after all these years.”
I sprinkle a dash of glitter on my finally-finished Christmas wreath, not wanting to address the fact that Brad now comes from a Broken Home. Meanwhile, Life is still Fine and Dandy here at the Paternos with Jack and Dianne.
I attempt to liven up the conversation by saying, “I can’t wait to go to Disney World on Spring Break.” Even though I’ve already been twice, I can’t help but get excited thinking about watching Brad totally freak out on Space Mountain.
He gives me a look. “We are not going to Disney World on Spring Break…We are way too old for that.”
“What are we gonna do instead?” I wonder.
“All I wanna do is lay on the beach and get a great tan,” he replies. “And get laid!”
I try my best to conceal my laughter. “Like there’s even a chance.”
Brad gives me another look. “It could happen…We’re in 9th grade, aren’t we?”
“So…?”
“So…People have sex when they’re in 9th grade,” he insists.
“No, they don’t.” What person in their right mind would risk having S-E-X at such a young age?
“Your Mom was in 9th grade when she got pregnant with you!” Brad reminds me. In case I forgot. “Dianne was the exact same age we are now and she was totally having sex.”
“Yeah…But she’s a girl.”
“So…?”
“So…Girls mature faster than boys.” Which is another thing they’ve been cramming down our throats since 6th grade Sex Ed.
“Whatever,” says Brad, blowing me off. “Bobby says it’s gonna happen…Soon.”
Which is fine for somebody like Bobby Russell to say. He’s got a different girlfriend every week. But I don’t. And neither does Brad…Which is what I remind him.
“Duh! When you’re on Spring Break, it doesn’t matter,” he quips. “There are tons of people on the beach and everybody is hot and it just happens.”
“But we’re staying with my Grandpa Guff,” I tell Brad, hating to burst his bubble. “And he doesn’t live anywhere near Daytona.” Which is where all the Hazeltucky Hillbillies go on their wild Spring Break adventures. “I just don’t see us having much opportunity to get laid…Sorry.”
Now Brad looks totally disappointed. But come on! Does he really think we’re gonna go from being Total Band Fags to Spring Break Studs? Then he says, “You’re my Best Friend, aren’t you?” Getting all serious.
“What are you talking about?” I’m dreading Brad’s gonna say something mushy and embarrass me. “You know I am.”
“And we’ll always be Best Friends, won’t we?” He avoids my gaze. “No matter what?”
“Of course,” I affirm. “How could we not?”
At which point, Brad looks at me, sticking out his right pinky. Like he expects me to link mine with his or something. “You have to promise, Jack.”
So I do…I link my pinky with Brad’s and I promise.
“Good.” He breathes a sigh of relief. “’Cause whoever gets laid first has to tell the other one everything about it…And I mean, every detail. Who, where, when. What it feels like…Okay?”
“Okay…” Why am I not crazy about this agreement?
Having eased his troubled mind, Brad goes back to the wreath he’s been working on for what must be like the last hour…
“How’s this?” he asks, finally. Then he holds up the most pathetic looking thing I’ve ever seen. I’m not even kidding when I say this…It makes the tree on A Charlie Brown Christmas look like the one in Rockefeller Center in New York City.
“Um…You might wanna fluff it up a bit,” I begin my criticism. “And go a little easier on the glitter next time.”
At which point, Brad throws down his pathetic excuse for a Christmas wreath, scattering loose white tissue paper squares everywhere. Then he reaches for his duffle bag. Which can only mean one thing…
“I need a cigarette!”
Sooner Or Later
“They tell me not to worry
Don’t be in a hurry…”
—Rex Smith
“Pretend I’m the Mommy and you’re the Daddy…”
Every day back in Kindergarten, Audrey Wojczek would force me to play House with her during Free Time. Off to work she (Mrs. Jackie Kennedy) would send me, a peck planted firmly upon my John F. cheek. Even though I kept reminding her my middle name is Robert, not Fitzgerald!
I can’t even tell you how mortified I was when I found my picture in the lower right-hand corner of our Kindergarten class photo—right next to “Audrey Ostrich.” Which is what I used to call her. Though never to her face. Like my Mom always says, “If you can’t say something nice…” Not that Audrey looked like an ostrich or anything. She was just so much bigger than me—and to this day she still is! Not that I’m saying she’s fat or anything, ’cause she’s not. But she is a bigger girl. Like 5'6" or so and I’m only 5'2" with my Nike hi-tops on.
I also can’t even tell you how relieved I was when I returned to 1st grade the following September, only to learn Audrey’s family had moved to Minnesota. For the next two years she would reside in Duluth before returning to Hazeltucky and attending Catholic School at St. Mary Magdalen’s. So close and yet far enough away for me to never see her again…That is, till she came over to Webb this year and we met up in Mr. Davidson’s 4th hour Biology.
In case you don’t remember—because how can you keep track of so many different people, places, and things?—Audrey Wojczek is my friend who works in the Guidance Counseling Office during 1st hour. The one with the long red hair down to her “childbearing hips,” as she likes to call them.
I’m over her house on Woodward Heights. Which is technically 91/2 Mile. But nobody ever calls it that. Not to be confused with Woodward Avenue, aka M-1…
“Happy Fucking New Year!” Audrey shouts for the whole wide world to hear—or at least all of Hazeltucky.
We’ve abandoned Times Square on TV in favor of a Paterno Family tradition…Banging pots and pans outside on the front porch. As kids, I never understood why we did this or where the tradition had come from. But every December 31st since I can remember, this is what my sister and brother and I always did, don’t ask me why!
“You look like Cousin Itt,” I tell Audrey. Minus the bowler hat and glasses, of course.
She’s got her long red hair draped over the front of her shoulders covering her bare arms down to her waist. Though it’s obviously not keeping her warm by the way her teeth chatter like crazy. “Bite me!” Audrey snaps. Then she says, “Fuck this shit…I’m getting the Hell back inside.” For a girl with a Catholic School upbringing, Audrey Wojczek’s got quite the mouth on her.
The distinct smell of what can only be described as “Audrey’s House” hits me the minute I follow her through the door. A cross between mothballs and kitty litter, maybe? Not that I’m saying it’s a bad smell or anything, ’cause it’s not.
“Now what do we do?” she asks, still shivering.
I look at my watch…12:08 AM. “It’s kinda late, isn’t it?” I say.
To which Audrey gives me her “Don’t Even” look. Which consists of turning her head slightly to one side, furrowing