The microphone screeched, and the announcer introduced the starter band running onstage. I got to my feet, joining the thousands filling the stadium. I could only see a portion from the throngs blocking my view.
“Are you ready to get this party started, Oakland?” The lead singer yelled into the mic.
The crowd roared its response, and the band launched into its first song. I moved to the music as it echoed from the sound system.
The line-up of bands continued, and I enjoyed each one, even when unfamiliar with the music. I loved the whole vibe of Day on the Green. We could kick back, stand, dance, eat and get high at our leisure all day long.
As each band cranked out its songs, we yelled and whistled our approval. We clapped when the lead singer incited us to. We sang along when we knew the words. We pounded our fists into the air or pointed number one.
Near the end of Sammy Hagar’s performance, the sun faded and the sky turned from blue to black. I expected the cool air and bright lights to energize me, but my buzz had long worn off, leaving me tired and depleted. Pete stood behind me, arms circled around my waist. I was grateful for his sturdy frame to lean against.
Boston took the stage and played their asses off, their harmonies sounding epic live. Thousands of voices throughout the stadium sang along. Incredible to experience. My friends and I cheered and fist-pumped our approval.
The band exited, and we screamed for them to return. Pete—along with thousands of others—held his flicked lighter up to the sky in salute, a breathless moment as I absorbed the magnitude of lights flickering throughout the Coliseum. Boston returned for two encores. Toward the end of their final song, fireworks launched into the sky and the crowd went nuts.
The house lights signaled the conclusion, and I was overcome that summer was also nearing its blissful, perfect end.
23
Last Hurrah
I took a hit off the joint wedged between my thumb and forefinger and handed it to Mary. Leaning back into the pillows on Jim’s floor, I slowly exhaled. The now-familiar sensation of getting high spread throughout my body. My eyelids grew heavy, begging to close. I took a long swig of beer to wet my parched mouth.
Mary shook her dark brown hair away from her face and took a drag off the doobie with her pointy lips. She handed it to Reese, who looked almost angelic—until he sucked the joint hard enough to burn a quarter of the paper followed by the stream of gray smoke leaving his mouth.
Jaime took the next hit, holding the dwindling jay daintily in her fingers as she cocked her head to the side, her auburn hair falling across one shoulder. A moment later, in response to a comment by Reese, she reared back her head and filled the room with her raspy laugh.
The joint traveled to Pete, who took two drags and kicked Tez, who didn’t see him trying to pass it his way.
Tez put the roach, too small to handle with his chubby fingers, into some hemostats, medical pliers we used as roach clips. Once he secured it, he took another hit and passed it over to Steve.
Steve held up the roach, scoffing it. He fired up another one, his bulging muscles evident even with that slight activity, and the new joint made the rounds once again.
I swigged my beer and my stomach rumbled. “Hey Jimbo, got any snacks?”
He laughed, his bushy mustache obscuring his upper lip. “Got the munchies?”
“Big time.”
“Me too,” Mary said.
“I wouldn’t refuse something to eat myself.” Pete impersonated actor Jimmy Stewart, sounding dead-on.
“Looks like we’re gonna raid the fridge,” Jim said.
Everyone but Pete and Steve got up.
“Trapani, be the coolest girlfriend in the world and bring me something back, would ya?”
“Ditto,” Steve said.
There was plenty of food in the kitchen, and we tore into it, trying to satisfy our overwhelming urge for chow. We scarfed down barbecued chicken drumsticks, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, handfuls of cheese puffs, toasted strawberry Pop-Tarts (burning our tongues when we ate them too fast) and the bowl of grapes on the counter. Satiated, I grabbed some snacks for the guys.
I finished my beer and nestled my head in Pete’s lap. I closed my eyes and reveled in him stroking my hair while we listened to music. Conversations receded from my consciousness as I succumbed to a dream-like state. A summer breeze blew into Jim’s room, clearing out the lingering smoke. Laying on Pete, surrounded by our friends, I was the epitome of content.
