Quiet nights with quiet stars….
Every NYE, my parents went to a cocktail party 15 or so minutes away. Suit and tie, long dress. They usually got in around 1, and I was already in bed.
9 o’clock comes, out the door they go. I’m alone.
And no, I didn’t blast music and dance in my underwear like Tom Cruise. I put some Beatles, Stones, and Byrds on the big stereo. And got my notes back out, trying to strategize how to handle Allie and ‘the talk.’
Did I love her? It had only been around two months. But I thought about her a lot and couldn’t wait until our lips met again. Every time was like paradise.
How did she feel? I guessed she felt the same way, or she’d have blown me off. But this sure was no longer ‘kissing for fun’. We shared little segments of our life stories–relaxed, without judging. It was damn confusing; I’m riding a wave.
Maybe all I needed to say was what did she think was wrong? I’ll just call us a ‘Good Thing’, a time to share with someone, who isn’t talking about sports and girls. I had to play the ‘money’ card–bash the asshole rich boys, then say how different I was.
Of course, whenever she does bring it up, I know I won’t remember any of this. My dick will be singing, and I’ll stutter like a baboon.
Knock at the door. What the fuck? Thank God I changed into my jeans. Daddy would just use his key.
I open the door. Holy shit! It’s Doug.