Holly Hurst

Holly Hurst went to the same first-grade class as I did. She rode the school-bus every day, and sometimes sat in front of me. Her pigtails were the shining blonde of youth, impossibly bright. Of her sunny smile, I was rather fond; and her giggle was sheer delight. Oh, being a child isn't always heaven, there's so much that we must depend on - but the innocence I miss. Like the day she turned around in her seat, and blessed my lips with her first completely pure spontaneous kiss. San Jose August 26, 1998