"Goodnight, Tony."

"Goodnight, Angela." Tony's voice breaks like it did after we kissed twenty-two years ago. But this time it's not puberty. Well, it's hormones, but those of a man in his 30s, sharing a bed with a woman he's just agreed not to "change things with."

Part of me wishes we could. Some things have changed since the last time we shared a bed. We've had that drunken kiss, and remembered our real first kiss. But if things are really going to change, I don't want it to be in this narrow little bed, with rain falling through the ceiling onto the other bed.

I don't know if I can get any sleep, lying next to him. But if I don't sleep, Mother will be even more suspicious.

It's funny, I feel sort of peaceful, lying next to Tony. I remember how it felt when I woke up with him a few months ago. Of course, I hadn't even known he was in the bed then. I certainly wouldn't have dreamed of him if I had!

I hope I don't dream of him tonight. That's the last thing I need.

I wonder if watching TV would help. No, not with the kind of movies they're showing on cable! I'll just try to blank out my mind. Blank screen….

I tilt my head to try to make sense of the figures on the screen. "Is that humanly possible?"

My roommate Trish shushes me. It's her idea we're here. I would never have dreamed of sneaking off to New York to see I Am Curious (Yellow) if she hadn't talked me into it. Of course she didn't present it as watching pornography. She said we'd be striking a blow for freedom of speech. Not that there's all that much talking, and it's all in Swedish. But the subtitles are pretty free.

"I'll show you humanly possible," says a male voice behind me.

I jump in my seat and spill my popcorn.

"Sorry," says the voice.

"Ignore him, Angela. He sounds like he's from Brooklyn."

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, what's wrong with Brooklyn?"

"If you have to ask."

The rest of the audience shushes them. I get out of my seat and try to pick up the popcorn. We're in the first row, because Trish said that that way I wouldn't have to wear my glasses, although I did anyway. So I'm crawling around on the floor, trying not to block anyone's view, as I scoop up what I can of the popcorn back into my bucket.

"You're not gonna eat that, are you?" the voice whispers. I see that it belongs to a boy about my age. He's got dark hair in a Beatles haircut. Not the Beatles now but pre-Sgt.-Pepper. It's cute the way it flops into his eyes, especially when he's crawling next to me.

"Of course not. Who knows what germs there are on the floor!" I suddenly realize I probably shouldn't be crawling around. I'll get my maxi-skirt dirty.

"Yeah, especially at a movie like this."

I'm not quite sure what he's implying, but I'm sure I don't want to ask. Instead, I say, "I just don't like to leave a mess."

"Yeah, I'm kind of a neat freak myself. Well, not a neat freak, but you know, tidy. Here." He hands me some stray kernels.

"I don't know if those are mine."

"What you got your popcorn monogrammed? Is that what you New Hampshire girls do?"

"Connecticut."

"Angela, why are you talking to him?"

Everyone shushes us.

"Hey, do you wanna step out to the lobby? I could get you more popcorn."
"Oh, no, you don't have to do that!"

"I insist. It's my fault you spilled it."

"Well, all right."

He helps me to my feet. Everyone yells, "Down in front!" so we quickly run to and up the aisle, Trish yelling after us, "Angela, are you wigging out?"

I'd explain but everyone is shushing her again.

So here I am, with some strange boy from Brooklyn, in the lobby of a movie theater that shows pornography. This is maybe the wildest thing I've ever done!

He throws away my popcorn bucket and gets on line. OK, there's only one man ahead of him. Obviously, most of the audience is glued to the screen. I'm surprised this boy isn't. Maybe he thought I was cute in the dark. I hope he's not too disappointed.

"So what do you want?"
"Excuse me?"
"Butter? Salt? Anchovies?"

"Anchovies?!"

"That was a joke."

"Oh, it was a very funny one."
"Thanks."
"And thank you for the popcorn. Light butter, light salt, no anchovies."

"That's how I like it, too. I bet we got a lot in common."

