So Esperanza has just given me my mod shag afro - my first mod haircut!

Then she does something that I totally don’t expect…something I would have believed there was no possibility of ever happening. She kisses me!

I mean, it isn’t just a peck on the cheek, either. She kisses me right on the mouth!

Oh my God! I think she even slips in a little tongue, too. At least, it feels like a tongue - or what a tongue might feel like. Her lips and her tongue actually taste sweet. Maybe it’s her lip-gloss, I don’t know. And her breath… it feels hot - and fresh - like Dentyne. Now I have just been kissed by the most beautiful girl in the world!

Who would have ever thought that by risking my life to go work out at the PAL that it would ever turn into something like this? The chattering and tittering which has been raging throughout the shop now transforms into shrill whistles. I sit there, right in the middle of the sweetest dream I’ve ever had in my life. I close my eyes. One of the ladies comes over, and puts a glass of water in my hand. Esperanza laughs.

“The haircut’s on me, baby, but I gotta get back to work now, OK? I got customers”.

I think I drank the water. I believe I waved goodbye. I have a slight recollection of staggering over to the bus stop. The next thing I know, I’m on Chestnut Street, three blocks from my house. I have just sprinted about five miles, without even realizing it! It’s right then that the magnitude of the event shakes me - Oh my God, she wants to be my girlfriend! She must! I mean, she kissed me, right? She gave me a haircut. Yes- yes- she must be in love with me!

As I reach my house, strutting into the dining room all flushed and giddy, dinner is already underway. The usual suppertime clamor stops abruptly, all eyes trained on me in stunned disbelief.

“What in God’s name happened to your head?!” My father finally bellows.

“Joseph?! What is that in your ear?!” My mother shrieks, referring to my gold hoop earring I forgot to remove.

“Oh my God, he looks like - Leo Sayers!” cries out my sister, Maryanne.

“No-no - Peter Frampton!” chimes in my other sister, Karen.

“No…he kinda looks like-like- Lionel Richie!” One-ups Maryanne.

“Where did you go?! I know Jack the Barber didn’t give you that haircut!” exclaims my mother.

“Jack the Barber still uses Brill Cream.” I retort.

“What the hell is wrong with Brill Cream now?” My father demands.

I sit down at the table, grinning and obviously very pleased with myself. The food, although it’s only macaroni and cheese (my father is still out of work), has never tasted so good to me, the flavors never so distinctive, so sharp. Amidst all the uproar, I experience a feeling of deep down satisfaction. 

I start humming The Allman Brothers - ‘Lord I Was Born a Rambling Man.’