Love’s First Spark

It’s decades since I last laid my eyes upon his sun spun hair and deep green eyes reminiscent of the sea that took his life. Our love still haunts my heart. Sometimes I wonder if he is haunting me now.

We were part of a group of teenagers off on a two-week house painting excursion at the lake house of his aunt, far from the familiar coastal waters that bordered our hometown and far from parental oversight. Even though his cousin was my best friend and he was just a grade above me in high school, we had never met until that summer.

I don’t remember anything about painting the house or how we ended up in a canoe, alone in the middle of a lake on star-studded summer night where the air caressed our skin with its sweet temperature. But our first kiss — that memory lingers.

What we talked about before he first kissed me and what we talked about afterward, all those words dissipated long ago except his question:

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

I almost laughed. What teenager asks that before making the big move? I guess one in the middle of a lake sitting on a tippy canoe opposite his current attraction. How else could he explain standing up and walking toward me. That maneuver isn’t done, ever, without some decent premise. That maneuver will rock any boat but is destined to rock a canoe — maybe even flip it.