Jenny: I remember too much about my first kiss. And I’ll go into detail, but only if you promise to answer the same question.
Me: Fair’s fair.
OK, so remember when I talked about the Episcopal youth conference when I was in eighth grade — the weekend when my Oak Ridge Boys tastes ran smack dab into Suicidal Tendencies? That was in February 1985, and it was a momentous weekend for another reason.
There was a girl named Dana with whom there had been some mutual noticing/staring-at going on during the conference. She was from Dallas, or maybe Richardson. On Saturday night there was a dance at the Church of the Transfiguration, and Dana looked worldly — and somewhat androgynous — in a white blazer. I, in my plaid shirt and with my hair presumably feathered a bit and parted down the center, probably looked not quite as worldly.
We found each other out on the floor. I remember us dancing — and doing semi-synchronized Prince-ly pantomiming — to “I Would Die 4 U,” and so, really, how could a kiss not follow that? I don’t know about Dana, but for me, it was my first. I don’t remember much about the kiss itself, other than thoughts of “Yay!” and “Wow!” and “Soft.” What song was it? I want to say “Crazy for You,” but I don’t recall — early 1985 brought us several first-kissable chart-toppers, including “I Want to Know What Love Is,” “I Can’t Fight This Feeling,” and “One More Night.”
What I do remember, quite clearly, was my irrational* jealousy and sense of betrayal when I saw her dancing with some other guy soon after. We didn’t speak the rest of the night (which, now that I think about it, means we may not have actually spoken at all that night). I eventually got over it, and we forged a longish-distance friendship that lasted another couple of years, but not before another song the DJ played established itself as my self-pitying mental soundtrack** for that night:
*At the time, I thought it was rational as could be.
**My feet, though guiltless, had only minimal rhythm.