I giggle.

"That wasn't a joke."

"Oh."

He orders a large bucket.

"Oh, I couldn't eat all that!" I have enough trouble with my diet as it is.

"We're gonna share, if that's all right," he says, as he pays the refreshments seller.

"But then we'd have to sit together!"

"Whassamatter? I ain't got cooties."

That word, it reminds me of something. Something from when I was younger. A boy said that to me before.

"Do you?" this boy says, taking the popcorn from the concessionist and handing it to me.

"No, it's just I'm here with my friend. I should get back to her."

"I know, you just don't wanna miss any more of the movie."

"That's not true! I hate this movie!"

The concessionist glares at me.

"I mean, it's not really my kind of movie."

"Yeah, it was better the first time I saw it."

"You've seen it before?"

He shrugs. "It was on a bet."

"A bet?"

"Yeah. Come over here."

He leads me out of the hearing of the refreshments seller. "See, I got this really good fake ID, but I know I don't look eighteen. You probably pass easy, huh?"

"I am eighteen."

"Oh. Well, I'm sixteen. So this was the ultimate test. But I felt weird the whole time, because I knew I'd have to talk about it in Confession. You know, betting, porn, and dishonesty, that's three strikes."

"Confession?" Well, now that I can see him in a better light, he does look Italian and so he's probably Catholic.

"Yeah. But I got absolved. So I figure it's OK to see it again."

"I'm not a religion expert, but I don't think it works that way."

"No? Then I'm going to Hell."

"You don't sound too upset about the prospect."

He looks amused, maybe at my phrasing. "Well, at least I'll be in good company."

"What else are you going to Hell for?" I can't help but be curious, not yellow.

"Well, it started when I was eleven."

"Eleven?!"

"Yeah, I kissed a girl."

"Oh, that's not so bad. I kissed a boy when I was thirteen."

"And see where it led you? Talking to strange men and watching porn."

"It was a sweet, lovely, innocent kiss!"

He gets a nostalgic look, if you can be nostalgic at sixteen. "Mine was nice. No tongues, but nice. She was nice, too. A tall, skinny blonde."

He glances at me. I've been a tall, skinny blonde at different points, but I've got this weight problem, and sometimes I let my hair go natural. And with my glasses and without braces, I look nothing like I did at thirteen.

He sighs. "I think about her sometimes, wonder what happened to her."

"You didn't stay in touch?"

"Nah, we came from different worlds. It was just a passing summer thing."

I sigh, remembering my first kiss, that boy from the Y Camp.

"Her name was Ingrid."

I spill my popcorn again.

"Listen, I'm not made of money. I can't keep buying you popcorn just 'cause you're clumsy."

I grab his arm. "TELL ME YOUR NAME!"

"You are wiggin' out! Are you on somethin'?"

I let go. "I'm sorry. But please, tell me your name. It's very important."

"It's Tony. Tony Micelli."
"Tony? As in Anthony?"

"Yeah, if you wanna be formal."

"Where was this kiss?"

"You got a dirty mind, Lady."

"I mean, was it in a park? A car? A movie theater?"

"It was at summer camp. To be more precise, Make-Out Rock."
My jaw drops. No, maybe it's a coincidence. After all, at my camp we called it Kissing Rock. And Anthony was my age, not eleven. Or so I thought.

"That's not a good look for you. You're cuter when you smile."

"Thank you. I used to wear braces."

"Yeah, so did Ingrid. I cut my lip on them. But it was worth it."

"So she was a tall, skinny blonde?"

"Yeah, taller than me. But she was older than me, too. I had to lie about my age to get her to go out with me."

"Is it possible she lied to you?"

"Ingrid? Nah, she was too innocent, kinda naïve. Not someone who lies."

"What if she wasn't Ingrid?"

"Are you a Philosophy major or somethin'?"

"No, Business."

"Oh, you sounded like this one girl I went out with. She wasn't in college or nothin', but she talked about past lives and parallel realities."

