|
|
|
||||||||
| Archive | |||||||||
|
Coming of Age in America
Part 30 |
|||
|
Part of the rite of passage on graduation night was the senior dance. Today my children would call it prom, but for us it was the senior dance and it was a much less formal occasion back in 1970. For weeks I had regretted the way I had broken things off with my girlfriend. Friends had asked, but I was far too embarrassed to give an explanation. I knew if I was ever to set things straight, the senior dance was my last hope. I called and asked if she would go with me. Surprisingly, she accepted. Still young and dumb, I wanted things to be perfect. It was well known that alcohol was always around on graduation night and I had never tasted it before. The most I knew about it was that if you drank too much you got drunk, but if you drank just a little it would loosen your inhibitions. I was going for the latter. Perhaps I would get my first kiss. There was another problem. I lived in a dry county and I was under eighteen. The closest place to purchase beer back in those days was in Attala County, nearly twenty miles away. So I planned it out carefully. I drove to a joint called Little Son’s, just over the county line, put on my best ‘old’ face and walked in like I knew what I was doing. I had heard that if your money was green, you’d be old enough. Evidently my money was green enough. I ordered a six-pack of the Clydesdales brand. Tall Boys, with a Styrofoam cooler and a bag of ice to go. I never flinched. I tried to act like I’d done it a hundred times before. I couldn’t get out of that place fast enough. Down the road I pulled off on a gravel road, put the beer in the cooler and dumped the ice in on top. All the way back I watched my rearview mirror, terrified a cop was going to pull me over and search my car for contraband. The last thing I wanted was for my face to be plastered on the front page of the Winston County Journal with the headlines reading, Ricky Algood Busted for Bringing A Six-Pack of Beer Into The County. Just down the road from my house I hid the cooler out in the woods, ready for the big night. The old car was washed, vacuumed and ready for my best last chance of getting a first kiss. After I was pronounced a graduate, I yanked off that cap and gown and ran to my car. I had to drive back out into the country, pick up the cooler and get back to town to pick up my date. With the cooler firmly parked on the floorboard of the back seat, I picked her up and we headed out to the lake where the dance was held. She was playing it coy, not saying much. I was trying my best to act like I was officially grown up. After all, I had a diploma to prove it. Casually, I said, “I have some beer in back if you’d like one.” She never flinched. She said, “Take me home.” That wasn’t the response I had been expecting. Flustered I told her that we didn’t have to drink any. I just bought it along just…well just in case. Facing only forward, again she said, “Take me home. NOW.” “Please.” “Home.” I was just sick. I had blown it. So I turned around and took her home. My glorious night was a flop. On the way back out to the lake, alone, I decided I probably needed one of those beers, so I pulled to the side of the road and plucked one out of the cooler, fought with the plastic gizmo that held them all together, finally freed one, popped the top and took a long hard drink. It was awful. It tasted like green pond scum. Like something that came out of one of those Clydesdales. I sat there thinking, ‘I screwed up. I blew my chance to get back with her for buying pond scum.’ A classmate saw me parked on the side of the road and pulled alongside to check on me. It turned out he was looking for some beer, so I handed off the rest of stuff to him. He was thrilled. I drove on to the dance, but it just wasn’t the same. Folks asked where my date was, but I was at a loss for words. I suppose Forest Gump was right. Stupid is as stupid does. The next morning I arrived at the clothing store on time. I believe they were surprised to see me. All day long I kicked myself every chance I got. For some odd reason Johnny, the kid from the bus, came into the store that day. He and a couple of his buddies were in town and he knew I worked there. He dropped by to congratulate me on finishing high school. Something he had never done. He told me he’d received his GED while in the army and he was home because he had a medical discharge. He was acting kinda down - said he had finally found something he was good at but the army didn’t need him anymore since he had a bad knee. It had been injured while he and a bunch of guys were playing baseball in Nam. They were playing ball and using a metal pipe for a bat. He was playing catcher, and the guy at bat had hit the ball out of sight. Before he began running toward first base, he threw the pipe backwards, it connected with Johnny’s knee and messed it up. His military career was over. He said they discharged him and sent him home. Later I learned all that was a lie. Johnny had actually gone AWOL and the army was looking for him, but he managed to lay low on the familiar turf of his home county. The only work he could find was helping a local wood cutter haul pulp wood, which was hard, hot work. He was paid by the load and only after it was sold. Months later I learned he had come down with leukemia. His doctor put him on strict bedrest, but he continued to try to work. After all, he had to eat. The hard work took its toll on him. Someone found him on his couch after he had passed away. To me it seemed like Johnny never stood a chance. His parents had given him up, he had been raised by an elderly aunt and uncle, and he died at home alone. I still feel sad when I think about him and the way his life turned out.
_______________
|
|||
