It was a few days after Christmas, 1969. I was loaded down with cash gifts from grandparents, uncles, aunts, and others who didn?t have the slightest idea of what to get me. I?m talking tens of dollars here. With the money burning a hole in my pocket, I received a call from a close female friend, Shirley, completely out of the blue. She was going to Willowbrook Mall with a girlfriend, and wanted to know if I would like to join them. I had nothing going on. I had all this sweet do-re-me and I wanted to buy the Crosby, Stills and Nash album released the prior June. It was a no brainer. I met them at the corner of Bloomfield Avenue and Ridgewood Avenue to pick up the bus that would drag us out to the Willowbrook Mall.

Shirley introduced me to Sue. It took, oh let?s see, about 3.7 seconds. Nope, I think less. I?m pretty sure it was when I heard the ?ue? part of her name that I instantly felt something deep inside my chest, a pang right below the top of the rib cage, like an electric shock only it didn?t hurt; it felt really goofy, really exhilarating.

She was beautiful. Her hair smelled like the freshest Breck shampoo for color treated hair I had ever laid nose on. And she was awash in Shalimar perfume, sending my olfactory glands into nasal nirvana.

On the bus ride out to the mall, surprisingly I was taken over by an eerie confidence that pushed me to new heights of comedic wit and flirtatious giggling. Flirtatious giggling? That was novel to me. I was on top of someone else?s game and I was riding this out baby! By the time we had arrived at the mall, I was hooked. Oh boy was I hooked. We had giggled our way into some kind of magic. And the very best part, as I would soon learn later from Shirley, who by then had been ordained the puppet master of Bob?s love world, was that Sue liked me. No, she didn?t just ?like? me, she ?LIKED? me. Grab the oars and row this boat ashore! She ?LIKED? me.

How quickly one?s fortunes change when suddenly plunged into the throes of youthful romantic chase. We walked the long caverns of endless boutiques and anchor stores, laughing and smiling and teasing and touching and laughing some more. To the casual observer, it was probably nauseating quite honestly but I didn?t care. I was entering a wonderful new world and there was little to stop me. I bought the CS&N album. The girls replenished their perfume stock. Before we knew what hit us, it was time to go. We boarded the bus home and I was dancing in heaven. But by the time we arrived back and disembarked where the adventure had all begun, heaven had turned to hell. Such was the fragile nature of my life. I just knew that rejection was moments away. It was all too good to be true.

As the bus pulled away from our stop, dumping an ominous black cloud of monoxide in its wake, all I could immerse my self in was Sue, who by now was wearing a dazzling array of seventeen fragrances she had tested on her delicate soft wrists for me to blushingly critique. The air about her was a beautiful collage for the finely tuned senses of a teen boy in fresh gooey pursuit. It certainly was a wondrous moment. Alas, one that could not last. I decided I would be noble, something I had plenty of practice in, accept her rejection with an empty smile, and cherish the fond memory of the mall.

I took the lead step in the dance of disengagement.

?Well, I guess I have to get going.? As clever a line as I had ever led with.

?Yeah, its dinner time and my brother is picking me up at Shirley?s in ten minutes.?

?Hey Shirls, can you give me a call later after din?? I asked trying not to tip my cards too much.

?Yeah, no problem. I think we have something to talk about.? She was so obvious.

?Oh yeah? You think?? I coyly replied.

?Yeah, we need to talk too Shirls?? Sue added.

My heart sank as I assumed the worse of their pending conversation. I reached deep inside to maintain the high road.

?All right then, I guess that?s that! Everyone needs to talk! Everyone is talkin?!? I didn?t do a very good job. I probably needed to reach deeper.

Unfortunately my old friend panic had let himself in and made himself very comfortable in my thoughts. Was this going to be as good as it gets? Was my breath killing her? Was she just now realizing the lowliness of her affection?

I had to say something but what? What could I possibly say to save this sweet moment from ending like all the others? I found it.

?Okay then ? catcha!? A real pathetic gem that was.

?It was really nice to meet you Bob. I had a really great time.? My inner voice wallowed, ?Yeah right. And I have a nice personality too. Isn?t that what you want to say? Go on. I can take it!?

?Me too, Sue. Take care.? I answered. It was over. I was noble. I turned to Shirley.

?Hey kiddo, talk to ya later!? Shirley was always ?kiddo? to me.

With shoulders drooped, I started my trek home in emotional upheaval. I was feeling exuberance and dread simultaneously. I kept playing the day?s events over and over in my head.

I barely ate dinner that night, which set off all kinds of alarms at home. Mom?s inquisition began: was I feeling okay, did someone steal my money at the mall, was I upset about the Knick loss last night?

?Nope, I am just falling in teenage love for the very first time. That?s all. There is nothing that can be done to save me. I have to travel this journey of the heart alone. I will find my way?somehow. Thank you for inquiring.? I indulged my inner self.

