#6 THE NONDESCRIPT BOY WITH NO FACE
The snippet of a story of how I sucked face in a high school parking lot with a boy who was, sadly, very unremarkable in my memory
The story about First Kiss’s new girlfriend’s brother – let’s call him “the boy with no face” – is going to be a short one because there are not too many details to share. Read the story about my first kiss and first heartbreak here.
If I didn’t have track practice, I’d have to take the yellow school bus the long, eighteen-or-so-mile journey from Nashville, Georgia to Alapaha, Georgia, which with the many stops down winding dirt roads took more than the promised twenty minutes. Often, the school bus ride was hot and sweaty and sometimes I’d fall asleep.
Despite taking Driver’s Ed around the age of fifteen with my favourite track coach, Coach JP (initials), I didn’t get my driver’s license until my freshman year of university. Besides, even if I had had my licence, I didn’t have a car.
I knew one hot senior who worked a million (hyperbolic, of course) hours so he could pay for his flash truck (he’s still hot but now lives in California as a personal trainer; we haven’t spoken since high school), and other high schoolers were given their own cars either bought by their parents new and sometimes pre-owned.
Some, like one of my best friends, we will call him Jerry, had a well-to-do farming family so his parents bought him this brand new F-150 that he wanted at the time (he’s now a drama and English teacher at a high school and we met up in Paris one summer) and others, had their parents’ cast-offs or some other pre-owned car, which were still wheels, after all!
Sometimes, my twin best friends, Sarah or Anna, would drive me home with them in their PT Cruiser but I lived on a dirt road in the middle of the woods in one direction and they lived in the other direction after their mama had sold their beautiful big wooden house in town, so that was often out of their way and I had no money to give them for gas.
I’m not sure how exactly after school I’d find myself in the high school parking lot making out with the boy with no face, but sometimes I did. He was the brother of First Kiss’s girlfriend as I’ve said a couple of times. I can’t even remember her name now. I remember she was pretty and had dark hair like me but was maybe in the year above. Anyway, maybe I thought kissing her brother – as he was one of First Kiss’s stoner skater friends – would get him to pay attention to me, but it didn’t work.
All I remember was spending far too many minutes with our faces plastered together. I call him “the boy with no face” because his flippy dark brown hair was so long that it practically covered his entire face. I remember approximately zero details about him because I’m not sure we ever had one single conversation. I don’t even know if our parking lot kissing sessions went on for days or weeks or months. (I think it was a few weeks.)
I didn’t have a crush on him; I didn’t particularly like him (or not like him). I mean he was fine. He was just very much a non-person, nondescript. Not particularly handsome or ugly. Not particularly tall or short. I can’t recall if he was my second kiss or if my Filipino boyfriend was. He may have been a fully-formed, super interesting person – I’m sure he was and now is! But I feel that in my journey to my Yorkshire husband, this nondescript boy was somehow part of it. But, let me just say, we are not Facebook friends and he probably doesn’t remember me either.
I’ll write about Filipino boyfriend next. See you soon.
Don’t forget to check out the other five posts I’ve written, including the one on why I’m writing this newsletter/blog in the first place.
