My First Girlfriend - Part III

She was wearing a white cotton blouse patterned with small red flowers, a pair of white Keds and blue jeans. The blouse buttoned up, but also had a pair of cotton strings so you could tie it at the top. She left them undone.

Her eyes were green, dark, like emeralds twinkling in the reflections that bounced playfully off of the pool. She wore makeup, but not a lot. She didn't need it. She was pretty without it.

Her dark brown, shoulder-length hair perfectly framed her gorgeous face, a few strands pulled back in a small pony tail that laid flat against the back of her head. A dimple on both sides of her mouth completed the perfect symmetry.

I found her sitting in the bleachers when I rounded the corner and started up the aluminum stairs. I felt a bullfrog jump into my throat and sit there the second I saw her. I was nervous, more nervous than I'd ever been, and looking back at Donnie I knew I looked it. He waved me on with both hands, so I turned back to my destiny.

Putting my shaking hands in my pockets, I continued to walk toward her. She turned and looked at me, smiling, and I felt the muscles in my knees begin to weaken. Mustering my strength and every ounce of courage I had, I stretched out my hand to shake hers. She was an angel.

"Hi," I said, my voice quivering ever so slightly. "What's my name?"

Excuse me?

The first time in your life you talk to a female like this and that's what you come up with?

Realizing what I'd just done and flustered beyond repair, I felt my tongue expand until it filled my mouth. My teeth began to chatter and sweat started flowing over my brow. Suddenly it was 100 degrees in that building and my brain screamed "Stupid!" over and over. My legs began to shake almost uncontrollably as she grabbed my hand and laughed playfully.

"Hi. MY name," she said, "is Kathy."

Gently cupping my hand in both of hers, she said, looking me straight in the eyes, "It's nice to meet you."

I let out an immense sigh and giggled nervously, like a school girl who'd just been introduced to the captain of the football team. Her smile captivated me, as if I'd just looked into the eyes of a muse, or at the very face of Aphrodite herself. But somehow, it put me at ease and I said, "Hi, my name is Stefan."

We sat and talked for a couple of hours, until it was time to go to dinner. We spent the rest of the day together, including the dance that night, holding hands like we'd known each other for years.

After the dance, and after I walked her back to her dorm, I lay awake in my cot, trying to recreate in my mind the way she looked, smelled and sounded. For another two years I couldn't get her out of my mind. She was my first love, and so will always be special. There were quite a few who came after her, but she wasn't the one I eventually fell in love with and married.

But she was the first. My first love. My first kiss. My first breakup. All before I was 18.

Of course, now being 51, I stopped thinking about her many, many years ago. I'm happily married to the woman of my dreams with children of our own, a couple of cars and a mortgage that would choke a horse. But every now and then, even 35 years later, the thought of my first time talking to a real, live girl creates a smile on my face that no one else can really understand.