A nagging voice told me to pull it together soon in time to go home. I hated going home. I would rather spend every moment with my buds. Worse, the summer was over and this, our last hurrah. We headed back to school on Monday.
Pete drove me home a couple of hours later. I’d come down, only fatigue and laziness remained, and my eyes were clear thanks to the eyedrops Jaime carried around in her purse.
I found my parents sitting on the back porch drinking Sangria and complaining about the increased traffic in the neighborhood. I eyed my father warily. Alcohol could make him act happy or crazy. Seemingly jovial at the moment, I joined them.
The color of my father’s skin attested to a summer of lounging outside. I glanced at my right arm. He was winning our annual contest for best tan. My mother never participated—her fair complexion burned too easily.
“What did you do today? Did you have fun?” my mom asked.
“We hung out at Jim’s doing the usual...listening to music, talking, raiding his mother’s refrigerator.”
They laughed. “I hope you left her something,” my father said.
“We did—a mess! Just kidding.”
Dad held his arm up next to mine. “Hmm, looks like I may have won this year.”
“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch. We still have September.”
We bantered back and forth until it was time for dinner. I set the table—it was just the three of us now that Anthony had moved to San Jose to begin college. I actually missed his presence.
My mother brought tacos and toppings to the table and we sat down, filling our shells the way we preferred. I loved mine with the saucy ground beef my mother prepared, topped with cheddar cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, slivers of red onion and fresh guacamole.
My father took a bite, then proceeded to speak anyway—a habit I detested. “How are things with Pete? You two seem pretty serious.”
“We are.” I flashed onto a scene of our recent lovemaking. Now my cheeks were burning.
“Are you in love?”
“She’s too young to be in love,” my mother answered.
I shot her a displeased look. “Yes, Dad, we are in love.”
My father gazed at my mother. “Remember our first date, Diane?”
She nodded, a little smile crossing her lips. “We were in college. I showed up for a date with your roommate and left with you instead. You swept me off my feet.”
“It seems like yesterday.”
“But we were in college Al, Anna’s just a sophomore in high—”
“I’m a junior this year.”
“The point is, you’re too young to be in love. You can’t possibly grasp it at your age,” she said.
What a ridiculous statement. My mother didn’t have a clue.
“I still don’t know this boy very well,” my father said.
“Pete’s a good guy. He’s a little shy around you.”
“But not around you?”
“No. He’s normal.”
“He’s not pushy, is he?”
He was fishing, but I didn’t take the bait. “He’s perfect.”
“Not for long. No one is perfect,” my mother said.
Why was she being so negative?
“Don’t get too smitten,” she added. “You’re too young to be tied down.”
“Mom, I’m only in my second year of high school. I think we’ll be alright.”
“It’s true that in a matter of months, you’ll be off to college and then what? Broken hear
ts. You’ve got to stick to your plan,” my father said.
Great, my mother had somehow steered Alfonso to his favorite subject: my future.
“You’ll go to college, get a good job with benefits and plan for old age. It’s never too early to save for your retirement, kiddo. Plus you can—”
“I know, Dad, I get it. I have a plan.”
“Don’t get smart with me,” he said, his eyes narrowing.
“I’m not. I just don’t want to have the same conversation we’ve been having for five years. I can’t think about my retirement yet. I haven’t even finished high school!”
My father’s palm slammed into the table. I flinched, a jolt punching my chest.
“That’s exactly when you should be thinking about it. If I had done so at your age, I wouldn’t be forced to work like a dog my entire life.” His voice amplified with every word.
I bit my tongue. With my father’s brain clouded by the booze, his palm would be hitting me and not the table in a minute if I wasn’t careful.
I swallowed my pride. “You’re right, Dad. Sorry.” Even though I’m not, and you’re a complete asshole.
