My lips are wet and ready but I'm a terrified sixteen-year-old girl. His hair is a curly jet black that matches handsomely with his pale freckled face. As he leans in, I'm wide-eyed with giggles falling from my mouth. Now his eyes look sad and hurt because he's a sixteen year old boy. My mind is void except for the fact that I'm not ready for this. I won't be ready for six more years.
Yes, there is something intriguing about the picture, Ms. Pierson. It's of a different time. A different era. It was a time when men wore their hair long and women wore their skirts short.ReplyDelete
The picture probably was taken after a campus protest about the Vietnam War.
In your story you've become the woman in the mini-dress. You experience your first kiss (or your first "almost kiss" as you write) in the heady moments after the protest.
But, contrary to what you write, you were ready for that kiss. You learned that it gave you power.
That was the first day of your adulthood.