I excused myself from the table to retreat to my sanctuary, listen to ?Suite: Judy Blue Eyes? about forty seven times, and wait for Shirley to call. Finally, the phone rang.

?Hello??

?She really likes you.? She got right to it, a trademark of her no nonsense style.

?Oh God! Really??

?Yeah. She thinks you?re really cute and funny.?

Suddenly another voice.

?Oh my precious Bobby. My little lover boy.?

Damn! It was my little brother Steve. He was a real pitbull of pain when it came to matters like this.

?Hold on Shirls.?

I placed my hand over the phone.

?Hey Pedessy hang up or you?re dead!? I screamed at the top of my lungs. ?Pedessy? was a cruel nickname we had for him.

I listened into the receiver. I could still hear him breathing. He was still on, the little bastard.

?I?m going to chop up your GI Joes! Hang up now!?

I heard a click. I didn?t like playing the GI Joe mutilation card but I was desperate to hear what Shirley had to say.

I removed my hand and continued.

?Sorry about that. It was jerk-head. So where were we? Oh yeah, cute? That?s not good. Cute? Can?t I ever be rugged or athletic or something?? I asked despondently.

I had heard ?cute? before, it was a notch above ?nice personality? but still a kiss of death to ?goin? out?. ?Oh, he?s so cute? as in ?he?s so cute to like me but I could care less??that kind of cute.

?Yeah cute. But in a good way.? Shirls explained.

?In a good way??

?Yes in a good way.?

I took a moment to bask in the words she uttered. She continued. ?She LIKES you!?

?Are you sure??

?Yes, I just got off the phone with her! She wanted to know about your situation. I told her.?

?What situation? I have no situation. I?ve never had a situation. I?m situation free!?

?That?s what I told her?not in those words exactly. I smoothed it out for ya.?

?Smoothed what out? I don?t need smoothing.?

?Yes you do! I told her you were just coming around from a terrible break-up from over a year ago.?

?Oh that?s smooth Shirls!?

?Yeah, I thought you might like it. She thinks you are sensitive and likes that.?

I took a deep breath.

?Wow ... now what??

I had just entered new territory. I was a fish out of water. I was pathetically incompetent and untrained in such matters. Maybe I needed advisement from my younger brothers Rick or Doug or maybe even Pedessy. My mind was racing.

?Listen! There is a get-together tomorrow night at Shnooky?s house. Sue?s going and wants you to come over.? Shnooky was a good kid even though she lived in this weird world where her ?daddy? proudly and publicly called her ?my little Shnooky?; hence the nickname. Visiting her house was like walking onto the set of Father Knows Best.

?Are you positive? Really? She wants me to go??

?Yes! Don?t you get it ? she likes you.?

?Are you going??

?Yeah but not until later. Gotta baby-sit till 9:30.?

?What should I do??

?Well ? you could call her for starters and talk to her.?

?Talk to her? What would I say??

Shirley was losing patience with me. ?You know Bob ? I don?t have time for this right now. Just go. Just be there.?

?Just be ...?

?Gotta go. Catcha tomorrow night. Good Luck!?

?Good Luck??

Click. Dialtone.

My life line was gone in an instant. I was swirling in a sea of uneasiness. I wondered what now; what could I do now?

I immediately ditched the idea of calling her, why take the chance of saying something wrong. So I went to bed counting the hours to Shnooky?s instead.

It was about 6 p.m., Tuesday night, and time to get ready for the big get-together. After washing up with my English Leather soap-on-a-rope during a really long hot shower, I toweled off and sprayed my arm pits and buttocks with Right Guard, enlarging the ozone hole over Antarctica by about fourteen square miles. I crowbarred the goods into two of my cleanest, tightest ?fruit of the loom? briefs for precautionary purposes, as I was acutely aware the night?s activities could easily develop into an uncontrolled and embarrassing situation. After tucking the apparatus in real nice, I put on my recently washed and ironed faded jeans, held nicely in place by my cool surfer belt. I threw on an undershirt, my best long sleeve, 100% cotton, button-down-collar blue oxford shirt (with fag tag attached), thick matching crew socks, desert boots, topping it all off with an old washed out navy blue crewneck sweater. The sweater had a few purposes. Primarily, I was under the delusion that it was quite the look. Also, it was freezing out and I would need the extra warmth. And finally, it might make a useful backup cover should the double binding underpants fail to conceal things in the event of excitement.

Once dressed, I had to work on the face, no easy proposition. Apparently, during the prior night while sleeping, no less than four pimples showed up and five long wispy dark chin hairs. A quick buzz from my trusty rotary bladed Norelco and the chin hairs were history. A splash of British Sterling, well more like a dunking, and I was smelling pretty damn good. I had carefully blended the natural fruity notes from Prell, the woodsy undertones from the English Leather soap, the bold sporty scent from Right Guard, and the raw sexual energy of British Sterling, into a circus of sensuality; all of it coming together like a Schoenberg symphonic poem. This odor thing was very important because it was going to have to mask the pungent stench emitted by the two pounds of Clearasil I was about to cake on the pimples.

