The following entry was written by Jenijen from NotCalm (dot com).

We were almost to his house when I finally got up my nerve and leaned over to kiss him. D and I were in the back of my mom's old black and tan pontiac sun bird, seatbeltless, driven by my older sister. It was dark outside; early evening in early autumn. I was telling myself things like, "Okay, when we make this turn, I'll do it. If the next song that comes on the radio is good, I'll do it. If he smiles at me, I'll do it." But, you know, I'd never kissed a boy before and I'd spent all spring and summer writing about him in my journal, (which really needs to be shredded, because I was one hell of a rainbow/hearts/butterfly/ Journey, Styx AND Spandau Ballet quoting thirteen year old), recording every time he did or didn't say "hi" to me. I was so scared, I still remember tiny details, like the fuzzy camel-colored carpet between our seats, and the funny shape of the back windows. He had braces and pegged jeans.

There were a couple of false starts. We'd round a corner and lean into each other and let our mouths get so close our noses were touching, but then we'd laugh or cough or just sit back. A new song began on the radio. It was this song; my secret signal from the universe to lean over and kiss him. (Plus, we were almost at his street.) So, I did it. And my sister was cracking up watching us in the rear view mirror, I am sure, since she was eighteen and he and I were thirteen.

Honestly, I don't remember anything after that. I guess we dropped him off at his house and he broke up with me not too long after, because I do remember the blonde girl I saw him cuddling with at a church dance around the holidays. She got to dance in the opening ceremonies at the Los Angeles Olympics in 1984. Which is totally why I never watch the stupid Olympics anymore.

Strangely enough, twenty something years later, I drive by that house when I take my kids to school. I don't usually think about him when I pass by, unless I see his dad out for a walk or his mother on the porch. But there was this one time, not too long ago, when I was going to get the boys from school and I had the girls with me. Sophie loves to change the radio station from her seat in the back with the little buttons on the panel by the window. (van designer obviously had no children!!) She stopped on a 'hits of the seventies and eighties' station, and just as we drove past his house, that song came on. And, of course, it made me remember that wonderful feeling right before I leaned over to kiss him; I don't know that it can even be described, since it is so very uncomfortable and desirable all at the same time. Maybe it's like finding out you won the lottery at the same time you discover you're coming down with the worst flu of your life. Only, not exactly.

I started thinking about how he has kids, and I have kids, and in a few years I am going to have to parent them through, well, through THAT. And while I like to think I can handle watching my kids turn into something like what I was at age thirteen (please, let them be more mature and less geeky, amen.), I know that phase is going to be the hardest for me as their mother. I'm going to be tempted to tell them things they can only learn by experience. Generally, BAD experience. I just want to protect them and see them happy. It's going to kill me to watch them crying because someone broke their heart. And the kids who break my kids' hearts had best be fast runners.

I was on the phone with my mom last week, and she said, "Oh, C died this morning." (C is D's father.) And I felt so sad for him. Sad in the way that you reserve for people you keep close to your heart. I have driven by the house five or six times since then. I haven't seen anyone outside, but I did see extra cars parked at the curb. I'm thinking that he is probably inside, all grown up and grieving and trying to help his mother and siblings.