The night of my first real kiss was also the night of the worst fight I have ever had with my mother. I was a 16-year-old girl and considered myself pretty mature for my age. I did well at school, was good looking and had always been good at sports. I wouldn’t have called myself popular, but I had friends. Now that I think about it I was one of the luckier ones, unlucky however in love. I had had my eye on John Wilkinson forever, and my chance finally came when I spied him at the party that my best friend, Caroline, and I had finally gathered the courage to go to. The guy throwing the party lived in a red brick house in a privately owned close in San Francisco. His house was dark, and crowded, the light from the kitchen not quite reaching the corner of the garden where John stood. I was wearing my new vintage denim mini-skirt, my black jimmy choo kitten heels and a jimmy joolz t-shirt. My hair was straight and I new I looked good, but I was still petrified. Caroline gave me a wink of encouragement and pushed me out the kitchen into the garden. The next thing I new me and John, were talking, and soon we were the only ones left in the garden, in next to no time we were kissing and soon were walking hand in hand away from the party. I felt better than I had in my whole life. I felt as If I was seeing the whole world for the first time. I mean before John had just been this guy, ok a very nice guy with the most amazing deep blue eyes, a smile that could brighten you’re whole day and who it seemed was born to play basketball, but now he was sitting next to me in a park, picking me flowers and telling me about how he’d always liked me. Of course I lost track of time, and only when John finally walked me home did I realise that the sky had turned a tinge of pink, and that it was nearly dawn. That’s when the fight started, no sooner had I opened the gate when my mother was standing there hands on hips, her face contorted in anger. “Where have you been?” She screamed, her voice filled with rage, “ you are irresponsible, untrustworthy and immature”. I had never seen her like this before I guess all the worry, tiredness and the relief that her little girl was home safely caught up with her and she exploded at me. I was so shocked by her harsh reaction, after all I was home wasn’t I so what was the big deal, couldn’t she be happy that her only girl no longer had to cope with the shame of never having kissed a boy. I found myself screaming back at her, and once I was let into the house I ran upstairs, slammed my door shut and cried at the grand injustice that was my life.
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The next morning when I came downstairs for breakfast my mother didn’t shout she just looked at me and said quietly “you’re not going to the dance” knowing I had been looking forward to the dance for months, I didn’t answer her back I just ate my breakfast in silence went up to my room and phoned Caroline. I told her to pick me up on Friday from my house at eight; I had decided to go to the dance no matter what my mother said.
The next week passed in a blur of nothingness. I went to school as normal, I rushed home everyday to watch Neighbours and Home and Away; I fought with my little brother and did my homework. I only spoke to my mother when necessary and even then it was very cordial. When Friday finally arrived I was ready as soon as the headlights from Caroline’s parents car swept into my window. I slipped out shutting the door quietly behind me. John didn’t turn up to the dance but some other cute guys did and I ended up enjoying myself even though my betrayal of my mother was constantly at the back of my mind. When the dance finished I decided not to face the music and I slowly walked home deliberately not arriving untill I new my mother was asleep.
The next morning my mother didn’t talk to me at all, I could see the pain that I was causing her was eating her up inside but I didn’t have the courage to talk to her and admit my mistake. Things got worse before they got better.
The next time I saw John again was in another party I arrived late, but just in time to see John and another girl Melissa going into an upstairs bedroom. Melissa was in the year below and had a reputation for going too far with too many people. So standing there in the middle of some strangers living room were people were dancing and being merry I burst into tears I felt as though I had lost John, the truth was I had never had him. When John emerged an hour later I confronted him and forced him to tell me that he was sorry. He told me that he was not ready for commitment and didn’t want a girlfriend, he then proceeded to tell me his life story about his parents divorce and the hard times hed been through, but I wasn’t really listening. I was overcome with guilt at the fact that I had given John the chance to talk to me but I had never given my mother that same chance. I decided that I owed her a conversation, a real one. A real conversation is a very powerful thing; it changes the people who have them. It involves an exchange of ideas, considering other people’s opinions and most of all admitting that you are not always right. That night my mother and me had a ‘real’ conversation and it turned out to be exactly what we needed. She explained to me that she didn’t want a slave daughter who obeyed every rule but a daughter she could trust and not have to worry about. I on the other hand explained that I wanted a life where a John was possible and that my mother wouldn’t go mad every time I missed curfew. In the end we both realised that the only way we would ever solve a problem would be to talk about it and not just hope that it would go away.