An old classic crooned from the radio and in a classic Alfonso Trapani mood swing, my father leaped to his feet, grabbed my mother’s hand and twirled her around the dining room.
Amid her light protests, I collected the dishes and headed into the kitchen to clean up, happy to escape yet another potentially ugly moment with my father.
Alcohol did strange things to him. One minute, he could be mad, the next dancing around the kitchen, but his anger on any given day simmered just under the surface. Like a tornado, sometimes the storm erupted without much warning. And what about all that nonsense concerning Pete and I becoming too serious? It didn’t bode well, that was for sure.
Junior Year
1979
24
Back to School Specials
My first day back at Skyline started with a rude awakening. After a summer of sleeping until noon, my intrusive alarm forced me out of bed at 6:15. I sleepwalked through my morning not-yet-routine and hurried to the bus stop. Dragging myself onto the smelly bus, boisterous teenagers assaulted my eardrums. For the hundredth time, I wished I could drive to school. The bus finally pulled in front of Skyline, late after a traffic accident held us up. I ran to my first class, muttering obscenities.
My teacher, the short, balding Mr. Chang, stopped speaking when I entered, ushering me over to his desk to verify my name for attendance and chiding me on my tardiness. I slid into the first open seat I found and tried to unpack a notebook and pen quietly. A quick review of the room yielded a few acquaintances, but the sight of Jake Miller instantly improved my mood, especially when he winked at me.
The bell rang and I headed to second period English. Mary and I grabbed seats next to each other, rolling our eyes at various comments by the rotund Mrs. Frockman, intent on treating us as if we were in elementary school. We sprang from our desks when the bell sounded for nut break.
I joined Pete and the rest of the gang in the designated smoking section after going to my locker. But nothing prepared me for what happened next.
Katy and Michelle stood on the adjacent side of the confined area. My heart lurched. I couldn’t stop my gaze from darting, unable to focus on them, or away from them, for long. I’d failed both of them in the friendship department over the summer. We had barely talked, let alone hung out. My preoccupation with Pete, new friends and cheerleading consumed my time. It was only now, confronted with their startling appearance, that guilt engulfed me.
They puffed on cigarettes right out in the open—that was new—but their appearance shocked me more. Katy wore super tight jeans and a halter-top, her mane of onyx hair cascading halfway down her back, eyes swathed in dark hues. One arm was slung casually over the shoulder of a boy with apricot hair wearing a black leather jacket from AC/DC’s Highway to Hell tour. If she was going for trampy, she’d succeeded. Michelle wore similar provocative clothing, full-blown makeup and high heels. Her eyelashes, layered with black mascara, squinted at Katy through the smoke rings she blew out of her o-shaped mouth.
I stood rooted to the spot, eyes flicking like a toad, scratching an imaginary itch on my arm. What the hell transpired to change my friends in such a brief time? They were aligned with a group of burnouts we never would have given the time of day to last year. Maybe they’d spent their summer cavorting with stoners. By outer appearance, they were headed for a slippery slope.
Who the hell am I to judge? I drank and got high with my friends most of the past three months, not to mention had rampant sex with Pete. But he was my true love, not some random guy I screwed for the heck of it. And I certainly didn’t dress like that.
I caught Katy’s eye and waved. Smoke billowed out of her mouth as she raised a hand in return. Michelle smirked, her only acknowledgment I existed. It stung, but I deserved it.
The bell rang, none too soon for me. Pete and I walked, hands clasped, to our natural science class—the only one we shared. Unfortunately, the teacher rearranged our seating into alphabetical order, putting us at opposite ends of different rows. Bummer and a half.
The day ticked by steadily. Art promised a more relaxed atmosphere than my other subjects. Instead of desks, we sat on stools at large, rectangular paint-stained tables. Next came lunch, which I shared with Mary and Jaime, followed by fifth period history (boring), gym (fun) and my last class of the day, psychology. I liked Mr. Downey immediately and found his outline for our semester intriguing. Who didn’t want to understand what made people tick?
