I had never sat on the back row at a movie theater before. There was really no point because you couldn't see as well. Anytime someone opened the door, they let all this light in from outside. Not to mention the fact that the glowing red EXIT sign above the doorway was going to annoy me the whole time.
I guess it didn't really matter though. I had already seen the movie.
It was October 1999, I was fourteen years old, and my mom had just dropped me off at the Nippers Corner movie theater to see a matinee with a boy. It was my first date. Ever.
David Warren was a junior at Overbrook. I was a freshman. Less than five months prior to our movie date, I had been a middle school student. David was tall, pale skinned and blue eyed. He had dark hair that he bleached in the front. He was built like a teddy bear, with cheeks that puffed a little bit when he smiled. He grew a goatee to combat this quality, a feat that I had never seen a boy do so close to my age. But again, I had only been in high school for a little over two months.
David had confessed to my good friend Shana that he had a crush on me when we were at a speech tournament on the TSU campus. I had been frustrated with myself for not getting high marks on my performances and didn't even notice when Shana and David were giggling and pushing each other toward me.
Instant messenger and the speech and debate class I visited on occasion to practice my pieces provided a backdrop conducive to flirting, and before I knew it, I had followed David into the middle of the back row at a showing of The Sixth Sense.
"Does't that light bother you?" I asked, pointing breifly at the glowing exit sign.
David looked at me in what could have been perplexity before answering, "Not really."
We sat there, hands placed awkwardly on our knees. I remembered being scared the first time I saw the movie, but now I couldn't keep my mind off the fact that I was sitting next to David. A junior. Who had a goatee. None of my friends had been on a date like this before. If you cut out the part where my mom drove by and dropped me off, it was like a real date! Like tv! Like the movies!
David reached over suddenly and grabbed my hand. I almost recoiled thinking he didn't mean to, but realized my error and let out an audible and surprised little "oh!"
"You didn't tell me it would be this scary," he whispered in my ear. His breath was kind of hot.
His hand was much softer than mine, and warm. It might even have been a bit moist. He squeezed, and moved his thumb back and forth over mine. Every movement was so small, yet it set off little butterfly explosions in my stomach.
As the movie wore on and got scarier, dead people cropping up just about everywhere, and David seemed as distracted as I was. He kept turning his head to look at me. He leaned into my shoulder a little bit and would turn his head real slowly.
What the hell was he doing?
I looked away and he'd move his head back, but I knew he wasn't watching the movie. I turned and looked at him first this time. Was I gazing dreamily enough? I felt so awkward! He caught the movement at the turn of my head and turned his to meet my gaze. He leaned in just the tiniest bit.
This was it! I knew it! He was gonna kiss me!
--I turned away again. Maybe I was delusional. This was our first date out. Why would he wanna kiss me. Then, I thought, hey, I'm at the back of a movie theater. We're obviously not watching the flick. I better stop being lame and do this thing.
I turned back to him.
He turned back to me.
There was blue light from the screen illuminating the side of his face, because he was turned fully toward me. What an awkward position. My fingers were falling asleep from leaning and maintaining my hold on his hand.
We leaned toward each other, me ever so slightly. I didn't want him to think I was asking for it. I'm not presumptuous, I said to myself quickly, I'm along for the ride.
His face hit mine and he smelled like... boy. He smelled like warm breath. His lips were on mine and it sent a little jolt of energy like a wave all the way down the length of my body. My fingers were still numb but I could tell he was stroking them. What awkward brilliance! I thought. He really likes me!
Then he opened his mouth, and like I knew what I was doing, I did too. His tongue went into my mouth ever so slightly. Holy crap, I thought, who'd have known someone else's tongue would feel like that. All cool and wet and hard? Spongy, even. His goatee wasn't a problem, but when I kissed the sides of his face they were scratchy with stubble. His little blue eyes peered out from under his brows expressionless.
We made out for a good 15 or 20 minutes. It was the same thing the whole time, our hands firmly planted on my side of the arm rest. I laughed at his reaction to the end of the movie. He looked at me and mouthed "oh my god, really?" and we giggled like school children, which of course, really, we were. All I could think about was would-I-ever-get-to kiss-him-like-that-again?
When we saw my Dad waiting outside to pick me up, David finally let go of my hand, smiled, said he'd see me at school, and walked off toward his car. My hand was all warm and soft from being held in his, and I stared at it as we drove home, having little to say. My mom sat on the edge of my bed, all smiles, and asked me how it had been. I held back my grin and said that "a certain Drew Barrymore movie did not apply to me anymore."
Thats exactly how I phrased it, too. I've never forgotten that part.
I could not say, any more, that I'd never been kissed. My mom has since said she might regret letting me go to the movies with David.
He lost his interest in me quickly. The very next week at school he kept saying the same thing over and over, "Do you think we're moving too fast? I mean, really. Do you?"
And what the hell was that supposed to mean to me?! I had never "moved" at all!
"The pace. At which. We are going. Right now. Is fine." I felt put off by his angsty request. It was almost like he felt bad. Like he regretted the whole thing.
We hung out for a while, he took me home from school a few times. I gave him a christmas present. It was a fancy leather bound journal. "So you can write your songs in it," I said. I knew it was a crap gift for a guy. But I couldn't decide what you got your sort-of boyfriend. He never said he was my boyfriend. In retrospect, I think thats what he meant about "moving too fast."
I forced myself not to be disappointed when he told me he didn't want to "hang out" any more. Instead I got angry. I had signed up for an overnight speech tournament because I knew he was going. I knew it was 3 hours away, and I knew that school buses were great places to get cozy.
We weren't cozy. He didn't sit with me, and he called me over to him just long enough to let me know our "hanging out" days were over.
"I'm... going back to my seat," I said, and I did. I'm used up, I told myself. It's started. You are a piece of paper with a hole in it. You've been hole punched. I thought to myself. I remember thinking that so clearly. I stared straight ahead at the drivers big rear view mirror. I didn't cry. There wasn't anything to cry about. This is so stupid! I thought, and I got so angry. I was angry the whole trip.
"Why are you mad at me? Why are you mad?!" he kept asking. Over and over, every freakin day we were there.
I don't know why I was so mad.
Maybe its because he'd played me, in a way. Maybe it was because he should have known I was young. I was little. I was dreamy and I didn't understand him not following the natural progression. He hadn't given me anything for Christmas. He hadn't called me very often. He didn't want to eat lunch with me at school. He didn't call me his girl friend. I think, now, that I was mad at myself for getting played and thinking it was acceptable.
Ten years later, I'm 25. I still get played sometimes. Too many times. Occasionally I'm still "along for the ride," like I told myself I was in the movie theater.
If I had only known then,
years before all the bad crept in,
what I know now.
Maybe I could have saved myself from something.
But, you know, when you're fourteen, and you're fake-watching an M. Night Shyamalan movie with your junior crush, you're not really thinking about the future. It escapes you. Come on! Its your first kiss!
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