The Birthday Kiss

            The Bittles were the only family on the street with a built-in pool. So many of us tried our best to stay on the Bittles' kids' good side so we could swim in that pool all summer. But, since one of the boys was a bully, and the daughter was a self-centered brat, and the third child, another boy, just kind of went along with whatever his siblings suggested, it wasn't an easy, or always enjoyable task. But, it was Mr. Bittle's birthday and most of the neighborhood was invited to the party, so it didn't matter that day whether you were getting along with their kids or not: the majority of the people on the dead-end street were invited to his party. 

            Their backyard was filled with people. I'd never seen that many people in their pool at the same time. Most of the neighbors were there, except the Parkers, who were a family of mentally-challenged adults rarely invited to any neighborhood gatherings other than the annual block party thrown each year by the Carowthers. But, my parents were friends with the Bittles, so we were definitely invited. And the Bittles were friends with the cops in town, so many of the town's ‘finest’ were there in their swimsuits. Even the chief of police was there, along with his perverted son-in-law. And the booze was freely flowing.

            About an hour into the party, Mrs. Bittle called for all of the females to form a line heading toward Mr. Bittle so we could all give him a kiss for his birthday. I had recently told my parents that Mr. Bittle wanted to put his hands up my shirt to keep them warm when he took me on a motorcycle ride.  And one day when I was with his daughter in her bedroom, we had to lock the door and window to keep him out of her room. She said he did it all the time. I had even gone to a priest and talked to him about the incidents. He made my mom come in to speak with him, and I don't know if the priest helped her find the solution, but I was told that my father had offered Mr. Bittle's youngest son a cigarette in front of his father to show disrespect towards him since Mr. Bittle had shown my father disrespect in molesting his daughter. I was also told that Mr. Bittle would come to our house on occasional Saturday nights for poker, and I was to act respectfully towards him. While I was disappointed with how the situation was handled, I assumed that the adults knew best—we were always told this anyway.

            I was in line with my mother to give Mr. Bittle a kiss. As we inched closer and closer to the birthday star, I asked my mom if I had to give him a kiss. She said that I didn’t, and it was entirely up to me to decide. So, although I was the only female at the party no longer in line to kiss Mr. Bittle, I left the line and took my place outside the crowd, which was common for me these days. I don't remember

much of the rest of the party. I just remember how damned long the line was to kiss the man who had molested me at 10-years-old, his 12-year-old daughter, and a 16-year-old neighbor, who insisted she was happy since he was giving her money to sleep with him. I was glad my mother left the decision to me that night. She showed me that adults do no better.