"What if Ingrid had a parallel life? What if she was named Angela?"

"Angela? That's a nice name."

"Thank you. It's mine."

He stares at me. "Take off your glasses," he whispers hoarsely.

I do, thinking of all those movies where the girl has to take off her glasses so the boy can kiss her.

"Those brown eyes!" he says, staring into them with his own brown ones. "But that's impossible!"

"Hey, you two, did you want more popcorn?"

"No, thanks, Buddy. We're goin' for a walk."

"We are?"

"Yeah, we've got a lot to catch up on after five years."

"Are you sure you want to be seen with me?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I?"

"Well, my friend Trish is much prettier than I am."

"Your friend Trish is a stuck-up bitch, if you don't mind me saying so."

I feel like I should stick up for Trish but he's right. I think of how insecure she makes me feel, not that I need much help with that.

"I don't mind. But you're not disappointed with how I turned out?"

"I dunno. How do you kiss these days?"

I show him.

"That's a lot better without the braces. And that's saying something."

"And just think, you've already been absolved for premarital kissing."

"I thought you said it doesn't work that way."
"What do I know? I'm Protestant."

…

Look at her, how can she sleep so peacefully? She's got a nice smile on her face, and she's making little sighs. I wonder if she's dreaming. I wonder what she's dreaming.

I hope it's about me. Otherwise, I'm kinda insulted. I can see her sleeping through the night a few months ago, when she didn't know I was lying next to her. But now?

Meanwhile, I'm lying here next to her warm, soft body, her wearing the other half of these pajamas. And the socks, can't forget the socks. I wanna touch her, even if it's just to stroke her hair. But I agreed, nothing's gonna happen tonight, if ever. That doesn't mean I don't want it to.

OK, I gotta do something about this. And since it can't involve her, I'll have to take matters into my own hands. It worked twenty-two years ago, when I wanted to swim back across the lake and do more than kissing with Ingrid, even though I didn't yet know what that "more" was. I just knew that my first ever morning hard-on was due to her and I had to slip down to the outhouse before the other guys in my cabin woke up and saw….

…That's better. Oh, Jesus, I just noticed. Her panties are hanging on the shower rod. They must've been wet. I mean from the rain! Heavenly Father, forgive me, give me strength to resist temptation!

Great. I'm abstaining from a woman and I'm praying like I haven't in years. I would've made a great monk. Well, maybe not.

OK, blank out your mind, Micelli. You can do this. It's just like sleeping down the hall from her, only closer. I'll stay on my side of the bed.

She's still asleep. Is she laughing in her sleep? Should I be insulted? Well, maybe she's not dreaming about me.

Get in the bed. Carefully. Lie down, lie flat. Blank, blank, like a movie screen. No good, I'm thinking of that porn on cable. OK, nice boring scenery. Hills, valleys. OK, scratch that. Towns, boring towns….

"This train is so boring, Tony."

"Relax, Philly, we'll be in D.C. soon and I can guarantee you won't be bored there."

"Yeah? Is it true that the hippie chicks don't wear no bras?"

"I ain't seen a bra on one yet."

"Does that mean you haven't felt any of 'em up?"
"Not funny, Philly."
"Maybe you'll think it's funny after a hit of this." Philly Fingers takes a joint out of his pocket.

"What are you crazy? Put that away before someone sees you!"

"Then you don't want none?"

I'm tempted. I've tried it once or twice but it never does nothin' for me. Maybe this time will be different, and I do need to relax. I feel keyed up, not like the last time I went. I've got vibes that this time will be different, and not just that I'll do more than feel up a girl after a protest march.

"OK, but not here. Let's find an empty compartment."

So we start lookin', but he gets sidetracked by a girl, of course. He hands me the joint and says they'll meet up with me later. You'd think he'd wanna get her high before puttin' the moves on her, but he's not too bright. Me, I like 'em mostly sober, which ain't too easy with hippie chicks, but they sound high even when they ain't. But, oh, that bra-less look!

