A Boy I Once Kissed …
I spent the morning doing revisions to Blessed are the Meek.
Ate lunch at home while I was working and then headed out for a walk before I returned to do copyedits for Blessed are the Dead. I fell short of my goals. I only did 2.5 hours of revision instead of 3. But maybe if you include the hour I spent doing copyedits, it counts? I did get in my mile walk. And that is what prompted today’s post:
Today’s walk took me past a cemetery. As I walked, I listened to my favorite band, Wood & Smoke, on my headphones and was brought back to the time in my life when I lived in L.A.
Walking past the gravestones, I thought about a boy I once kissed on New Year’s Eve who is now dead.
He was a friend of a friend and we were all at a Rave in a giant warehouse in downtown L.A. during one New Year’s Eve in the late 1980s.
We both knew nothing would come of our night spent together at a rave, dancing and kissing, and later, holding hands under the table at a Sunset Boulevard Denny’s until the sun came up.
And maybe we didn’t want anything to come of it. We simply enjoyed our night together for what it was — an appreciation of being young and alive and having another person find you attractive.
When we said goodbye, there were no promises to call one another or keep in touch, just one long kiss.
I never saw him again.
A few years later, when I’d already met the man who would become my husband, I learned that this friend of a friend had died.
He’d been killed. Walking in a crosswalk. During the day. When he had the right of way. Hit by some knucklehead who simply wasn’t paying attention and ran a red light.
He must’ve only been 22 or 23.
Kissing that boy was just one moment, one night in my life, but I will always remember him.
I will never forget a moment of my life in L.A. That city — the city of angels — will always be my soul city.
That city was where I lived a thousand life times. Where I reveled in being young and alive and full of life. When I felt invincible.