The first time I kissed her was in Dolores Park. I was cold, and she was beautiful. The park was particularly empty, but given the time of year this came as no surprise. I know what the date was, believe me on this account; the day is heavy in my photo album. I spent an eternity sitting next to her on a park bench, awkwardly divided by a pardon to prevent laying down. Can you tell I was nervous?
‘I’m gonna say her name, and when she looks at me, I’m gonna kiss her.’-Me, inside my head.
That is exactly what I did. I said her name. She looked into my eyes. I put my hand on her face and drew her lips to mine. She kissed me back; she touched my leg! If I had realized the implications of that all at once, I would have literally fainted.
We continued to walk, and spent a long time side by side, occasionally holding hands. We roamed the Castro, and headed back down to the Mission. I didn’t get to taste her again until we returned home.
The next day, my co-worker would tell me a story. Of how he saw an angel in the Mission.