Somewhere between the Navesink River and Shrewsbury River on the aptly named Avenue of Two Rivers, in a house next to the guy who would become Rumson’s police chief one day, I got my first kiss. It was an early afternoon on a school day. We were in a house that had two apartments in it. A friend of ours lived in one with her mother. Her mom was at work, and a few of us use to hang out there after school. My girlfriend and I were two of them. I got a kiss from her at this house, not the one she lived in a few doors south next to the Oceanic Free Library.

Funny, I remember that kiss. I am pushing 60 this year, and the memories are fleeting. I also recall this kind young girl being one of the easiest going people I have ever known. If something went wrong or happened unexpectedly, she simply sighed, “oh well.” That was it—no drama, ever. In a few years, she would go to college in Colorado and never return to Rumson to live.

Fast forward a few decades, and through the magic of the internet, I reconnected with the first girl who would kiss me. We found each other and exchanged emails for a couple of years, and once again, she disappeared from my radar. It was fun sharing stories, past and present. We talked about our lives, how we had grown up and now had families of our own. Here one minute and gone the next. Oh well.

Time passes, people pass too. The police chief on Ave of Two did. Next, another former chief and my mom and dad who knew them both. The street is still the street, I was on it yesterday, but everything has changed, everything!

Peace, chris

p.s. I will be around here daily, making an end of year run with my writing. The pandemic is when I started doing this, so with its next wave, I will try to provide a laugh/tear or two for a while.

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