I Felt … Independent.
When summer rolled around, I decided to have a party. My parents were out and all three “kids” were old enough to stay at home alone, so we had a bash. We stocked the fridge with a ton of beer and invited all of our – meaning my sisters’ – friends to a party. I don’t remember any of my own friends being there.
I was so happy sitting on my parents’ deck, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes. Music blasted, people laughed loudly; I felt like I was in a John Hughes movie.
But the party wasn’t pleasing to my parents.
Another long meeting ensued about how I needed to follow their rules, blah blah blah. There was some mention made about my younger sisters who, at this point, were 14 and 17 years old. Blah blah “role model” blah blah “rules” blah blah “set a good example” blah blah blah….
So many things I didn’t want to hear, so little space to do what I wanted to do.
A few days later, I told my parents I was going to my friend Cherie’s house to spend the night. I hadn’t yet been invited, but Cherie always offered me the opportunity to spend the night. I just didn’t want to be home anymore.
So I went to Cherie’s and we drank. Only on this particular night, for whatever reason, for the first time in many years, the words “you can spend the night” never came out of Cherie’s mouth. If I had asked, I could have stayed, but I didn’t ask.
It was 3 a.m. I had an opportunity to be alone, to do whatever I wanted to do, wherever I wanted to do it. I even had a car!
I felt … independent. I felt free.
I decided to drive around, sleep in the car, watch the sunrise in a park somewhere. I could do whatever I wanted because nobody was going to stop me.
I blasted the stereo at top volume, forging a solid path so that I didn’t get lost. There were no GPS trackers and no cell phones and I never know my way around, so I just drove up and down Route 30, the road that passed directly in front of my parents’ neighborhood. I figured if I just drove for a couple of hours one way, then drove back a couple of hours the other way, I would be home at a reasonable time.
Route 30 runs the entire width of Pennsylvania. I could have driven back and forth for a month without getting lost.
I spent a lot of my drinking career – before and after this moment – wishing desperately for this kind of freedom. I wanted the stability of shelter and transportation, but ultimately I just wanted to be left alone. I wanted to create my own fun alcoholic life.
I imagined myself as a hippie stuck in the wrong generation, flowing freely from place to place, following my dreams of freedom and the road.
In reality, because I had no money, I ended up immediately dependent on the first guy I saw, especially if he had an extra 50 cents to buy me a beer. But I didn’t recognize this pattern for decades.
So tonight was my chance. No friends, no family holding me back: middle of the night, stereo blasting in my parents’ car, I launched myself into the wild black yonder.
I made it as far as North Versailles, maybe 15 minutes from home, where I stopped for gas. And that’s where my plans for independence vanished into thin air.