I see the conductor comin', so I duck into a compartment. I don't wanna be caught with a joint that ain't even mine.

"Excuse me, you can't smoke that in here!" The voice is a little snooty, definitely not from New York, although that's where the train started from.

"I'm not gonna. It's my friend's." Why am I explaining to her?

"What are you doing in my compartment?"

"I wanted to talk to you," I improvise.

"You did?" She sounds surprised, maybe flattered. I take a closer look. This ain't no hippie chick. For Christ's sake, she's wearing pearls and a twinset! Not only that, she's got some weight on her, and glasses. Not the cute granny kind either.

"Yeah, about, about The War." I don't really care about The War, though I wouldn't tell the hippie chicks that. I mean, I was sad when my friend Tiny's big brother got killed in 'Nam, but I'm only sixteen and I don't really understand politics, though I talk a good game.

"I'm sorry, but I don't discuss politics with strangers."

"How about sex?"

"Don't make me call the porter!"

"Relax, Lady." She's probably my age but she looks fifty in that outfit. "Do you discuss it?"

"Of course not!" she says, still all shocked.

"Religion?"

"Well, sometimes. But not with strangers."

"So what do you discuss with strangers?"

"I never talk to strangers."

"What am I? Your long-lost friend from camp?"

"No, I don't know why I'm talking to you. Especially since you're a freak."

"I'm not a freak."

"Well, you're dressed like one."

"Well, I'm going to a protest march."

"So am I, but I'm dressed sensibly."

"You're going to a protest march? Dressed like that?"

"I'm going as an observer."

"You from the U.N. or somethin'?"
"No, I'm doing research for my Contemporary Cultures class. I get extra credit if I observe a protest march."

"They don't got protest marches at your college?"

"Of course not! Well, there was one time."

"Yeah?"
"I led a demonstration against the food in the cafeteria."

"You don't like food?" You coulda fooled me.

"No, I love it!" She blushes. "But it has to be well cooked, which this wasn't."

"Yeah, my old man's like that. After my ma died, I had to learn how to cook good fast."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I like cookin'."

"I mean about your mother."

I shrug, slipping from hippie radical back to Brooklyn tough guy. "It was a long time ago." Nine years, come Christmas.

"My father died, four years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

I'm makin' this totally unexpected connection, and for once not thinkin' about how far I can go with a girl, just enjoyin' her company. It's freaky but groovy.

Then Philly barges in, with two hippie chicks. "Hey, Tony," he whispers in his raspy voice, "you still got the J?" I hold it out and he takes it. "Great, we can share. Everything." One chick giggles and the other one says, "Far out!"

"Thanks, Philly, but I'll wait till we get to D.C."

"Oh, I get it, you got some sleeper-car action. I didn't know you like 'em fat. There's this Mama Cass type friend of theirs you might wanna try later."

"Willyougetoutahere?"

He does, taking the joint and the girls with him. I look at the girl in pearls. She's cryin'!

"I'm sorry, that Philly, he's got no class."

"He's right. I am fat!"

"Nah, you're just, just extra curvy!"

She laughs, then sighs. "Thank you, but I know what I look like."

"OK, so you got some pounds you could lose. But you're not as big as Mama Cass."

"You've got a real way with the compliments."

I sit down on the lower bunk next to her. "OK, how about this? You got real pretty brown eyes when they're not cryin'."

"You don't have to say that."

"No, you do. Take off your glasses."

She hesitates but then she does.

"Yeah, real nice."

"You've got nice brown eyes, too, what I can see of them. And nice dark hair. It's cleaner than most freaks'."

I start to protest, then I realize she's teasin'. I like that. "Well, I wash it every other day. It takes a long time to dry since I let it grow out, but it's worth it. My old man's not crazy about the length of course. He keeps threatenin' to drag me off to the barber for a crewcut." It was a fight just to grow it down to my shoulders.

"Maybe you could compromise, get a Beatles cut. Not the Beatles now, but a few years ago."

