We had a girl in our neighborhood we callously dubbed The Community Chest. I recall her first name only but I’ll keep that to myself. Instead, I’ll call her Lee. After all these years, she deserves her privacy. According to my friends, she was the only girl we knew who would allow boys to touch her, their first experience with sex. I spent many an afternoon hearing my friends tell of their conquest of her, a girl featured in our dreams. Dream I did, often to my embarrassment. Thankfully, my mother never said anything to me about my stained sheets. Lee was pretty, a bit overweight, smart in class and sweet. Like most of the girls I grew up with, she was Jewish. On holidays, she and her friends would hang out in on one corner front of the synagogue while the boys staked out the opposite corner.

We were all approaching fifteen. Lee, though was special. She carried herself as someone older and she appeared to understand her sexuality. At least how we defined it. According to the guys, she gave of herself freely when they were with her. For some odd reason I could never bring myself to be alone with her. Among other things my father taught me, was to always be gentle with a woman and to treat her with utmost respect. He said we are bigger, stronger and have more courage than they do. It should not be a man’s way to physically lord himself over a woman.

For all Lee’s surface self-esteem, not that I called it that, I thought her vulnerable. In my way, I became her protector. I am not sure what I was protecting her from, but I assumed the mantle of the good guy among the raucous pack I ran with. When we hung out in the schoolyard, on street corners or near the local luncheonette on Newkirk Avenue, she hovered near me as if I had the ability to save her from them, the guys and ultimately herself. I think. Being her protector did not extend to taking her home. I had no idea what she did after we went home our separate ways, despite the stories I had heard.

One night I decided to change my standing with Lee. I got up my courage and volunteered to walk her home. She said yes. We left. The pack watched us depart, smiles on their faces as I turned to wave goodnight. We headed toward Glenwood Road, a dark street with a center aisle of trees and shrubs, one of the nicest stretches in our neighborhood. It was Fall and cool. The night was quiet. Her hand reached for mine. I eagerly accepted it. Despite the falling temperature, her touch was moist. It was a strange feeling, yet welcoming. As we walked, I became more excited. I tried not to show it. We talked about school, homework, our friends. We walked onto one of the many small bridges on Glenwood Road that linked one side of the street to the other. We stopped. I took her in my arms as actors did in the movies. Having no other role models, I tried to copy what they did on screen. It was the first time I kissed a girl in a romantic setting. The other times I kissed girls were at parties, fleetingly and hurriedly, in the dark, behind closed doors. It was usually unsatisfying, but necessary for me, a growing young man.

Lee and I kissed on the lips. I knew what a soul kiss was, but I was afraid to try it. I did not know if what I did was right or wrong. Somehow, I thought she would correct my moves because she had the experience and I did not. Thoughts of rejection entered my head. As I held her, one of my hands went inside her coat and searched for parts of her that I only had a passing familiarity with from other girl’s I knew. I had been there before, but this would be my most intimate experience to date. I had an idea who to do and even how to do it, but I wondered if I could bring myself to get closer to girl, kin this case Lee, than I previously did.

I kept moving my hand searching for her breasts. Then she told me to stop. She took my hand and removed it from her body. She told me to stop. I could not believe what I heard. Stop. Yes, stop, she said. I’m not that kind of girl she continued. I though, I said. You thought wrong, she said. I stepped back. I did not know what to do or say. I thought, I mumbled. The guys, I said. It is not true about me, she said. I don’t do those things. Why do they tell stories about you? Because I let them. I want their attention. I want people to notice me. Notice me. Not accept me as just anyone. Now they notice you for all the wrong reasons, I answered. Does that make you happy I wondered. Not really, she said. Not really. I thought that for a minute that maybe Lee could be my girlfriend. Then I thought better of it. I could end up the laughing stock in my neighborhood and in school. That was not what I wanted. The thought quickly disappeared.

She began to cry. I never saw a girl cry before. I did not know what to do. We stood on that small bridge on that dark street and we did not touch each other. She moved closer to me, wrapped her arms around me, and we hugged. I felt awkward, out of my element. I did not understand most of what she told me. Say nothing to anyone, please, she said. Don’t tell anyone anything. I said I would not. She stepped back. Take me home, she said. I walked her to the private house where she lived with her parents and a younger sister. At the front steps, she kissed me on the cheek. Thank you, she said and ran up the steps to her front door. She put her key in the lock, turned once to look at me and then was gone.