Tania was the daughter of the town’s maintenance man.
She was also my first girlfriend. I think.
By 12, I’d probably had some loose schoolyard-ascribed affiliation with Emma and Lorna – with those adorable overalls and the cute way she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.
But it was Tania that I shopped for, picking out a necklace carefully at Coastlands, the eye of our cultural youth. No doubt from Michael Hill.
I don’t remember the pendant, or what it weighed in my hand, but my bones recall the build-up.
We planned to meet at Campbell’s Park, on the seat near the wooden playground and wound-up swings. Tania on my left. Me gently giving her the treasure, professing my feelings, and leaning in for a kiss on her cheek.
It was going to be perfect!
The memory of thinking about it, and planning, remains vivid but I don’t know what really happened. I just can’t tell what’s real or not, though I trust the feelings.
I don’t think my goal stretched that far into the future, beyond sitting with her. I didn’t know what a relationship was anyway so how could I imagine more.
What memory I have – and where it remains it’s a doozy – is anchored to the melancholy ‘Don’t Cry’ by Guns ‘n’ Roses. I cannot hear the song and not be transported into that time, prepubescent body, and the tumult of doubt and excitement that my fantasies wrought on the daily.
For me, it’s as pure a moment as Slash’s note-perfect solo.
Maybe we held hands, maybe we went out for a week. Maybe we married.
I also wonder if Tania was as nervous as me and what she might have been listening to at the time.
I do know that you can’t remember for others, or live it as them.
Years after my first passionate kiss proper with that beautiful soul Petra, I found out that I was also hers and that she wasn’t quite the worldly expert that intimidated me (kindly) so.
That made me laugh, but it made it even more perfect.
WRITING 