my first sin was a young american girl

A couple of days ago Bill and I hung out. We got my money back on a car battery, we had lunch, we went shopping. Our shopping consisted of a single stop at a LEVI outlet. I bought some pants, some skinny jeans, something I have been enjoying lately. Bill bought some pants too. I knew the girl who rang up our purchases.

It was Kimmy Martinez. The first girl I ever kissed.

And by kissed, I mean kissed. Behind a church, after a youth church meeting; tongue, teeth and erections.

(For the longest time when I was making out, I was aroused. It still happens today. Some women inspire the hardest erections with the slightest touch. I am fourteen.)

So there she was, working part or full time at a retail establishment that saw less than 35 customers a day. And she looked the same, how I remembered her. Her body was slimmer, her face was the same. I caught her looking at me the way she periodically did back then; head down a little, eyes pushed up as high as possible, as if she was a librarian looking over her reading glasses. For a second I was thrown back to those days, being 14, knowing nothing about women, but wanting to know everything. I wondered what it would be like to kiss her now, but that thought soon left with the realization that it could never happen again, and it shouldn't.

See, she has a boyfriend, and a child, and what would appear to be a full time job. Her parents live in San Francisco, one brother is married, one is toiling away in a horrible band, at least the last I heard that was the case.

And me...

Some ways I am the same. Parents in different places. In some ways I am different. No children, no siblings, no significant other.

So we said goodbye. Said it was good to see each other. Said we hoped to see each other again.

And that was probably the biggest lie of them all.