My first kiss was a fairy tale, emphasis on the word ‘fairy.’
I found my happy place at sleep-away camp. Us New York Jews, we all did. It’s somewhat of a cardinal rule: if you live on the East Coast, are of the Jewish faith and between the ages of nine and, oh, 17, you better bet your kosher tail you’re summer camp bound.
So it was that I ended up at French Woods, a performing arts camp that prided itself on churning out Tony Award winning musicals, impressive dance and music concerts and some damn good circus shows (seriously).
The truth? I loved that camp. I loved that camp so much that I spent six summers of my life there, singing my heart out sans shame. Glee got it right: it ain’t always easy being a Rachel Barry, aka a member of a club that is often the laughingstock of the entire school. But here, at French Woods, we were free to be completely and utterly who we were.
Perhaps I should have known then.
If I could remember exactly where and when it was that I met Bob*, I would tell you. But at my ripe old age of 24, I have since forgotten. I will, however, tell you that we became friends during the summer after my freshman year of high school. Before I knew it, I was enmeshed in a group of 5 people — boys and girls — that became my “posse,” if you will. Bob was one of those people.
It wasn’t long before one of our friends, Rebecca*, became clearly jealous of mine and Bob’s connection. And there was no doubt a connection. Friendly arm punches soon turned into subtle hand holding, smiles became lingering stares and as dramatic as this all sounds, puppy love was wagging its happy little tail at both of us.
Then came the real drama. Bob was staying at camp for nine weeks, while I was only there for six. And suddenly, I only had a few days left until I had to bid Bob adieu and go home to a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.
The night before I left, after the evening’s activity, Bob was walking me back to my bunk. As if on cue (us thespians know a cue when we see one), we both stopped underneath a building and stared at each other. This was it, I thought. It’s now or never. But apparently, it was now. Because the next thing I knew, Bob leaned in and just like that, we were kissing.
The thoughts going through my head went something like this: OMG, am I really having my first kiss? Am I really having my first kiss with Bob? Is he enjoying it? Am I doing it right? Crap, I’m not doing it right and he’s never going to speak to me again. Nice knowing you Bob, I suck at kissing.
When my mom came to pick me up the next morning, I was still floating. I continued to float for the two and a half hour car ride home, and I floated all the way back to visit Bob three weeks later when camp was over.
Except that Bob had lost that loving feeling. When he saw me, he scurried away as if he had seen a ghost. When I tried to talk to him, he said he couldn’t speak to me anymore. Needless to say, I found myself falling into the car for the ride home, not floating. What had gone wrong? What had I done?
Turns out, I did nothing. Well, unless you consider it wrong to be born born a female. Because shortly after that heartbreaking experience I found out Bob had come out of the closet. It apparently only took his first kiss to realize that our fairy tale had opened his eyes to the fact that he preferred men.
Moral of the story? All first kisses can be fairy tales. Some just tend to have a little more fairy than tale, if you catch my drift.
* Names have been changed
Photo Credit
“Disney Princesses” Brianna Garcia ™ 2006 Squidoo.com
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Great story! I love it.