Friday Flashback: You can’t force a first kiss. I know. I tried.
…Now I see where my daughter gets it. ;0)
I think I was eight or nine, a boy crazy girl. We still lived in a small Kansas town, so I couldn’t have been much older than that. My older brother was a social butterfly and the boys in the neighborhood congregated in our yard or our house quite a bit. I had to beg and plead to let me play with them. Most of the time, I was the sucker who did all the chores as a bargaining chip—but then when I was done, my brother pulled a Houdini. GONE.
It was a warm day. A sizzling summer afternoon. The boys were in the house and I stood in the hallway connecting the bedrooms with the kitchen. One of the much older Kevins’ stood against the glass door across from me with the sunshine lighting up his back. He looked at me with some curious look probably squinting with his arms crossed. I smiled. I can’t remember exactly what I said or if I leaned into him with my lips pressed and ready; I know whatever I did had to do with a kiss, me moving into him. He stood there surprised, pulling way back to the door, and then he laughed.
I felt my cheeks grow warm. In two seconds I turned around in the kitchen and grabbed a broom and ran him out of the house.