I sat at the lunch table mindlessly chewing my peanut butter
and jelly sandwich and pulling at the stem of my slightly bruised apple. I then heard Stephanie saying my name, “What
about you, Angie?”
“Huh?” I asked, between bites of my Wonder Bread.
“Have you ever had a hickey?”
I was ten years old. I had no damn idea what a hickey was, so I
took another bite of my sandwich and avoided an immediate answer by slowly
savoring the creamy Jif. I knew they had
been talking about what boys they liked, and assumed that a hickey was
something cool a boy gave you and something I probably ought to have had by the
oh so mature age of ten. I didn’t want
to seem like a little kid or like I wasn’t desired by the opposite sex.
“Uhm … yeah,” I softly replied.
“Yeah, so have Stacy and I,” Stephanie stated with a smile
that informed me my reply, although a lie, was the appropriate affirmative response.
Shortly after my fib and Stephanie’s boastful statement, the
bell rang out for the end of lunch period.
We all got up, returned our trays to the lunch ladies or disposed of our
paper lunch bags and headed back to Mr. Smith’s classroom.
I didn’t feel right the rest of the afternoon as I sat at my
desk and completed grammar assignments or attempted to listen attentively to
Mr. Smith’s lectures on history. My
stomach turned the rest of the day nervous and anxious as to what I had
confessed to. What’s a hickey? What’s a hickey? I have to know. Oh, god! What if it’s gross? Stephanie didn’t
seem to think it was gross, but oh god! I
need to know what a hickey is … NOW!! It’s all I could think while I should have
been memorizing the names of presidents.
At that time, there was no World Wide Web, or “information
superhighway,” as I first remember it being marketed to us when I was in high
school. Had it been this day and age, I
could have just asked Google to give me the answer. That wasn’t an option, so I remained in the
dark. I was too afraid to ask the other
girls, whom all seemed to already know.
I was certainly too embarrassed to ask my mother.
I had my “a-ha!” moment about several weeks later while watching an
episode of Who’s the Boss? where Alyssa Milano’s character Samantha was given a hickey by her beau. She wore turtlenecks all week trying to hide
the lip sucking montrosity that is a hickey from her father. She also made up a new dance craze where you tilt your
neck when he saw her sans turtleneck. “Gross!” I yelled
aloud, and could not believe that only a few weeks earlier I had lied and said I was
given one of these disgusting things.
I have never, ever in my life allowed any boyfriend of mine
to give me a hickey. I think they are
absolutely revolting, and I was always reminded of my dishonesty whenever a
young man started kissing my neck. I
would freeze up in shame and disgust and tell him to stop before he left his
mark. This was way before the Twilight madness
too, so vampires weren’t considered sexy and I didn’t want anyone nipping at my neck!
My own daughter will be wise to wear a turtle neck in an
attempt to hide the mark of her indiscretions should she ever come home with a
hickey, especially if she is only age ten.
I was ten years old! I was
only in the fifth grade when my friends asked if I had ever had a hickey. I can only hope that they were all lying too
and had asked because Alyssa Milano was the coolest and they must have seen the
same Who’s the Boss? episode when it
first ran. I can tell you that I am the
boss of this household now and ain’t no ten year old coming home with a
hickey. Gross!
I had better keep quiet of my hickey conquests then. Maybe I should try and remember them all and write a post.
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