“I remember the first time I fell in love.

I was five and it was the end of the summer, with nothing dreary like schoolwork to finish, or mundane things like chores to do. I was a child and not much different than the rest of the little boys and girls who are five. (Perhaps I had an overactive imagination, but which child does not?) The world I knew was everything from a child’s perspective: I hated eating my greens, going to bed early, and packing my glorious mess of toys; while in reverse and with equal passion I loved stories, waited with bated breath for my father to walk through the door in the evenings and my name bellowed through the house, so loud and strong, so full of joy, and the park. Oh, the park. How I loved the park.

It was the park, you see, where I fell in love for the first time in my young life.

The day itself began simply. My mother would plonk me on the playground, just like any other day, while she gathered with the other housewives at the park benches for their daily chatter. Their talk would always seem strangely complex and out of reach; shooing me off whenever I tried listening too closely — not that I tried very hard, of course — for the playground was where I really wanted to be, all of the time. It was my fortress, or my interstellar spaceship, the vessel on which I rode off on towards all of my grand adventures and feats of derring-do. That day, I was battling the fearsome pirate captain Blackbeard, whose devious swordwork was proving an equal match to my own skill (I would eventually triumph of course, slaying the sea scourge and laying hands on all of his ill-gotten plunder). Blackbeard and I were at a particularly intense deadlock when I felt a tug on my sleeve.

“Um.. hello.” It was a girl’s voice.

“Whaaaaat?” Arrr! You’ll never best Blackbeard, you mangy cur! (I didn’t know what mangy cur meant then, but it did sound like something a foul-breathed pirate captain would use).

“Umm.. would you like to play?” That girl again. I’ll make ye shark-food, Cap’n Jon. Make ye walk the plank!

Clang! Zing! Whoosh! Cap’n Jon and Blackbeard danced with invisible swords, with sails and clouds and mizzenmasts, the roar of waves thrashing upon the hull, a sea glittering like liquid diamonds, all of it, forming our scene.

“Can’t.” Never, Blackbeard! It is YE–I mean–YOU! who will feed the sharks! The two of us balanced precariously on the guard rail (which was actually the see-saw), parry, guard, thrust, block, riposte, waging a truly epic duel where I would win, be given lots of gold, and be made Admiral of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. Which was always the case.

“Whyyyy.” the girl whined. This time, she shook me by the sleeve, and pulled. Hard.

“Yeaaargh! Noooo!” I yelled, losing my balance and crashing back-first on the sand. Bwaahahaha! Maybe in your next life, Cap’n Jon! That filthy Blackbeard, laughing and jeering, his manic grin showing his teeth, all gold, his real ones taken away by the scurvy.

“Oww.. why’d you do that for? I almost had him.” I said to the sky and the tops of the trees. Their leaves were beginning to change colour, and the air was getting a wee bit chillier by the day. It was as if I had only begun to notice autumn was near, before I realised then that that was probably why my mother was trying to get me into my coat for the past week (it was annoying; a brave sea captain doesn’t wear a lousy coat). I couldn’t see the stupid little girl who turned my victory-imminent monumental battle into a humiliating defeat.

“Had who?”

I sighed. “Never mind. Now I’ll never be Admiral of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.” The name was long and impressive, as all good names were, and I liked it. Which I actually got from one of the books my father gave me.

“Oops. Sorry. Are you okay?” she smiled down at me. She stooped towards me, her raven hair spilling down the sides of her face; her large eyes, dark, black and rich, peered inquisitively into mine, her face mere inches away from my own. “Mr Admiral?”

I startled, and sat up quickly in a shower of falling sand and fallen leaves. I quickly leapt to my feet. “Yesi’mokayi’mfinereally. Really.”

“Why won’t you be Admiral of Her–?” she frowned, pouting her lips as she tried to remember.

“Admiral of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.” I said, glaring at her. She was just about the same height as me.

“Can I be one too?” she beamed, no matter that she had no idea what that was, much less the responsibilities of such a lofty, important position.

“No. Girls can’t be admirals.”

“Why not?” she gasped, looking scandalized.

“Because only boys are allowed to be Admirals. But I can’t be one anymore,” I huffed.

“Why not?”

“Because I was fighting Blackbeard, and you interrupted me, so I lost.”

“I said I was sorry. Maybe I can fight Blackbeard and win and be an admiral!” Her eyes shone at the thought of it. She smiled and giggled. The first girl admiral!

I pointed at her and stamped my feet. “No! You can’t be an admiral because you’re a girl.. ow!” I couldn’t see it because I was wearing my jeans, but I had somehow scraped my knee in the fall and it suddenly decided to let me know about it then.

“What’s wrong?”

“My knee.. it hurts.”

“Was it because of the fall?”

“Yes. It’s all your fault.” It was really bad and started to bleed. I teared, involuntarily, at the pain; there’s nothing in a five-year-old’s life that quite prepares him for something like the first time he’s cut his knee.

“I’m sorry.” she looked genuinely remorseful, confused even; after all, how does a tiny wisp of a girl know how to fix a big bad hurt in a boy’s knee?

“It.. It’s okay..” I trembled, trying very hard to be brave like Cap’n Jon. He fought evil pirates and sailed through stormy seas. A cut was nothing. It certainly wasn’t something to cry about.

“I know!” her face lit up, smiling, as an idea struck her. “It’s something my mom does.”

“What is it?” I supposed anything would have helped. Anything not to cry.

“This!”

She leaned in towards me, so suddenly that I could not react, cupping my face in her tiny hands. My eyes widened in shock. Her lips pressed in against my cheek, squashing her face against mine. It was certainly not delicate, nor gentle, and I swear it was the nigh-autumn air, not her, that carried that sweet smell of crushed flowers and fallen leaves, of forests and the grass lying in their shade; I don’t know if a five-year-old mind can process all that kind of information, but I remember it, clearly, even today, as easily I would recall my own name.

“Mwuuuu-ahhh!” she exclaimed, child-like in its exaggeration. “That should make it better!” she laughed, trilled like a note of music, delighted at her own cleverness.

I must have been quite a sight: frozen still, clutching at my face now and my knee forgotten, mouth hanging agape, staring at her in open astonishment.

Then someone called her name, a sound that was pure static in my dazed state. “That’s my mom! See ya! Hope you’re feeling better!” she said as she turned with a wave, running off and away.

I said nothing, nor budged an inch. I simply stared at her departing figure, hand still on my cheek, with the indelible impression of that kiss still lingering underneath my fingers. I didn’t understand it then, what had happened to my little five-year-old heart.. I just didn’t have the words for it. I didn’t know what it was, didn’t know whether it was the kiss itself, or the silly sound she made, or the promise of autumn; there remains something wonderful and magic about that day, something mysterious and golden; all I knew was that a place inside of me had changed forever, something so natural and ordinary and marvelous, just like how winter will surely end, and lead to spring.

To my five-year-old self, love was like autumn for the first time: it was red and gold, a sea of colour; it was discovering that a girl could capture you just as easily as your own dreams and adventures.”

- ‘4: Autumn, part one’, from Thirteen 2 Thirteen