The year was 1981 when roller rinks were fun and the mirrored disco ball hung from the center of the ceiling। The floor was glossy blue; a mini block wall enclosed the rink and old dark Berber carpet stretched around the edges. The snack bar was filled with hot dogs and jelly doughnuts and mixing up a suicide soda was “the” drink. The girls all hung in groups giggling and pointing at the boys and if you could skate backwards it was pretty impressive. I was not impressive. I was thirteen, with braces, fly-backs, and wore Jordache jeans that were probably way to tight. With my skates on I felt so cool, so tall, and skated so fast to songs like “Play that funky music white boy” and just hoped that I never fell crossing over in the corners. When the lights dimmed, couples would skate to the likes of “Reunited”, the spotlight on the disco ball, and mirrored reflections would go spinning across the walls and the floor; raging hormones racing faster than the fastest skater in the building. The cover of dark created ample opportunity for couples to make out and many first kisses were born at the roller rink. At the end of the night, I was carrying my skates back to the rental room, (I was not cool enough to have my own tricked out skates), and my little boyfriend following behind me. We were the only two in room. He quickly planted his lips on mine and there in the skating rink rental room was my very first kiss, and it was not an American kiss. There were no fireworks to mention, just shock and surprise. I felt flushed with a hormonal rush of nervousness and excitement not believing it was happening, and then just as quick, it was over. I don’t remember the boys name or what he looked like, I only remember that it was my very first kiss and it was a strange experience that was my initiation into the world of kissing, boys, and roller rink romance.