Somehow, it always seems that the most important memories are always hidden by some unknown force. I amalmost certain to forget facial features or marking traits of someone special to me. If I try to remember, it is lost.Memories are not always an accurate recollection of the truth; sometimes they are not real at all. For whateverreason, people always seem to remember what they would like to believe the truth is. With all this in mind, I willshare a personal recollection of my first romance.It was on a Friday during the winter months of my 8th grade year. If I recall correctly, which I always do,her name was Nicole. Her name, Greek for "Victory of the People", always embedded such awe and mystery intomy mind. The angelic Nicole stepped into my life on a cold day, as I sat there in my school bus after another longday. I was sleepy, like always, because I had gone to bed late the night before. Then as unexpected as snow inBrownsville, I saw her. She was a vision, her golden hair streaming down to her neck. Her eyes sparkled like athousand stars. She was tall and lusciously curvy. She was so curvy that it was a danger to all of heaven’s minions.I still have never been as anxious to meet any one as I was meeting her. God, with his merciful divinity, had shinedhis light upon the earth and sprinkled the world with one true miracle, Nicole.What luck I had, she sat next to me! What was I going to do? I was always very uncertain with women.Sure they said they liked me, but I had never really had a girlfriend before. Due to some strange outwardly liarparadox, I remained quiet. How could I make a fool out of myself? As time passed, so did my fear. I slowly beganto get more and more comfortable with her vast beauty so close to me. As time passed I gained more confidencedue to our assigned seating, I gradually worked my way up the ranks from "Hi", to "Hello", and ultimately to thebenchmark: "Hi, how was your weekend?"Nicole and I soon becam...
