“We saw the cops taking you away. Hope she was worth it.” Cackling bounced off the walls.
Sauntering to his locker, Michael appeared forbidding, and the heckling stopped.
Jimmy Pender had heard the news and wasn’t happy with the resurrected wide receiver stealing his limelight.
For the upcoming weekend, my parents gave me the choice of which day I wanted to babysit. Friday or Saturday. Nice of them. Since I hadn’t procured a Homecoming date for Saturday, I decided my best bet was Friday’s football game.
I’d acquired an important lesson from the previous game and sweating profusely at Putnam’s. I’d learned to layer. Underneath my coat and wool sweater, I wore a formfitting knit shirt. Not precisely sexy like Candy’s or as flashy as Dee’s, but it’d have to do.
There wasn’t a cloud in the pitch-black firmament to blanket in the warmth and the unforgiving wind made it unbearable. The gang trod through the school parking lot toward the football field. Mustering a semblance of heat, I cinched my coat and wrapped my scarf over my nose and mouth.
“Brrrr…it’s freaking freezing.”
“Too damn frosty for this time of year.”
“Shit, should’ve dressed warmer.”
“Shut the hell up. You’re making me cold.”
The school’s stadium was overflowing, and the noise coming from within was thunderous. The game was already in progress as we shuffled through the gated entrance. Stevie’s arm was hooked over Candy’s shoulders as we pitted through a collage of bodies to unearth a section of bleachers. Amidst congregating body heat, the real temperature of forty degrees was scarcely noticeable.
As soon as I’d wiggled into place, the feisty crowd ascended to a fever pitch. Michael had jumped for the pigskin and ran it in for the first touchdown of the game.
After the audience settled down Stevie removed a brown paper bag from his jacket. Unscrewing the cap from a bottle he took a slug, then handed it to Candy. “That’ll keep your blood flowing,” he said.
Still concealed in the paper bag, the pint of whiskey made its round. Wiping the neck of the bottle with my sleeve, as if germs really mattered by this point, I lifted it to my mouth. A burn surged through my esophagus into my belly. When I handed it to Dee, she gave me a look that I couldn’t quite interpret.
Candy was styling in her flannel-tufted jacket with lamb’s wool lapels. She attempted to warm my brother with her arms buried beneath his coat and her head and lips funneled into his neck. Ugh.
My interest was brought back to the players on the field and managed to catch Michael being slaughtered by two defensemen.
Yeooow.
Michael climbed to his knees as a teammate extended an arm and helped him to his feet. And, on the very next play, Jimmy Pender was sacked.
“Where’s Gwen?” I asked Dee.
“Her and Tom are here somewhere,” she replied. “We’ll find them under the bleachers at half-time.” She dug into her pocket and extracted a pair of brown gloves. Dee had also learned a lesson in maintaining warmth.
During a lull in the game, someone shouted Dee’s name. Turning around, we noticed Gwen, Tom, and Jesse on the top rung of the bleachers, flailing their arms. Then a happy faced Gwen bounced down and huddled next to me.
“Hey,” Gwen said, smiling from ear to ear and peering directly at Dee. “So is it true?”
Confused and curious, I glanced from Gwen to Dee. Her eyes, outlined in deep kohl, tapered as if she held a yummy secret.
“I promised him a good time, and you know I never disappoint. But he said no and smiled that lazy smile of his and walked away,” Dee said.
“But Tom said—”
Dee raised her hand, drawing a haughty grin on her mouth. “Tom must’ve laid into him or promised him something to change his mind because, after lunch, he said he’d go.”
“You’re shitting me? Really? You got balls, girl.” Gwen practically fell in my lap as she angled over me to jab Dee on her shoulder. “I wonder what those two ass-wipes are conniving because Tom said he’d go too. We’ll double date.”
“Candy said Steve won’t go.” Their necks craned to Candy and Steve who were swapping spit.
Sick
“What are you going to wear?” Dee asked her.
Being the third wheel stunk, so I burst in. “What are you talking about?”
“Dee didn’t tell you?”
Gwen repositioned her weight and shifted off of my lap. I swerved to Dee. Her gloved fingers pinched a hank of hair that had flown into her mouth.
