December 2006: Summer Goldstein

Summer Goldstein was my first kiss.

It was in the basement of a synagogue, right off of Park Avenue. The service for Rachel Abraham’s bat mitzvah had just ended, but the party was just getting started. After stealing a handful of orange schnapps filled mini chocolate bottles (her bat mitzvah theme was “chocolate”), we were feeling pretty loose. So, we decided to play spin the bottle.

I was thrilled. Not only had I never kissed anyone, but my crush, Mike Kowalczyk, was there. To have my first kiss be with Mike would be an absolute dream.

I reached for the bottle, saying a quick prayer to whomever was listening (maybe god? We were in a synagogue after all), and spun.

I watched that bottle like a compulsive gambler at a roulette wheel. It began to slow, and my heartbeat sped up.

And then it stopped.

And landed directly in front of Summer.

Summer Goldstein was the most popular girl in our school, mainly because her boobs came in a full year before the rest of us (frankly, I’m still waiting on mine), but also because of the ease with which she seemed to go through life. An ease that so evaded the rest of us at thirteen.

Truth be told, I didn’t want to kiss Summer. I was a bit of a prude, and a romantic, and I wanted my first kiss to be special (plus I was sure that I was so, so, so straight). But I also didn’t want to seem like a dork in front of the coolest girl in school. So, I puckered up and leaned in. And Summer Goldstein became my first kiss.

Little did I know, it wouldn’t be the last time I kissed Summer Goldstein.