With pimples buried, hair combed, and lips caked in Chapstick, I was one happening guy; ready to go out and conquer the night. I managed to get to the dinner table in time to down some grub, avoiding eye contact and communication with Steve the entire time. Successfully accomplished, I raced upstairs, gargled, brush my teeth and popped some sen-sen for added fresh breath insurance. I heard the honk for the ride to paradise. I was on my way.

At arrival, I greeted Mr. and Mrs. Shnooky, and made my way downstairs to the finished basement.

There she was. We made eye contact immediately and I smiled a smile so big that I could feel the plaster-like Clearasil on my zits cracking. She looked so beautiful.

We sat close and talked awhile, staring into each other?s eyes the entire time. I could smell her hair. I was melting. At one point she took my hand in her hand. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. Her hand was warm and soft; her fingers silky smooth to the touch. It wasn?t just skin a felt. It was flesh; wonderful, living flesh. Instantly, alarms were set off from my brain to every nerve ending in my body. I began to shake uncontrollably. I had three thousand layers of clothing on and I was shivering like a dog. I would learn later on in life that I got the shakes with every new hand I held. God damn if that isn?t the weirdest, most annoying, nervous reaction to have. ?Hey are you okay?? she asked in the sweetest disarming voice I had ever heard?the inhaling of her breath shooting electricity down to my toes.

?Yeah, I just have these shakes for some reason. I?m not even cold.?

?That?s weird.?

?You?re tellin? me??

There was an awkward moment of silence. Then she spoke in a whisper.

?Hey, I need to talk to you about something in private. Want to take a walk outside??

I stared blankly. I didn?t hear a word she said.

?We could walk over to the country club. I love the snow. It?ll be fun.? She stopped talking and studied me for some kind of response. I realized I needed to say something but what? I hadn?t heard a thing. I played the tape back over in my mind until I found some key words I could play off of.

?You want to take a walk?? I nervously repeated.

Oh God the touch of her hand was so nice, ?please don?t let go ... please don?t let go ? please, oh please, oh please, don?t let go?.

?I mean sure. We can walk and talk. I mean you can talk while we walk or I can ?? she squeezed my hand and squinted at me with her bright blue eyes, saving me from myself.

?Come on ? let?s go.? She said calmly and led me by the hand up the stairs.

We threw on our coats and hats and exited out the back door to take our walk. Once outside, she put her arm around my waste, and in a reflex reaction I put my arm around her shoulders. I started to shake again. I had never hugged a girl before who wanted to hug me back, but even though it was about twenty degrees out, even though we were swollen from layers of thick heavy clothing, even though I was shaking spastically, and even though my Clearasil was flaking off in crusty chunks, I felt like we were one being.

We continued to make small talk, during which I was able to get her to laugh as we trudged through the snow, crossed the freshly plowed street and walked onto the country club golf course. I didn?t want the moment or feeling to end. It was really dark out, although the dry white snow tended to brighten the way by reflecting what little light passed on by. It was hard to tell from the drifting snow but I think we were walking across a green when she suddenly stopped and turned to face me.

?I?m really getting a little cold.? She lifted her arms up and grabbed the collar of my coat. I placed my arms around her waste.

?Remember, I wanted to talk to you in private,? she whispered, her minted breath filling the crisp night air, dancing into my soul.

I started shaking again. Here it comes, ?nice personality?. I was so short on confidence of any kind. I decided to end this torture as gallantly as I could.

?Yeah, I remember. Hey, look. You don?t have to say ...?

But before I could finish playing the noble reject again, she turned to step into me, her lips puckered and they were headed my way. Just as she was about to make contact, she stepped off the lip of a giant sand trap we unknowingly were standing precariously above. In my effort to grab her as she slid into the trap, my feet went out from under me and I rolled down the slope, crashing into her at the bottom, some eight feet down. We both began to laugh as she pushed me down and sat on top of me. And we laughed. Then we laughed a little less, and a little less until the only sounds one could hear were those of our silence and stare. And then she leaned down and kissed me.

What I remember most was that our teeth smacked into each other. I feared I had broken one of her upper incisors. So I pulled back. She smiled. No blood. I could see that I hadn?t injured her. Undaunted she tried again. This time we were fine and life for me had changed.

For more hours than I wish to reveal, I have wrestled with capturing in words what I had felt at that precise instant. After many really awkward attempts, I realized I have neither the vocabulary nor the ability to do so. However, I have concluded that is okay. I think what I was attempting to do is akin to capturing the majesty of the Grand Canyon in a picture taken by a cell phone camera. It can not be done. And for those who have tried either, they understand what I mean.

I will leave it at that?on Tuesday, December 30th, 1969 at 8:23 p.m., life for me had changed.

This is a Reader's Digest version of a short story written by humorist Robert Crane from his collection of stories titled, "Still Living in the Sixties". They are free to read at his popular website: http://www.cranelegs.com