14, 15, 16 Years Old

I had never been hit on by a 14-year-old before today...not even when I was fourteen.

The cold Jordanian rain was falling on the Roman ruins of Jerash and I lingered in the entryway of the Southern Theater to postpone the inevitable wet. A young boy stood selling postcards and batteries and offered me a seat. I gladly obliged. I asked him questions about his family and if he went to school. He asked if I was married (why lie to a 14-year-old?)...and then for my phone number. He suggested that perhaps I would like to be his wife. I told him I was twenty-eight. This seemed to matter little to him. I continued on my way chuckling under my wooly scarf.
Down the uneven Roman cobblestones two boys approached me. One wanted to sell me postcards (15) and the other to show me a column that rocked when pushed and an assortment of other sights (16). I was cold, but their smiles and hopeful eyes locked me in. Their basic descriptions of the market, church and butcher kept me entertained until I absolutely had to visit the museum to warm myself. They were there waiting as I emerged only slightly less chilled.

With no real agenda and the sun still high (albeit insulated by clouds), I followed my new friends to a few more points of interest until my fingers felt as though they were blue from the cold. "Come with us," they said. We entered a cave next to the foundations of the ancient Roman residential area. Out of the rain, they retrieved two candles from a hidden hole in the ground. The lit one by one and warmed our hands by the flame.

The boys bickered with a jovial undertone about whose friend I was. Now "married" I teased them about needing to keep their distance. They wanted to sit next to me. We laughed.

They taught me some Arabic words - some good, some naughty. One word that escapes me now was described in broken English as "something not good for your sister." After additional questions, this word that sent them into hysterics seemed to mean "SEX!"

They wanted a kiss, just on the cheek. One complimented my small nose and asked for a kiss. No. The other smiled the most innocent smile and merely asked politely. No. We posed for photographs and they competed for the most seductive pose (this meant leaning in towards me the furthest). We laughed some more.

The time came for me to go - a bit bored with this coy game of Islamic teenage courtship. We left the cave, walked down the hill, they took my hands to say goodbye and simultaneously kissed my left and right cheeks then ran away blushing and giggling. I smiled and again chuckled under my wooly scarf as I headed for the warmth of the coffee shop I had passed near the entrance. Candles and 14, 15 and 16-year-old boys, while amusing, fail to make me warm...or hot.