“Michael’s been so busy defending your honor,” her voice was on the snide side. “Next time there’s a party, I’ll make sure I pass out in front of him.” They giggled.
“Stop, Dee,” Gwen scolded, half-heartedly. “Go on, tell her.”
“I asked Michael to go to Homecoming.”
“Oh.” My stomach caved. “I hope you have a good time. Think of me while I’m babysitting.”
“Shit man,” Gwen said, “don’t your parents ever get a sitter?”
Disguising my disappointment, I said, “Sometimes my grandparents watch Lucy.” While the girls conversed about Homecoming, my innards waged war with my heart, and despair carved into my bones.
So Michael and Dee were going to Homecoming. That typically denotes grounds for a relationship, doesn’t it? I’d been falling faster than a shooting star, and that day he’d driven me into school, I’d hoped or thought he’d felt a spark too. I should’ve known better, he was an exquisite manipulator. Every girl in school was trolling for Michael. And who could resist Dee? It’s common knowledge, she always gets the boy.
“It’s almost half-time,” I said to anyone who’d listen. “I’m going for hot chocolate.”
When Williamsville East scored their second touchdown, the crowd’s disappointed groans infused the stadium. Hustling to the refreshment booth, it was a hindrance standing in line for the hot mixture, but it was worth it. I cradled the creamy drink in my hands and blew over the steam. Taking a heedful swallow, I’d spotted my brother and Candy tunneling under the bleachers.
“Hey, Steve, wait up.”
“Here, I bet this’ll taste excellent in that.” Stevie doused my hot chocolate with a remnant of whiskey. “Drink up, little sis.” He smiled as if he was doing me a favor and chucked the paper bag with the empty bottle into the trashcan.
I savored the fusion of flavors. The hot chocolate camouflaged the whiskey, and it was easier to get down the hatch. With the combination of the weed we’d smoked earlier and now the whiskey, I reigned in a state of euphoria. Buzzed. And it just might be the ticket to comfort my fractured heart.
At the beginning of the second half, I noticed two people staggering on the boardwalk, discernibly out of their element. The man was in a military jacket wearing fatigues and black boots, and on his head a crotchet cap. The other person looked like a hippie in a calf-length suede coat with faux fur lapels, with a gauzy skirt flouncing around her ankles. Her hair stood-out the most—crazy tawny locks waterfalling over her shoulders. She resembled Cousin It from the Adam’s Family.
The stranger’s bent over the boardwalk’s railing, and with their hands cupping their mouths, they began to shout. The noisy spectators temporarily erased their voices until I distinctly heard, “Covington!” Players on the sidelines began to turn.
I wasn’t the only one who caught it.
“Are those people calling for Michael?” Dee asked.
A player paddled Michael on the shoulders and then gestured to the strangers. Michael ripped off his helmet. He beamed a mind-shattering smile and loped toward them. The guy hopped from the boardwalk and landed in Michael’s arms, kissing him. The other lady squatted to her knees and pounced on him, too. I thought the twosome was going to drop him to his knees, with the hair-raising display of affection.
Whistles resonated and
Coach screamed for Covington. Michael pointed to the stands, right at us, and said something. Hastily performing a roundabout, he tore onto the field.
Monitoring the peculiar duo, I failed to keep my eyes on the game and missed a great play.
“Are you Steve Monroe? Are you Steve Monroe? Is there a Steve Monroe over here?”
Who could miss two bizarre people looking for my brother?
“Yo, over here.” Stevie waved them over.
As it turned out, the one whom I’d deduced was a dude was a rather strapping female. The military jacket had flapped open, revealing jiggly boobs beneath her shirt. When she drew near, her feminine facial features became distinct, and there was a colorful peace sign tattooed on the side of her neck.
As the ladies barged in, an overpowering tang of hashish permeated the vicinity. Regardless of where we were stationed, they bracketed Stevie—one on the right and the other on his left. Their untoward placements generated a collision of sorts by squishing Candy into Dee, and Dee into me, and the guy beside me must’ve appreciated my hips thrusting into him because he grinned.
