I Lacked Leather and Cloves.
Scott and I became exclusive – I thought – immediately. I had no interest in seeing anyone else, since this guy with the black leather was all I’d ever want or need in life.
It never occurred to me to wonder why Scott never spoke. He just didn’t. He was too cool.
Scott would pick me up in his car. I thought we would always go to The Hood, but Scott wasn’t a one-bar kind of guy.
In spite of his attire, he didn’t drive a motorcycle, or even a particularly cool car. But because he had a vehicle, we could go places.
So that’s what we did. We went places. We saw bands and drank at nightclubs and ate at diners and delis. We drove to Akron and Cleveland and Kent and Canton, just because we could. I thought Kent was particularly exotic, because of the massacre.
Scott could go wherever he wanted, and I felt fortunate to be included. I thought Scott was worldly.
Scott spoke through music – sharing obscure Lou Reed songs with me, which I swallowed whole, then reevaluated for weeks, listening to Street Hassle like it was the word of God. Later Scott introduced me to Trio, a band that wowed me with its brilliant lyrics (“Uh huh uh huh uh huh” and “Da Da Da”) interspersed with real German. Scott’s musical choices made me believe Scott was brilliant, too.
Scott worked nights at the local grocery store, stocking shelves while the store was closed. This, to me, seemed like the coolest job in the world. He got to stay up all night and get paid for it!
Scott smoked clove cigarettes, which smelled like spicy candy. When he ran out, he smoked Salems.
After a few dates with Scott, I started smoking Salem Lights, so I could smell the way Scott did. I lacked leather and cloves, but I definitely smelled.
Scott had formerly lived on a beach in Florida, eating raw potatoes to survive. I believed this was the ultimate freedom, and aspired to do exactly the same thing.
“You think eating raw potatoes is cool?” Scott said.
“Yes!” I screamed. “You could eat whatever you wanted! Do whatever you wanted! Go wherever you wanted! And you got to sleep on the beach!”
Scott shook his head slowly. He didn’t talk enough to argue with me.
I never considered the fact that Scott had left those Florida beaches to return to Ohio to live with his parents and work night shifts in a grocery store.
One night, Scott took me to his house for dinner so that I could meet his parents. I was scared. The coolest man in the world probably had the coolest parents – and I was not cool. Would they like me?
They did like me.
In fact, they seemed to be just regular parents. We ate regular food at a regular table in a regular house.
Scott didn’t talk at dinner either, so I got to know his parents really well. But I only met them once.
Most of the time we were having our worldly adventures in eastern Ohio.
I dreamed of riding with Scott to a beach, a sack of raw potatoes in the trunk, a case of Coors for him and a case of Coors Light for me, and a whole carton of menthol cigarettes in the glove compartment.
College seemed distant and unimportant.
But as I finished my first semester of my junior year, I had to leave both Bonnie and Scott to go home for Christmas.
The beach and its potatoes seemed far away indeed.