When I was growing up, my mother’s best friend was Miss Ollie-May. You don’t have to be southern to understand that that is the way she has always been addressed, Miss Ollie-May. Show respect or catch a fresh lesson in manners. I love that woman to this day. My brothers and sister and I spent a lot of time growing up in her house. To this day, if she calls, I go running.
This is about first crushes and Miss Ollie-May wasn’t it. It was her granddaughter. Of course she was beautiful. We were friends and spent a lot of time together. I remember that her hair always smelled like coconut butter. She was my first kiss. As kisses go, it was great for a first try. No plan or conversation, just looking in her eyes and meeting in the middle for a gentle kiss. My head was reeling, I felt like I was floating over the porch. When I landed my breath whooshed out.
Miss Ollie-May was standing on the spot I had just vacated. What followed ensured I would never forget that first kiss, that epic butt whipping. She didn’t even make me cut my own switch, with that walk of shame where you have to explain to everyone what happened. I was whacked with everything at hand until she found a belt.
Every now and then, we’ll see each other when I visit. She still looks in on her grandmother. I’ll give her a hug and shell her hair. She’s still beautiful, still smells of coconut butter. I hope I always remember that kiss. It was worth the whipping.
The New Word Wars 