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Friday, June 30, 2006



I was thirteen when my father made me go to the Fourth of July company picnic. I stopped liking to be with my parents a few years earlier. I have no idea why.

It was evening and everyone was waiting for the fireworks. I wandered down to the Trinity River---just to be alone. Barbara--who was also 13, must have had the same idea. She found me whittling a small stick and she sat beside me. I had known Barbara for years. We were friends. The minute she sat beside me I knew something was different between us. She had makeup and a brassiere on.

She was teasing me and I was teasing her when I dropped the small stick I had been whittling. Barbara picked it up and put it in her bra. I told her if she didn't give it back I would take it.

She dropped her hands to her side and said, " Go ahead."

A rush of overwhelming heat engulfed my entire body. I awkwardly slid my hand into her blouse, ignoring the stick, and held her small breast. We stayed in that stance for a few minutes. Then we both walked away silently. She was blushing radiantly--and I couldn't hide my excitement.

It was strange to get to second base before attempting first base. We became acquaintances instead of friends after that. My friends would have busted my chops for not going for the home run. I told no one until now.

Barbara died of breast cancer a few years back. I think of her once a year.

When I was 14 I had one of my best friends died in my arms. She had a heart defect (we found out later) and collapsed in school. I think about her all the time. I feel you brother.
mm, i'm so sorry, that would be strange to hear...on the other hand, to be crass and crude...did you ever get the stick??
Awww that's no good. But at least you both have a fond memory that you'll treasure always :)
I had a friend die of cancer too. Her name was Barb. It was her pancreous. I never touched her pancreous. I don't even know how to spell it.
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