My First Kiss

I was a baby when he died, not in age but experience. I was still waiting for the blush of my first real kiss. 

He wasn’t interested in my beautiful older sister, nor my stunning friends. He was the first to see something past my tom-boy, sporty facade. It was easier to be tough and one of the boys instead of chasing them. He saw past that and held my hand. 

I was the first girl he kissed on my basement couch, with my parents upstairs on a Sunday afternoon. It will be almost  30 years since his passing and I can still hear myself scream when my father told me the news that Sandy was killed in a car accident. I was suffocating in my own body, I couldn’t breath. I just cried. 

I look back now and see how broken my spirit was. My family was supportive, loving and listened. My teenage friends did not understand, nor did I. 

That event estranged me from myself and my cohort. I was lost. I slept in his hockey jersey for months. 

As soon as I finished high school, complete with a smattering of unfulfilled relationships occupying my time, I left for university. 

I applied and was accepted to three universities. I chose the one the farthest away to forget and start fresh. When I return home I realize it’s the brave ones who stay and face the demons of the past. I ran and on days like today I am still running from those memories. 

Always in my heart, never forgotten…Sandy 

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