a few weeks already, but I was always too nervous to let him kiss me when he would drop me off at home (without walking me to the door, stupid boy) by my midnight curfew. I knew I couldn't keep holding off forever though, so it was well understood that some lip-locking action would happen on February 14, 2000.

After dinner at the Blue Corn Cafe we drove over to the Cross of the Martyrs and walked up the long winding path toward the top of the hill. We didn't go all the way up, because we could hear people up there in the dark and what if they were axe murderers? Instead we stopped about two-thirds of the way up and looked out over the city while standing pressed together in an awkward silence to try and keep warm.

There's only so long you can stand awkwardly and freezing when the big k-i-s-s is about to come though.

"Ok, ok," I said, "let's just do this. But hold on, I have to get something."

I ruffled through my purse (which was probably awkward because I never ever carried a purse in high school, except here, apparently) and pulled out what I was looking for. It was a sticker I'd found on an Old Navy ad in Seventeen magazine. I stuck it to my chest and turned around for him to see.

"Is that a sticker?" he asked. "It's too dark, I can't see what it says."

"Oh? Well, shoot. Um, it says 'Kiss Me.'"



And he did.