Yep.

My first official crush happened when I was in the sixth grade. My teacher was Mrs. Sandra Tabron. She was so beautiful. She was the color of butter-pecan icecream and just as delicious (I suspect). Slender, but complacent build. Long honey-coloured hair with the best blonde highlights streaked throughout. She had the most iridescent hazel eyes set in a deliciously piercing gaze. Her long legs, arms and neck showcased her grace of movement. The subtle characteristics of her smooth voice stimulated me like an audio suck. She always showed such control and yet, oozed palpable sexuality like amber sap from a South African "do-me" tree.

That is until later. She began showing signs of abuse at the hands of her husband. Facial bruises covered with concealer (or whatever that stuff is called), choke evidence, etc. The coup de grace was him ripping out a good bit of her long and gorgeous hair. She got a haircut and looked no less desirable in my eyes, but the look in her eyes was different. It was like watching a loved one slowly fade away.

That is the first time that I noticed the resolve to kill. How dare he touch my flower; let alone HURT her!? I began researching 'the big send-off' in case I ever had to give him a going-away party.

Months passed and I eventually got up the courage to confess my love to her. I was the head of a small-time theft ring of 15 (before dissolution) other kids at the time and we had developed a system through which we could keep track and report the movements of virtually anyone in the halls of the school. This made us brash and more effeicient thieves because the system worked very well. During lunch is when the report came that Mrs. Tabron was on the second floor most probably on her way to her classroom. I also got the report that I'd have to be extra cautious because the gym teacher Mr. Freeman was also on the second floor hunting to bag some hall-walkers. The goal was set, the threat was realized and the opportunity presented itself. I ducked out of the lunchroom and made my way to homeroom to claim a lonely heart.

I'd grown used to the halls of my elementary to the point that I could identify most of the faculty by the sound of their footfalls on the linoleum. Sneak and evade both come as naturally to me as sleeping does for most of you. Avoiding detection in those halls was no problem for me (or my squad. later topic).

I reach Tabron's class and silently turn the handle. LO! I see Michael Freeman kissing Sandra Tabron in the best way: long, deep and bent over her desk with a random assortment of desk knick-knacks falling to the floor about them. My mouth goes dry. My blood boils and my hands go cold. But I keep watching...

That was the first time that I recognized a truth that serves me true to this day: There is a drama unfolding behind every closed door.

Four days before I was promoted out of her class, I did steal a kiss from her. It was quick and nerve-wracking, but I tasted her chap-stick. The day before I was promoted, she returned the kiss--and I tasted her tongue.

I'll never forget her.