Of First Kisses

Memory is hazy.

But the details of a first kiss are crystal.

I've got five things on my mind tonight, all of them rolling around in a frightening symbiosis.

The first of which is cosmology. I'm reading Brian Greene's "The Fabric of the Cosmos" which is more or less a light introduction to quantum mechanics and the state of the universe as we know it. I'm at the part where a subatomic particle doesn't function like a bullet, it acts like a wave. It doesn't really exist, it only has a probability. Like, if no one is looking at the moon, its not really there. But when measured, the probability wave collapses, and only the single aspect of the measurement can ever be known. You can know its location but never it's speed. You can determine it's rate of spin, but only along one axis. Don't even bother to ask me what I mean.

I've decided I don't really like quantum physics.

Especially not at night.

Especially not after two glasses of wine.

The second thing I'm thinking about is Thursday night's show.

My friends where there. My family was there. Everyone had a good time. I played too fast. I forgot lyrics. My voice hit many bad notes. But my arm was okay. And I didn't die the next day as I went to work. And even though I know that there is something inside of me that makes possible a universe in which I am a talented musician and songwriter and performer, I can't shake this sensation that I have failed in a fundamental way.

What might I have been like had I not chosen a life over a dream?

Miserable, probably. But just like those stupid protons, my probability wave has collapsed. And we'll never know.

Third, I'm thinking of my father.

His mom, my grandmother, just died.

And I won't bother to eulogize her because there are far better writers in the family for that sort of thing.

But I will say this;

I've never seen my father sad before.

Angry, yes. Frustrated, yes. Melancholic about what night have been, sure.

But never sad.

Never mournful.

And I am sure that he has had his fair share of tragedy. The death of friends. The death of dreams.

But my dad is a half full glass kind of guy.

He had to be. He's been mending us broken winged blackbirds his entire life.

He once told me that he had never thought of suicide, which was a shock to me since I have contemplated it from the day I was ten, and every day afterwards, till I held my newborn son in my arms.

The luxury of parenthood.

But dad is sad. And it's what he needs to be. And there's nothing I can do.

That probability wave has collapsed and as much regret as there might be in the universe, there's no calculation of sadness for a man who misses his mom.

Fourth, and this is by no means in order of importance, Calvin asked me how old I was.

"thirty two" I said.

"When will you be three, like me" he said.

"Daddy's never gonna be three again." I said.

"But . . . I'm gonna be 'one' someday." he replied.

"Sorry sweety. You can only go up." I said.

"But I want to be 'one'" he yelled.

"Nope. You can only be four. and then five. and then six. But you can never be 'one'" I told him.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Cause you can only go up." I replied.

"Oh . . . " he said.

And in that moment, I gave a three year old his first introduction to mortality. His first introduction to the collapse of his probability wave.

Fifth.

Shanna Guzman.

My first kiss.

Silverwood Middle School.

Ten feet from my locker. Fifteen from my English class.

I had a crush on her for longer than I can remember. One day we started to talk. One day we started to have long phone conversations. One day I rode my bike miles to her house.

She was into the B-52's and wore cool clothes and had her bangs aqua-netted into the stratosphere.

We started going steady on a Monday.

In the last moments before recess was over on that Monday, with her friends several feet away giggling, we decided to kiss.

The reason I say "decided" is because I was unbelievably shy and she had to talk me through the whole thing.

"Do you think we should kiss?" she said.

"That would be nice." I mumbled

"I think we should kiss" she asserted.

"Uhh, okay"

and then I leaned down toward her, calling upon every ounce of courage the universe could bestow upon me.

And touched her pink glossed lips with my trembling chapped mouth.

And then I scurried away to class.

The next day, standing by my locker, with the same giggling friends just feet away, she told me that she didn't want to be my girl friend.

"Okay" I said. But I kept the wallet sized photo of her on my wall for months.

Shanna Guzman friended me on facebook today.

I don't know what I might have been to her. Or why she would even remember who I was. But she was my first kiss and I'm overwhelmed with curiosity.

What might have happened if I wasn't such a loser? We went to different high schools. We never talked but in passing. Her life is her own. My life is my own.

Alas . . .

That probability wave too . . .

. . . has collapsed.

There's too much going on in this life to quantify meaning.

Brian Greene, I hope you love what the universe means to you. but write a cheerier book next time.

Friends and Family, I hope you had a good time at my show. You keep me believing that I can live a life and dream my dreams.

Dad, mourn. be depressed. be angry and sad. hate the universe. nobody needs you right now. but don't be afraid to tell me you need some love.

Calvin, sucks dude. but grandpa will probably get you that motorcycle for your fourth birthday. Which is nice.

Shanna, love and kisses.