Scandal in the Backyard

Since my college composition class is what originally prodded my love for writing awake, I decided to start off by sharing some of the stories I wrote as assignments for the class. Some tweaking will be done here and there, because, let's face it: I was 21 years old when I wrote this stuff, and weren't we all a tad idiotic when we were 21? This story is a combination of three narratives called "Moving On", "My New Soulmate", and "Scandal in the Backyard".

I remember being told one day that we were going to move away from our Laguna Hills dwelling. I was devastated. The place of which I was old enough to have conscious memories, the place my brother came home to after his birth, the place I met my best friend, Johnny... we were leaving it behind. Johnny was the hardest to part with. He had been my companion for more than half my five years of life... how could I survive without him? He couldn't come with me. I knew moving far away would be difficult, but for some reason my parents didn't want to raise their children in Orange County. So we packed up like nomads and made the journey to a little town on the Central Coast of California called Atascadero... which means "mud hole". Even so, my parents felt sure something good was waiting for us there. Apparently anything was better than Orange County.

We moved to Atascadero from Laguna Hills, and only spent a year there before relocating to Templeton, the next town north, about seven minutes away. Templeton was home to two things: cows and hillbillies. We moved onto Whippoorwill Lane, and to my sheer delight there was a family two doors down with a girl and a boy. Kim was a year older than me, but Eric was my age... exactly. It took us only one day to realize we had the same birthday and that he happened to be fifty minutes older than I (this, by the way, was something he would use against me in the future any time we had a disagreement... the oldest is always right). Eric had soft white-blond hair, blue eyes, and big white teeth. His lips were always chapped and his skin was always tanned, with a small assortment of freckles scattered across his nose. He was the best looking boy I had ever seen before. I thought he was perfect. All the disappointment in moving had long since disappeared: I had found my new accomplice. In August we went to school together to find out who our new first grade teachers would be. Imagine our bliss when we scanned the lists and found both our names under Mrs. Bailey! We walked away from the school that day a little taller with our arms around each others' shoulders.

Eric and I did everything together for years. Kim became a close companion as well, but for some reason I always migrated toward boys. I would have rather played in mud or tossed a ball around than dress up Barbie dolls or play with Mom's makeup. We rode bikes, scooters, and skateboards, watched movies, played Duck Hunt on Eric's Nintendo, ate mac 'n' cheese, and frolicked in my backyard. One day Eric and I sat in the itchy grass, underneath the fortress we had constructed all by ourselves. Consisting of only chairs and blankets, it was a primitive set up, but it felt like home to us. We were playing house, as we often did; of course Eric was the husband and I was the wife. Somewhere in the midst of me cooking dinner with mud and a shovel, and Eric "coming home from work", one of us decided we should kiss (most likely Eric, the alpha male). Since we were only in the second grade, all we knew was what we saw on TV, which was too complicated, and what our parents did, which was disgusting. So we had no idea where to begin.

As we discussed our plan of action, my heart started to beat faster, not out of nervousness, but from excitement. Eric was my best friend, my soulmate. Who else should my first kiss belong to? Eric suggested that this should be a French kiss, but all we knew was that those required tongues. He, as all good husbands do, continued to take the initiative and instructed me to stick out my tongue. Taking his own advice, he mimicked my action and we both hesitated, with our tongues hanging out. Finally he leaned forward and grazed the tip of my tongue with his own and we both instantly jerked backward, falling over with laughter. We were so rebellious! Quite satisfied with our first kiss, we went about our business, but not before swearing on our lives that no one would ever find out about our fornication.

I suppose in writing this post, I have made a huge breach in that agreement. Oh well, what are the odds that Eric finds my blog and hunts me down? Hmmm... my guess is that we'd just laugh again and throw a joint birthday party.