“Thanks for earlier Sean. I really appreciate you coming to me and making me feel better.” Sandy said. “It’s nothing Sandy; you know I’m always here for you no matter what you need. You know that sweetie. That’s what I am here for.” I looked at her not like a sister, but more like a new found interest of the heart. I couldn't help myself and didn't even realize I was doing it. I leaned forward a bit, ran my hand up her back to the back of her head. I pulled her head towards me and I kissed her. Not a brotherly kiss either, I kissed her right on the lips with my mouth slightly open. She responded, not slapping me like I thought she was about to do when I realized what I was doing. No, she kissed me back, hard. She slid her tongue into my mouth and wrapped both her arms around my neck. We broke the kiss and she said, “That was wonderful. You are a much better kisser than that prick Mark.” She hugged me close and tight and I started to realize what we just did. “I’m sorry Sandy, really. He saw himself, and he saw me. He saw what we looked like at age seventeen: he with dark brown hair, nearly black, cut in the popular bowl cut of the seventies, light blue eyes, sparkling at the photographer in mock annoyance, slightly crooked teeth set in an unembarrassed grin and I with long, golden brown hair, green eyes, and a playful smile. He was frozen in time, just like I was every time I looked at that picture. His name was Kenny McBride. He had lived two streets over from me when we were teens, and we had been very close. Kenny would drive past my house in his midnight blue Chevy Nova and turn around at the end of the street. I’d race down from my bedroom and out to the street and we’d sit in his car and talk or we’d ride around our small town and talk. Kenny always told me I was easy to talk to. I always thought he was easy to listen to. The shame of it all was that we had drifted apart as adults. He closed my wallet without removing any money from it – a courtesy for old.
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