HAIL RICE A RONI

Since it is Valentines Day today I thought I would write about my first boyfriend, the first man that I loved.

We used to hang out in the backyard of my house, and talk about the world and all the things that were happening in the neighborhood. How many ice pops we could eat before we got an ice cream headache and debate the differences between smooth peanut butter and chunky. His favorite action hero was Superman, and mine was Catwoman.

I adored him. My stomach would flip flop with butterflies when ever he would walk by me, which was quite often. He was a little older than me, but that was ok. I remember his blonde hair, cut close to his head, and his smooth skin. Strong legs and muscled arms he was the original Norse man. His face was bronze from being out in the sun all day. My heart would beat so loudly when he was near me, I would be afraid he would hear the pumpa, pumpa, pumpa.

I remember the first time be kissed me. We were outside on my parent’s porch, drinking root beers on a hot, summer afternoon. All our friends had gone home and we were sweaty from playing softball.

We were laughing about how many freckles I had on my face, and he was starting to count them with his forefinger. The feel of his breath on my face, his lips so close to mine was almost unbearable. He had begun to count the freckles around my mouth when he suddenly stopped. I could see the iris of his eyes and he just looked into mine. The smell of our mixed perspiration was intoxicating.

All of a sudden, he jerked forward and kissed me on the lips, a big SMACKing noise. Then he smiled, turned red and said, “gotta go.” He stood up and ran home.

His name was Nicky Rice. I was seven years old and he was nine. He was my first boyfriend and it’s his kiss by which all others are measured.

Happy Valentine’s Day Nicky, wherever you are.