on Malcom X, kissing and being 12.
The first time I watched Chaplin, I was in seventh grade and I made out with the same boyfriend during its entire four hour playing time. I never saw Chaplin a second time.
We used to choose the longest movies because our parents would drop us off when the movie started, and pick us up as soon as it was over. We figured four-hour flicks gave us the most “together” time. This really meant alone time. Time for making out. Only, I had a strict fear of tongues. And I made it clear, from day one, that I would not French kiss him. In fact, one day after school was out but before volley ball practice, we had planned to meet in the stairwell and have our first kiss. Actually, our friends set it up, we were just supposed to show up and lock lips. I waited in that stairwell for what seemed like hours. I was nervous and sweaty and thankful that I had just gotten contacts so I didn’t have to worry about my glasses bumping his. He showed up right on schedule and he didn’t even say hello. We didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at each other. And if he was feeling at all similar to what I was feeling, he wanted to run away and hide. I was sure I would puke any second. But I had to tell him. I didn’t want to be a tease. And so, I said, and I quote, “Just so you know, I am not going to French kiss you.” And that was that. He stood on his toes (because I think I was taller than him) and gave me the shortest peck I have ever received.
So those four-hour makeout sessions were really just a mess of lips and lips. No tongue. No spit. It was pretty hard to keep a continuous flow of kissing going because of my strict rule. But somehow, we managed. We must have looked like idiots.