Land Mines and Marmalade

My first feel at the reel

“Ask her, ask her, you like her. She likes you.” Well, the first was right, the second I was not so sure. “Jes do it.”

That was the refrain of friends who, unlike me, seemed to know stuff. Sure, to ‘just do it’ would be fine. But I was the one doing the “just doing.”

I met her at the brook, the schoolyard, or in front of the Dairy Cream, but it was never official. Nothing was ever official.

I just ran into her. Now we were alone. Her ever present friends and my hangin’ buddies seemed to block any further progress.

She was tanned, had a round face, brown hair in a ponytail, big, unblinking brown eyes that sparkled like mirrors, a soft voice, straight shoulders, and a warm, confident smile, as if she knew something I did not. No surprise there.

I walked by the drugstore near her house, and there she was! I tottered up to her and blurted, “Hi, uhhh, err, wanna’ goferadateattheCastle?” The Castle Theatre** was safe. The movies did the talking.

The Castle Theater, our neighborhood destination

“Hi, Eddie, how ya doin’? Sorry, what?”

“Uhhh, Ya know, go…fer-a-date to the movies on Satdy.”

“Yeah, sure, of course.”

Oh my god, she said yes. It was official. Now what? I had not considered the next step.

“Uhhh, should I meet you someplace, uhh, like in front of the library or the Castle?”

“No, just come by my house.” Stymied. Girls were cool. Boys tried to be cool.

--Yer house? -- Yeah. -- YOUR house? --Yes.

“Uhhh, OK, what time?” I pawed, making neat circles in the sidewalk with the toe of my Keds high top. I was drenched. A rim of sweat lined my lip, and two rivulets of reek trickled under my arms. I thought I might slide out of my Keds.

On Saturday, she was sitting on her porch steps with friends, no parents. Whew, first hurdle cleared. I would be lost meeting parents.

She was wearing loafers, pink shorts, and a soft, white sweater that held my attention. Her ponytail flipped as she turned. I was wearing oversized khaki pants with my leather belt cinched to the last notch, a white tee shirt and my Red Sox cap. “Well, uhhh, wanna go?” Uhhh and shaved words anchored much of my vocabulary.

We walked along, me clipping a bit ahead and making half turns to chatter. We drifted by the junior high school. I glanced at friends playing ball. They stopped. I heard a whistle.

I feared I might break out into something that needed Clearasil. A carefree paper fluttered across the road.

“Do you like school?” I wasn’t sure what to answer. I loved school, but I wasn’t sure if it was cool.

“Uhhh, yeah, I guess.”

“Yeah, I do too. Should be a good movie, huh? What is it?”

“Not sure. When Worlds Collide, I think.” I was colliding.

I should have known what the movie was. Time to change the subject. “What are your friends doing today?”

“They went to the beach.” Oh my God, this date better be good. I kept her from the beach with her girlfriends.

“Do you like an action movie like Audie Murphy or Randolph Scott? I like Geronimo.”

“No, not really. I like romantic stuff like Duel in the Sun.”

“Really?” Romantic? Duel in the Sun? Sounds like action to me.”

“Yeah. There’s action too.” Her look was amused.

So, what did that mean? I spent the day trying to figure out what things meant. Girls always seemed to mean other stuff when they spoke.

We arrived. I held the door. Good. I went to the booth. Good. I bought two tickets for fifty cents. Good. We strolled to the candy counter. Good. “How about some popcorn?”

“Sure.”

“Want some gum” --- No, thanks. I unwrapped my Dubble-Bubble, popped the wad in my mouth and attacked it.

“Want to sit in the balcony?”

“I don’t care.”

“Nah, neither do I.”

“So, should we sit there?’

“I’m not sure.”

“OK.”

“Yeah. OK.”

We took seats on the right in an empty row, two-thirds away from the screen and under the cover of the back wall. I bumped against her shoulder as we sat. She smelled of Ivory Soap. I pulled the brim of my hat.

“Ya know,’ said the guys, “She knows the score, and expects it. Move yer arm when it gets dark.”

“Expects what?”

“Ta be kissed, dope.”

“So, what am I supposs to do?”

“Well, jes put yer arm round her. Then jes leen over ‘n kiss her.”

“Kiss her? Sure, easy for you guys.”

As the lights dimmed, her beauty rose. A silhouette in a ponytail.

We sat and watched some movie, and in a moment of heroism, I draped my arm around her seat, just the seat, the cold metal seat. “Get your arm off there!” barked the squeaky-shoed matron with the jingling keys. My arm swiftly retreated like a slingshot returning to its sling.

Her sweater was soft, touchable. I looked around. All clear. I snuck my arm again. My fingers crawled. She snuck closer.

I was sliding my other hand nervously under my seat. What I felt was a sick surprise. Land mines of fossilized gum! Ugh. Yes, my first feel at the reel was not what I planned. It was gum! Rows of hard bumps of all sizes and shapes. Ugh!

I rested my hand on her shoulder. I felt a strap under the soft sweater. I looked around, and as I turned to her, my hat brim hit her face.

I took a deep breath, sat up to enhance my reach, and then! A snort slapped the air, jolting me as the flashlight shone first in my face and then in my lap.

“Get that arm off her!!”

Squeaky shoes and keys again, just as my fingers were making their way further south. In a flash, I whisked my arm and folded my hands, spiritually, in my lap. I slid down in the seat. My scalp was itchy. I stopped breathing. I took a breath.

The next dark scene came. I let it pass.

OK, the next one, for sure. It came faster than I thought. I jumped and heaved my arm over her shoulder. There. Good. It was back on the sweater, and my fingers were across her collarbone again. Now what?

Should I tilt my head? Lips open or closed? How would I breathe? Eyes open or closed? I thought of a song. Unfortunately, it was Roy Rogers and the Sons of the Pioneers singing “Tumbling Tumbleweeds.” My heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s wings and as loud as a galloping horse.

Having never kissed a girl before except at a spin-the-bottle party when I completely botched it, I wondered. What would it taste like? Pistachio? Watermelon? A morning’s breath?

She held the popcorn box with her right hand. With her left hand, she reached into the box, took one piece, brought it to her lips, held it there a moment while looking straight ahead with those wide, expectant eyes, grabbed that piece with the tip of her tongue, and slowly pulled it back into her mouth. It melted away. She knew I was looking. Was that moan from the screen?

As my fingers drifted further, she reached across and put the popcorn box on the seat to my left. Her shoulder dug into my chest. She turned her head and faced me, a breath away. All I saw were lips and those beautiful, non-blinking eyes. I squirmed, shifted my weight, and crossed my legs at the ankles.

I leaned forward. As our lips touched, I felt a tingle and goose bumps not unlike the ones I got when I dove into the ocean. And the taste was like marmalade and cherry. I took short, fast, silent breaths.

I pulled back, turned, took the Dubble Bubble out of my mouth, and stuck it under the seat with the other mines. I went back to touching lips. It was new, different and exciting.

I never reached further down the sweater.

It was a long walk home.

She walked ahead.

Gum under the seat the first feel. Hmmm . . .

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