“Hey, Steve,” said the vivacious hair lady. Her fingers stroked my brother’s chin. It appeared seductive, but I think it was her manner of saying a hello.
The other lady did the same. “Mikey said to get Steve. And we got Steve.”
She gurgled in laughter, and I didn’t comprehend what was so funny.
“I’m Phoenix and this is Raven.”
Raven, not as effervescent, nodded and realigned the cap over her spikey head of hair.
“Hi, girls.” Stevie looked enthralled with the oddballs while he seemed to be inhaling their brilliant scent. “What’s happening? What brings you to Lancaster?”
“Ooooo, Mikey, of course.” Phoenix cuddled my brother’s shoulder, and Candy snarled. “He said to look him up if we were ever in this part of the state. Look....” Searching in her pocket, she withdrew a rumpled piece of paper, parchment for rolling marijuana. “Here, see. Mikey’s phone number and address. His aunt told us where to find him. So here we are.”
Well, that explains everything.
Attempting not to appear voyeuristic, I estimated their ages at maybe twenty. Phoenix was pretty. Perhaps more than pretty. Her expressive, unplucked eyebrows elevated like a seesaw as she talked.
“By the way this is…um…Candy.” Stevie indicated with a flick of his wrist. “And that’s Dee and my sister, Mary.” His face registered satisfaction, gawping at the motley girls.
“Hey, sister, sister.” Phoenix waved to me by tipping over my brother’s chest, her hair tickling his nose. Stevie placed a sociable hand over the girl’s shoulder, and by the expression on his face, he clearly liked it.
“I’m Steve’s girlfriend,” Candy said, sounding none too amiable. If her eyes had been laser beams, they girls would have been smoldering corpses.
Raven quipped, “Oh, I’m bad. I’m bad.” Leaping up, she grabbed Candy by the shoulders and shunted her next to Steve. Then worming her rear-end, she lodged between Dee and Candy.
She was decidedly a strong lady, and I made a mental note, don’t mess with Raven.
“Are you related to Covington?” Steve asked Phoenix, who appeared conjoined to my brother’s shoulder.
“Not really. But, I scarcely recognized him. His face is nearly healed. We met Mikey at Woodstock.” Phoenix’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “We’re still flying high. Right, Raven?” She slanted, seeking Raven with her oval eyes.
“Totally far-out.” Raven slapped her knee and stamped her booted feet. “Groovy history in the making, man.”
“You were at Woodstock?” Dee inquired. “Michael never mentioned Woodstock. That’s wild.” Expressing marveling eyes, her brow heightened.
“Mikey’s kind of introverted,” said Raven, seemingly familiar with his personality. She wiped her forehead on her coat sleeve as if she’d been perspiring in the forty-degree weather.
“So how’d you meet Covington?” Stevie asked.
Curiosity was biting my brother in the ass, and to be honest, myself as well. Bending my ear to their conversation while trying to concentrate on the game was quite annoying. And as Dee inched farther and farther from Raven, she was essentially in my lap.
“Sweetwater…” Phoenix’s eyes glazed. Her body swayed as if she was hearing music twanging in her weird brain, and her hands stirred to a mysterious tempo.
Meanwhile, when Phoenix mentioned Sweetwater, Raven had shut her eyes. Her head bobbed. The girls appeared to be tripping back to Woodstock.
“Mikey sat by himself under a tree. His face was messed up. He was hurting,” said Phoenix as if she was consulting a crystal ball. Shuttering her eyelids, her mouth increased into an exhilarated open-mouthed grin. “Raven and I pulled him to his feet. We danced.”
“Everybody danced,” Raven repeated. “It was hot. God listened to our songs and sent cool rains.”
“Mikey stayed with us.” Phoenix opened her eyes, yet remained in another dimension. Parting her mouth, she ran her tongue over her lips. “We rocked all night. The whole place was a massive love fest. Muddy bodies tangled as far as the eye could see.”
“On Saturday, we erected a pup tent,” Raven added.
When she turned, exposing her tattoo, I tried not to gawk.
“We helped Mikey. He was so uptight and could hardly move because he was so sore. We showered him with our love and peace.”
