My First Kiss

In a few months, the anniversary of my first romantic kiss will happen. I was about nine or maybe ten at the time, the mind of this much older woman now forgetting what my exact age was.

Back in the 1950s, the holiday of May Day was fun for the children of my New England town to celebrate. We decorated small baskets with crepe paper and ribbons, usually with the help of our mothers. The tradition was to give a candy-filled basket to the boy or girl we liked. The love of my life at that age and for many years after was a boy nicknamed Tango.

Tango was my age, a classmate in our small schoolhouse, and lived just a few houses away from me. Every time I walked down the hill to Lake Wickaboag, I had to pass where he lived, and my young heart always seemed to beat a bit faster.

Anyway, early after sunrise on the first day of May that year, I walked the short distance to Tango’s home and placed my basket by his front door. After knocking on the door to get his attention, I waited until he came outside and spotted the basket. When I took off running back home, he started to chase me. Hurrying as fast as my skinny legs would go, I could hear him doing the same behind me.

After going up the circular driveway behind my home, I disappeared into the two-car garage, converted years ago from a barn. Behind Dad’s parked Buick, I spotted the wooden stairs leading up to what had once been a large hay loft. Tango’s footsteps as he came into the garage let me know he was closing in on me, and I practically flew up the long flight of stairs.

Both of us were laughing since we knew the next step in this old tradition. In fact, everyone in our class at school had learned about it from older sisters and brothers at one time or another. This, however, was the first year Tango and I joined in on the fun.

Standing in the middle of the almost empty hayloft, I waited in anticipation for Tango to reach me. Up until that point in my life, the only people who had kissed me were family members, and they didn’t count. Soon, I would get my first grown-up kiss, and I wasn’t sure whether to be nervous or excited.

Tango walked slowly over to me and grinned. It was just as we tentatively put lips to lips that we heard the sound of muffled giggling. Our kiss ended quickly, and we both swung around toward the wooden stairway behind us. Peeking through the poles of the banister into the hayloft were my two older sisters. Having gone through this May Day ritual themselves years before, they watched me leave the house earlier and knew where Tango and I would end up for our young first kiss. My rotten sisters wanted to be on hand to be able to tease their little sister and her beau. Tango and I slowly walked to the stairway, noses high in the air as we went back down the stairs, pretending not to see the two miserable interlopers.

Half an hour later, after Tango had gone home, I was inside having breakfast in the kitchen. A loud knock on the back door let me know there was a basket waiting for me on the porch. Tango had continued the tradition, and he was already on his way into the garage and back up into the hayloft. This time, my sisters left us alone since breakfast was more important to them than a sister’s second kiss.

More years than I want to acknowledge have passed since that early May morning. I’ve shared kisses with men more proficient at this delightful caress, but Tango’s kiss is the one I’ll always remember and treasure the most.

Do children still celebrate this humble day of celebration in this way? Has May Day, sadly, gone the way of other childhood traditions? Another May Day is coming up in a few months. Why not help your young child decorate a basket for their first love?

Trust me, it might be a memory that will stay with them throughout their lifetime. I know mine has.

Microsoft Word count = 719

Entry in 02/16/07 daily Writer's Cramp forum contest.

http://www2.writing.com/main/forums/item_id/333655