It was the summer between 1st and 2nd grade. Another hot Houston summer bearing down on the vehicles and our playground. Only the brave ventured onto the swings afternoon. The seats were burning hot and roasted your legs quickly into a bright red mass. The most prized toy in the afternoon was a swing seat that somebody else had just gotten off of.
His name was Peter and his birthday was exactly the day before mine. We were also the smallest kids of the "big kids" group. This gave us a distinct advantage during the hoop hop game. The daycare workers would slowly raise the hula hoop higher and higher; the winner was the one that could jump through the hoop at it's highest level. I always took second. Peter always took first place.
The playground was extremely large and even had a shady duck pond to play by. That day my best friend and I decided to get away from everybody else and wandered over pond. We sat cross-legged in the dust facing each other just talking about whatever is exciting in a second grader's life. It was then when I received my first kiss. We just leaned forward and -peck- it was over. But the shrill voice of one the daycare workers calling our names ruined whatever conversation might have continued.
It was quite a walk to the bench where the ladies in charge were hiding from the sun. I really hated to be in trouble and didn't quite know if I had really done something bad. I hated to stand out. It was extremely uncomfortable facing them.
"Do you want each other's phone number?", said the lady. I recall my brain going quite blank at this question. Wasn't I in trouble? The ladies sure thought it a good idea so said sure and we switched phone numbers.
As a kid, I had no use for the phone but I did call him just once. The conversation was about 10 minutes long- and extremely boring. My summer romance had faded. Now it lives on only in this post and a funny story that some now gray-haired ladies probably tell over coffee.