I met Pete after school, and we drove back to his house to hang out for a couple of hours. At least I wouldn’t have to take the crummy bus home.
Mrs. O’Reilly asked about our day.
“Rough,” I said. “And I only have a few friends in my classes. Again.”
“It sucked, Mom. It’s school,” said Pete.
“Don’t use that word, honey. You know I don’t like it.” She lit up a Marlboro Light. “Didn’t you like any of your subjects?”
He gave her an unrepentant smile. “Gym.”
“I think I’m going to like psychology. And get what the teacher’s name is—Mr. Downey. Isn’t that funny?”
“I had a Mr. Moler for a dentist once,” remembered Mrs. O’Reilly. “Are you interested in psychology?”
“Learning about people is interesting. Maybe it will explain why Pete acts the way he does.” I smiled at him.
He rolled his eyes. “I’m starving. What do we have to eat?”
His mother nodded towards the refrigerator. “You know where to look. There are plenty of snacks. Best of luck with your class, Anna. Do tell me if you discover the secret to men or brooding teenagers. We’re all dying to understand them.”
We shared a laugh while Pete muttered something unintelligible.
Pete drove me home. When he pulled up to my house, I clung to him, reluctant to get out of the car.
“Hey, you, what’s wrong?”
“I miss summer,” I said, my voice muffled by his shirt. “Everything’s changed.”
“We’re back in Skyline Hell for another year, but what else do you mean?”
“I’m worried we’re not going to have any time together. We don’t have lunch at the same time, and you’re going to have practice every day, and I’m going to be cheering at football games…”
“We’re going to be fine. Stop getting worked up.”
I nodded but didn’t believe him. “It was hard today with Katy and Michelle. Not that I blame how they treated me after the terrible friend I’ve been.”
Pete lifted my face and stared into my eyes. “It’s not your fault. I sidetracked you a little.”
I smiled. “Just a little.”
“They’ll come around if they really are your friends.”
“That’s the thing. They’ve been my best friends for years, and they ignored me today. Plus they’ve changed. Did you see them?”
>
“They were looking a little slutsville.”
I nodded in agreement. “It tripped me out.”
“Aren’t you just the mother hen?” Pete laughed and pulled me closer.
“And you’re the fox in the henhouse—the only one I really need to worry about!”
“That’s right.” Pete sank his lips into my neck and pretended to take a bite.
I shrieked and jerked away. He flashed me a grin.
I kissed him and got out of the car. “See you tomorrow, handsome.”
“You bet.”
Seconds later, he gunned it down the street.
Today sucked. It was the worst first day of school I can remember. The only highlight was seeing Pete and my friends. Correction: my new friends. Katy and Michelle treated me like I had the plague. Everything feels different this year. And I can’t fathom how much longer I have to live at home with a crazy father and a mother who says inane things. They are both incredibly uncool. College sounds better every minute. Especially one far away. Except...Pete. I don’t want to be separated from him! And I desperately need a car. Like that’s going to ever happen. My parents are hella tight when it comes to that. But I might kill myself if forced to ride the bus all year. And that would be tragic, wouldn’t it?
§§
The cheerleading squad gathered after school. As leader of our spirit gang, the experienced Mac reviewed our roles at the upcoming football game on Friday. It would be our first time cheering and most of the student body would be in attendance, along with parents, faculty and residents. Whenever I thought about it, my heart palpitated and my underarms perspired.
“Who wants to lead one of the long cheers?” asked Mac.
“I do!” Cathy said.
“Me, too!” Pam said.
“Excellent. I’ll take us through the rest, but when it’s your turn, come right to the front where I stand and lead the cheer from there. Pick the routines you want to do.”
Relief flooded me as the girls discussed and finalized their options. No thank you, no can do. I didn’t want to guide any cheers—it would be way too nerve-wracking.
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