Indian Hill (3 page)
Paul and I spent the remainder of the school week in detention. It amazed me how incredibly boring this means of punishment was. We sat outside of the principal’s office all day. At lunchtime we ate a supervised lunch
,
meaning one of the teachers literally sat with us. Yeah, that was a barrel of laughs. We were allowed two bathroom breaks a day, obviously they were at different times, heaven forbid that we actually got to talk to each other for three minutes during the day. School generally seems like it takes forever but you’ve never experienced anything quite like this. I think that this type of detention actually defies the laws of quantum physics, only in reverse. Instead of time travel, this was a time stoppage. The rest of the world was speeding by at light speed and our time line had just plain old stopped. I can look back on this and see the pure brilliance of it, but at the time I was ready to split out of my skin. The thinking behind it had to have been that a parent can only yell at a kid for so long before they either have to do household chores or go to work. Once that’s over the kid can pretty much do whatever they feel like. But with in-school suspension, you are trapped. Trapped in a world wh
ere time does not move, and they
made sure that you were in line of sight of every student that had to pass by that way. Suffice it to say we were laughed at and pointed at
multiple times
. I was beginning to feel like a caged monkey. The principal should have handed out rotten fruit to the student body and then it would have been just like being in the stockades in colonial times. The principal had officially made it to Paul’s and my short list. And sooner or later we would exact our revenge.
Well, contrary to popular belief, the week did finally end. My mom still hadn’t talked to me and my dad had taken off for parts unknown, so to my way of thinking I had paid my debt to society. Paul’s pseudo-mother had softened her stance. Her newest book said that teenagers, and I quote, ‘Teenagers must explore their path unhindered and unadulterated.’ Paul thought that he should write a thank you letter to the author. He was pretty much free and clear to go ‘find his own way,’ as Barb put it.
P
arents will never get it. They must lose it somewhere along the way. They keep telling us that they were teens once, but you’d never know it by looking at them. I wanted to live my life like The Who song, ‘Hope I die before I get old.’ But I wonder if I would still hold true to that since now I am getting older? Who knows? We still had a ten pack on the roof of the local
S
top and
S
hop and Friday night loomed large ahead. Paul and I both chowed down our respective dinners as if they were the last meal we would ever eat. Well, when it’s already
6 p.m.
and you only have until
11 p.m.
, you have to pack in as much fun in that time period as teenagerly possible. I beat Paul to the roof and had been tempted to pop open a beer while I waited
,
while I was trying to figure out this moral dilemma I heard someone scaling the wall. Paul’s head came up over the lip of the building and I rushed over there to extend a helping hand. With a grunt and a heave we were both on the roof, previous problem solved.
“Hey bud, how was dinner?” I asked laughingly.
“How would I know, I’m not sure what I even had
,
I ate it so fast. How was yours?”
“I wouldn’t know, the dog ate the majority of mine, but he did look a little green around the snout when I left.”
“Is your mom still not talking to you?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of creepy, but since my sister moved out she’s been up my ass constantly. This is kind of a nice break.”
“Well enough of that
crap
, did you break the beers out yet?”
“Naw man, I was waiting for you,” I said with a slight grin.
“Bullshit, you didn’t have enough time or you’d be sipping one by now.”
“Yeah, probably.” We popped open a couple of them. They were unbelievably cold on this relatively balmy autumn night. We
talked
all night, from how big Betsy Whitestead’s tits were getting to how much of a cow Mrs. Weinstedder was to how
screwe
d up our family lives were. It was a good night, at the time I had no idea what the word meant but if I had been able to vocalize my feelings the correct word would have been cathartic. I had been unable to release so much of this baggage that I had been carrying around. My brothers were almost a generation older than me and had long since moved out. My sister had left months before and I was affectionately known around the house as ‘the mistake,’ that did wonders for my self-esteem. We had moved away from everything and everybody I cared for. I had begun to build a wall around myself. If Paul had not come along when he did, that wall may have grown to unassailable proportions.
The fall semester flew by. We played football with a bunch of other kids that more closely matched our type of personas. It was amazing what you could discover if you pulled away the fake veneer that covered a lot of these guys. Most of them had just not been shown that path before so they didn’t know how. But we made sure to corrupt as many as possible. I guess that’s not truly fair, we just wanted to have a good time and whoever wanted to come along was welcome. Which was vastly different from the status quo. The popular sect at school resented us, but we honestly weren’t trying to lead a counter-culture revolution. In the popular crowd you were either a ‘has’ or a ‘has-not,’ whereas with us it was pretty much if you can catch up, join in for the ride. Don’t get me wrong, we still had lines drawn in the sand of who belonged where, but we had definitely blurred the edges.