“Yeah…uptight.” Phoenix’s humming advanced into a mirthless snicker. Rapidly blinking, her gaze looped around as if she couldn’t retain where she was. “One day, Mikey’s going to blow. We need to take care of him. He lost his daddy in Nam and his mom kicked him out.” Tears rinsed her eyes. “Before going to his aunt’s, Mikey detoured to Woodstock, and the rest is memories.”
Pondering Michael’s history, I wondered what other enigmas he had.
I was jealous, perturbed, and inexperienced.
CHAPTER 13
The Lancaster Redskins made it into the play-offs with a score of twenty-eight to fourteen. The gang hauled-ass and headed for the Corner Bar. Phoenix and Raven remained behind to wait for Michael and said they’d follow if that’s what Mikey wanted.
“Steve, are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked for the hundredth time, craving reassurance. Wouldn’t people wonder why such a juvenile twerp was in the bar?
“I told you, it’ll be fine.” The wheels of the car crackled on a stoned parking lot. “This way.”
I’d been informed early that, after the game, we’d be partying at a local dive Stevie and his friends frequented on a regular basis. A current underage-drinking establishment where the bartender had to be deaf, dumb, and blind. Scarcely passing for sixteen, I had a vision of police raiding the joint with me being dragged away in handcuffs.
Shepherding us to a rear entrance Stevie pulled on a screen door. Whorls of smoke bombed our heads. I flapped my arms, fighting the expulsion. Four obscure figures lingered in a five-by-five vestibule—Tom, Jesse, Gwen, and Monty. Indulging in hashish, they were sniggering as if hearing an obscene joke. Then, they offered the pipe to Stevie.
After treating ourselves to a couple of tokes, we went into a back room attached to the bar. Cheap looking tables and chairs littered the area and, standing front and centered, was the one piece of classy furniture—a pay-as-you-play-billiard table. The room was unoccupied and unadorned, except for the grimy picture window with a red neon light advertising Schmidt’s Beer. Located alongside the wall was a multi-colored jukebox singing, “Young Girl”. When the band sung about how the girl should run because she was much too young, I thought of it as a premonition.
An archway led into the tavern where two customers were slouched on chrome chairs, elbowing an L-shaped bar. That was all I could see without walking in plain sight of the bartender, and immediately getting arrest
ed.
“Stay back here while we get beers,” Stevie stated. “Chet doesn’t bother us as long as we dole out money.”
Monty and Stevie walked to the front tavern while the rest of us gathered chairs and scuffed tables together. The only source of light was a suspended lamp, which bathed the pool table. Feeling so incredibly culpable, I liked that the room was cast in muted darkness. I selected a chair in the farthest corner, safe in the shadows.
My whiskey head-rush had dispersed during the game. Although, after consuming a toke or two and amid the heady bouquet pervading the area, my giddy had been restored. The boys reentered with bottlenecks of beer twined in their fingers. After they deposited them on the table, rivulets of condensation trickled down the frosty glass.
Candy and Dee had strolled to the jukebox and were punching in a sequence of numbers while grinding their hips to “Born to Be Wild.” Perceiving gawking boys, I squelched a chuckle in my throat.
“Hey, sister,” Monty sang to get my attention. “How ‘bout a game.”
“Sure. You rack.” I shed my coat and hung it on the chair. Running fingers through my hair in hopes of untangling a clump, I snagged a pool stick.
Halfway through the game, roly-poly Monty accidentally sunk the eight ball. “Oh, shit,” he complained with a humble shrug.
“I’m next,” said a fervent Jesse, pinning his hair behind his ears. He slotted twenty-five cents and crouched to remove the balls from the shelf, spinning them onto red felt.
By the finish of our second game, it looked as if the entire football squad was there. Marked fist bumps, elbow pumping, clapping of shoulders, rough housing, and all that boy stuff took place. Most of them, at least those who were eighteen, went to the bar to order drinks.
Michael rambled in with Phoenix and Raven clinging to his arms.
“Hey, sister, sister,” Phoenix said when she saw me. Then she performed a hop and a skip, her gauzy skirt pranced around and between her legs. She encircled my shoulders and spun us as if we were long lost buds. “I thought I was never going to see you again. Here you are, and I’m so happy.”
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