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Daniel

Marni's basement, it must have been 6th grade. One of those stupid kissing games. Seven minutes in heaven? Maybe. She was the equivilent of Charlie Brown's little redheaded girl. And I was, you guessed it, the little bald kid himself. But we were there. In the laundry room, for seven whole minutes. It felt less like heaven and more like Seven Minutes in Sweaty Palmed, Dry Mouthed, Stomach Pumping, What-the-hell-am-I-supposed-to-do-now Hell.

First try: She turned her head and I got a mouthful of hair. Then she said, "Okay, okay, okay." and took a deep breath - like we were about to hold hands and jump off a diving board. Which, in retrospect, we sort of were.

It wasn't exactly fireworks, but it wasn't unmitigated disaster either. It lasted all of 3 seconds. She just walked right back out of that laundry room and sat down in the circle. I don't think I spoke to her again for at least a year after that. The little redheaded girl.

This entry was posted by theheylady, on Tuesday, October 17, 2006.

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