The first half of the year had come and gone. Christmas break finally arrived. Christmas really didn’t do much for me, but the thought of not having to do anything academic for two weeks was of great relief. It was during this break that I had my first girlfriend. It wasn’t much of a romance, the whole thing fit inside the
vacation
. Patty Ryan called me the day after Christmas to see how I was doing. At the time I didn’t think too much about it. After I told Paul he called me a bonehead.
“Why am I a bonehead?” I asked incredulously.
“Patty Ryan calls you out of the blue to say hi. What are you doing? Smoking pot?”
“No, why?” I asked still dumb-founded.
“Dude, she called you hoping that you’d ask her out.”
“Are you
kidd
ing me?”
“Not at all
,
did you get her number?” I nodded. “Yeah, well, you should call her back before she realizes her mistake.”
“Thanks buddy, and by the way… Kiss my ass.”
“You’re welcome.”
So I did as I was instructed and I invited her out to dinner the next day. For all you people who are new to this whole game, if you ever invite a girl out or are invited out yourself, never go to an Italian restaurant. It’s way too messy. I had spaghetti sauce all over the front of my shirt. It’s kind of hard to put on the moves, not that I had any, on a girl when you have food stains on you. Otherwise the date went fairly well. She didn’t invite me in for cocktails and she didn’t even give me a peck on the cheek. But I did get one thing, a reprieve; she invited me over the next day. I was on cloud nine, I had made it through my first date without making myself look like too much of an ass and she had invited me over for round two.
“Dude, you’re in,” Paul said as he high fived me. I had stopped over at his house on the way home from hers. “Smooth move with the sauce though.”
“Come on, man, I feel stupid enough about that already.”
“Do you really think that I wouldn’t use that as ammunition?”
“Well, I
had
hoped.”
“Dream on, sauce boy.”
“Dude, I’ve got to get home before my curfew is up. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, let me know what base you get to.”
And that was all I could think of that night and into the next day. Base, was I really going to get to a base and if so how many? This was intriguing. I hadn’t even thought about that. I knew I wanted to kiss her but I really hadn’t thought it out beyond that. I didn’t sleep much that night and even when I did all I could dream about was Patty Ryan’s breasts and would I get to touch them over or under. I went over to her house around one that afternoon and when I got there she told me that both of her parents were at work. I heard the fireworks going off in my head; I hoped that she hadn’t noticed. And then she invited me down into her basement to play ping-pong. And all I could think was, yup, I’m going to play ping-pong with your breasts alright. But she honestly meant ping-pong. I was truly perplexed. Her parents weren’t home and we were down in her basement and she actually wanted to play ping-pong. Where had I gone wrong? And then I made the fatal mistake. She had informed me that she had been taking lessons and not to be surprised
if she ‘whooped my butt’
. So I let the competitive side of me take over, and I crushed her five straight games before she told me that her parents were going to be home soon and that I should leave. I’m not sure to this day if she would have let me touch her boobs or not. But by beating her at her own game I had effectively eliminated any such chance. And that was the beginning and the end of my first relationship with a girl. Won’t get much mileage out of that one, but I realized that sometimes you have to lose in order to win. You just have to be careful with the balance. If you lose too much the girl will think you are a loser. So it is a fine line, but if you want to touch the boobies you need to learn how to walk it. Paul laughed his ass off after I told him the whole story.
“So you think she’s not going to call me anymore?”
“Dude, it’s over. I wouldn’t sweat it though. She’s just the beginning in a whole string of relationships you’re going to mess up.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, break out the Nintendo, will ya.”
So my day ended with me kicking Paul’s ass on his new Nintendo game system that he got for Christmas. I got socks. Don’t get me wrong, they were nice socks, but you couldn’t shoot down alien ships with them.
I dreaded the thought of returning to school. Mr. Ratsniffer, everyone’s favorite principal, had been following us around since our little spit ball incident and our subsequent walking out of punishment. Being on the principal’s shit list did not make school any easier. I once caught the guy actually following me around in one of the few times (luckily) that I wasn’t causing mischief. He was literally waiting outside the bathroom door probably wringing his hands hoping I would light up, oh and joy to the gods if it was some type of illegal substance. He pretty much had his ear right up to the door so that when I opened it up I startled him. What a dick.