"Yeah, maybe. Your hair is nice, too." It is, dark with a flip. Different from both the big hair in Brooklyn and the down-to-the-waist look at protests. "Kinda That Girl."

"Oh, you think so? Marlo Thomas is my idol! And I love how her character lives in New York and has such a glamourous single life. That's my dream."

"Don't forget her loyal boyfriend, Donald." I think Donald is a sap. I mean, the show's been on, what, two years, and he's not gettin' any?

"Well, I think he's kind of a drip actually."

"Yeah? I'd think you'd like that type. I mean, he's nice-lookin', and he's got a good job, and he's educated and well-dressed and all that."

"I know. But I, well, can I confess something?"

I don't know where this is going. Maybe this chick has a secret wild side. I don't know if I'm scared or turned on.

"Yeah, go ahead. Think of me as a priest."

She laughs, because I look nothing like a priest, in my tie-dye shirt, love beads, tattered jeans, and sandals. But she plays along, which I like.

"Bless me, Father, for I have wanted to sin."

"Intent is often as bad as the action, My Child."

"I know, Father. It's just. Well, I think I've always had a weakness for bad boys."

"You have? Um, My Child."

"Not delinquents, but boys with a bit of an edge to them. It all started when I was thirteen."

Thirteen?! Miss Sorority Sister may end up being the wildest chick I've ever met.

"Yes, when I was thirteen, I kissed a boy."

"Where?"

"At summer camp."

"Where on the body? My Child."

"Oh, on the lips."

"Did you use your tongue?"

"Of course not, Father!"

"Well, that's a venial sin. Say three Hail Marys and try not to think about kissing."

"But, Father, I'm not even Catholic."

We crack up. It's too hard to keep this up.

"I kissed a girl at summer camp. It happens."

"How old were you?"

"Eleven."

"You started young."

"Yeah. Well, she thought I was thirteen."

"You lied to her?"

"Well, she wouldn't have kissed me if she knew I was younger."

"But that's a horrible foundation for a relationship!"

"What relationship? It was just a kiss."

"Just a kiss?"

"OK, it didn't go anywhere, but it was a very nice kiss."

"So was mine. And I didn't lie to him!" Then she giggles. "Well, except about my name."

"What is your name?"
"Angela."

"That's nice, I like that."

"Thank you."

"Or are you lying to me, too?"

"I'm not hoping you'll kiss me."

"You're not?" Why am I disappointed?

"Did you want to kiss me?" She sounds surprised.

"I dunno. I hadn't thought about it."

"Well, he, the boy at summer camp, he didn't have to think about it. Anthony was very eager."

"Anthony?" Suddenly I've got a funny feeling about this.

"Yes. And I don't think he lied, because he looked like an Anthony."

"And what did you look like?"

"Well, I was tall, blonde, and skinny, if you can imagine!"

"Yeah, I can imagine. So what name did you give him?"

"Ingrid."

"Holy shit!" The room feels like it's spinning.

"What's wrong? Are you 'tripping'? Do you need medical attention?"

"No, I'm stone cold sober. And I think I'm your long-lost friend from camp!"

She stares at me and then she kisses me and I feel higher than I've ever been.

I wake up and Angela's looking at me. "Tony, are you OK? You were tossing in your sleep."

Well, it's better than waking up with a hard-on. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a little cold, with the rain comin' in and everything."

"Why don't you take the socks? My feet are warm."

"Sure they're warm. You're wearing socks."

"No, I mean I don't get cold feet."

Neither of us says the obvious. Then she sits up in bed and I try not to look at anything that her pajama top doesn't cover, including her face. She takes off the socks and holds them out to me.

"No, I'm fine. But thank you."

She lies back down. Then she encloses one of my cold feet in both of her warm ones. "Does that help?"

I feel her warmth shoot from my toes all the way up to my brain. Then it sinks back down to the center.

"You better give me those socks, Ingrid."