first kiss

I was at youth group with my best friend Richard. We put our arms around each other’s shoulders and swayed along to the slow worship songs. I felt the lyrics form deep below his back and was sure I was close to God. Everyone touched each other during worship in those days. The laying on of hands. It was nice. Everyone likes to be touched, makes you feel a part of something, makes you feel the connection to God has to be real if people are touching the shoulders of strangers over it.

After the last song, the worship leader slung the guitar behind his back, spread his right hand across his chest, reached his left hand over the congregation of middle-schoolers, and prayed that we be touched by the ensuing message, that our souls be shaped by it, that we be open to the Word of the Lord. Then Pastor Phil took the stage, giving the worship leader a low five on the way.

He asked us how we were feeling and told us to give the sign of peace to the folks around us. “Tell someone you love ‘em!” he shouted into the microphone, and I told Richard, meaning it truly. I loved him; we were close as brothers. He returned the statement, and I turned to the freckled girl next to me whom I had only seen a couple of times before, had never met. Her glasses were big, and her hair was long. I thought she was very beautiful. I told her I loved her. Jesus says you’re supposed to love everyone, and so I loved her. She said thanks.

When the sermon began in earnest, Richard and I were rapt. Pastor Phil dazzled us with well-reasoned arguments for the faith. He transitioned into the meat of the sermon: the damage of sexual sin. We were in middle school, after all, and needed to hear it, lest our bodies be subject to the whims of Satan. He told us to be careful what we allowed into our eyes, because the eyes were windows to the heart. He addressed pornography more directly, and premarital sex. Then he met my eyes alone. He said that we must not give into the tide of culture. He said that homosexuality was a sin, and one which would land the sinner directly in Hell upon death. He didn’t take his eyes from me until he changed the subject again. When his eyes moved on, I found myself looking around to see if anyone had noticed, and Richard was looking at me, his eyes fearful. He never talked during a sermon, taking care to mind the preacher, but now his mouth was open, and he was saying he hoped he wasn’t gay; he didn’t want to go to Hell.

“Me too,” I said, as Phil began explaining the intermediary for all sins, the name by which every person, no matter his vice, was saved. Richard wasn’t listening to Pastor Phil. He was still looking at me, breathing somewhat heavily. “How do we know?” he whispered. I told him it was just something you knew, I guess. Off the cuff I said, “there’s really only one way to know. His eyes widened. He said he had to know. He couldn’t leave the building unsure.

After the sermon we gave our friends side-hugs, tore off our nametags and snuck behind the church. In the shadow of the building I felt his hands on my side. His never-shaved stubble grazed my chin, and his lips touched mine. He put his fingers in my hair and tilted my head to the side, and I opened my mouth to give him room. After ten seconds I closed my mouth. He released my head and stepped backwards one step. “I guess we’re gay,” he said sadly. I said I guessed so. With about a yard between us, we walked back to the front of the building where Richard’s mother was waiting in her grey minivan. She told him to get in, and asked where he’d been. “Just taking a walk with Sam,” he said. “Had to talk through some stuff.” She said hello, and I greeted her back. “Bye, Sam,” said Richard without emotion. His eyes were confused. I told him bye.

While I was waiting for my ride, I sat away from the other kids, wondering what the big deal was with kissing. It felt scary to have kissed someone finally, and for it to have been Richard. I sat with my head in my hands, looking at my feet. It felt scary being gay and knowing my fate after death was sealed. Another pair of legs strode into my field of vision. I looked up. It was the girl on the other side of me during the worship service. “Thanks for saying that in there,” she said. In the distance a name was called. She looked behind her at the row of cars where a man was leaning out the window of a blue sedan. “Sheila!” her father called again. The girl yelled that she’d be right there.

Shelia turned back to me and repeated her thanks. I couldn’t say anything. My mind was everywhere, and she was beautiful. I saw her freckled face lean in and felt her kiss my cheek. She pulled back and smiled. I didn’t say anything, but smiled bigger than I ever had. A chaperone came by and told her that wasn’t acceptable behavior. She giggled and ran off towards the sedan. My heart was beating 1000 beats per minute as the chaperone said to himself, “well, I guess it could be worse,” and waddled away.