I Generally Slept on the Ground.
My new “apartment” meant that I could go wherever, whenever I wanted. It was my chance for freedom while living with parents. But of course, I had no car.
I wasted no time calling Bonnie to discuss possibilities. Bonnie had transferred to the University of Akron but it was still summer, so she was bored.
Bonnie came to visit my new digs immediately. She was more thrilled than anyone that I was no longer tied to Larry. She had her best friend back, and I had mine, and we could be young and free and wild again.
Bonnie wasn’t legal drinking age yet, but she still had her fake ID. We determined that a hotel bar would be less likely to card us.
“And a hotel bar would have rich guys to buy us drinks!” she said. She surmised – and I agreed – that only rich people stay in nice hotels. I generally slept on the ground or under trailers, so I probably couldn’t afford hotel bar prices.
So we went to the local Marriott. We found plenty of “rich” guys to buy us drinks – and take us to their hotel rooms. The fact that the two we found were married didn’t matter at all. We all stayed together in one room, as was our usual custom. We were always safer if we stayed together.
The next night, Bonnie and I went to a biker bar, since old habits die hard. Two of the bikers followed us home on a beautiful summer evening after we’d all drunk substantially more than our share. When we got back to my parents’ house, we kissed our safety-keepers goodnight.
After the kissing, one of the guys said we should all go for a longer ride. “I know a place,” he said. “It’s out in the country.”
“That sounds great!” I said.
But Bonnie grabbed my arm, pulled me aside, and stared hard into my eyes. “I can’t ride on a motorcycle,” she said.
“Whattaya mean?” I asked. I thought she, like me, loved motorcycles.
“Please don’t make me go!” she whispered – loudly, panicked.
I looked back at the guys, their engines sputtering in front of my parents’ house in the middle of the night. “Sorry guys, we can’t go,” I yelled.
They waved and drove off, no problem.
“What’s wrong?” I looked at Bonnie, who I’d never seen look more upset, ever.
She paused. “It’s my face,” she said. “I don’t care if I die; I’m not afraid of death. But if something happens to my face….” She paused. “My face is all I have,” she said. “I can’t let anything happen to my face.”
“Okay,” I said, hugging her, drunk, in the front yard. “Nothing’s going to happen to your face.”
We went inside and played music until we passed out on the basement floor.
The next day she drove us to Ohio, where we could both legally drink. We got wasted and went to The Smiths concert, but spent our evening on the bathroom floor and missed the entire show.
The next day we went to see Micki, from college, whose cat had three-week-old kittens. One of them was crawling up my arm.
“Can I have this one?” I said.
“You can’t take her yet!” Micki warned. “Come back in five weeks!”
“Okay!” I promised. I was so rad; I hadn’t even asked my parents if I could get a kitten.
I was having a great time with all my freedom.