Rush
by Richard T. Hellinga
Today, Tuesday, September 8, 1987, I, Thaddeus Sikorski, known to one and all as “Skater”, will strike a blow in the name of Good Taste in my continuing War Against Musical Mediocrity (WAMM). I am going to buy the new album Hold Your Fire by the most talented musical entity in the universe, the rock band Rush. Due to the importance of this day, I can not be expected to go to school.
* * *
“Hey Skater, Jimmy’s been looking for you. Do you have his money?” says Tony Ruffalo as I get in the back seat of his Camaro. He’s wearing his Slayer Hell Awaits T-shirt. His eyes are in the rearview mirror looking at me. I do owe Jimmy McCabe 70 bucks for a number of eighths I got from him. Maybe I don’t pay up as quickly as Jimmy would like, but I’m good for my debts, eventually.
“Of course not,” I say. “Today I only have money for Rush.”
“He’s not going to be happy,” says Ken Post. He’s sitting in the front passenger seat, wearing his Metallica Crash Course in Brain Surgery T-shirt. Ken is one of Jimmy’s best friends. They’ve known each other a long time. You wouldn’t think it given that Ken’s practically a genius and in all the honors classes. He’s the kind of guy that could literally take a crash course in brain surgery and then ace the final. He’s the smartest guy I know.
“When’s he ever happy?”
“When he’s stoned off his ass.”
“You know how he is about money,” says Tony.
I slap the back of his headrest. “Dude, it’s the new Rush album. Get this car moving! On to Rolling Stone Records!”
* * *
Where do I get my money? From my mother and from whatever I can squeeze out of my father. They divorced when I was 11. I also have a bank account that consists of gift money through the years that is now getting low. The other day my mother told me that I can either choose to empty my bank account or get a job. But she later gave me a 20 so I could go out with Tony and Ken.
* * *
With the windows rolled down, it’s pretty windy here in the back seat. We have to shout to hear each other.
“If you got yourself a job,” says Ken, “you’d be able to pay Jimmy and buy all the Rush albums you want. You’d also be able to take Jen out a bit more often.”
Jennifer Bell is my girlfriend. She’s a junior. We’ve been together for five months now. We haven’t had sex yet. She keeps saying we should wait, to make it special. I keep saying it’ll be special no matter when we do it. But I keep losing that argument. Speaking of Jen, I promised her we’d pick her up after school.
“I am not getting a job any sooner than I have to,” I say.
“Here we go again,” says Tony.
“Hey!”
Everyone talks about the value of work, but no one ever really wants to do it. There is absolutely nothing fun about it. The longer I delay my entrance into the World of Work the better for me because I do not doubt the seriousness of the warning I’ve been given: once you get a job, you’ll be working for the rest of your life. That is of course until you get laid off or die before you can retire. My great-uncle Alex on my mom’s side of the family spent his entire working life as a plumber, dreaming of retirement. So after years and years as a union plumber he retires at the age of 62. Three weeks later he has a heart attack and dies. Other than vacations, he only had three weeks of freedom. How bad does that suck?
Ken hunches his shoulders. “I was just saying, if you got a job–”
“No job!” I say.
“What about the job Jen’s dad offered you?”
Jen’s dad is a good guy. He’s the kind of guy who just by being how he is makes you want to be extra good to his daughter and always do right by the guy. A few months after Jen and I started going together, Mr. Bell offered me a job at the electrical supply store where he works.
“Yes, he did offer me a job.”
“And?”
“I told him I don’t need it right now.”
“That’s a laugh.”
“Maybe if you worked with Jimmy, dealing here and there,” says Tony.
“Oh, yeah...Let’s see, you gotta divide up and package the product, answer a pager whenever a customer calls because you always gotta be available, set up transactions, and then collect money, then buy more from your supplier. Sounds like a lot of work to me. Sounds like uh, oh, I dunno, a job.”
“Whatever you say, Skater,” says Ken. “Just remember that Jimmy wants to be paid one way or another.”
Tony turns the car onto Mannheim Road.
“Which way are we going?” I ask.
“The usual way; Grand to 25th to Belmont to Forest Preserve Drive,” says Tony.
“Crap, we’re going to get stopped by a train. I know it. We should just take Mannheim all the way up to Irving Park Road and take that the whole way.”
“That’ll take a lot longer.”
“It’ll be less time than if we get stopped by a train.”
“There’s not gonna be a freight train at this time of the morning.”
“How do you know?” I lean up in-between the two front seats.
“I know.”
“You don’t know. There’s always a possibility.”
“If you don’t like the way I’m going, you can get out and walk whatever way you want.”
“If we drop you off here, Skater, I bet you could get to Rolling Stones before it closes tonight,” says Ken.
They laugh.
“Take whatever way you want,” I say, plopping back into my seat, “as long as we get there right around the time the store opens.”
* * *
On 25th the gates flash and go down. The car in front of us stops, and so does Tony’s Camaro.
“What did I tell you, Tony?” I grab the back of his seat with both hands and give it a shake.
He looks down the tracks. “It’s a Metra train. It’ll be gone in less than a minute. Chill out.”
“We’d still be moving if we’d taken Mannheim.”
* * *
The Rolling Stones, Madonna, and Rod Stewart stand as giant cut-outs atop the store, the best record store in all of Chicago: Rolling Stone Records! Inside, near the front door, is a short stack of copies of the Chicago Reader. Tony’s older brother Phil works for the paper as a music journalist. It’s the free weekly that we often don’t pick up. There’s never anything about Heavy Metal or great all-around bands like Rush. They just blather on about a bunch of bands with names like Naked Raygun or Big Black that no one’s ever heard of or even cares about. It’s bad enough Metal doesn’t get any radio airplay except on WVVX. It’s even more annoying when so-called music journalists like Tony’s brother Phil moan about the State of Rock Music but then blow off the greatness right in front of them. And now, to top it all off, R.E.M., a band I absolutely can not stand, is blaring away. Their singer always sounds like he’s whining about something. There’s no strength in their music. They’re one of Phil’s favorites.
“All right, men,” I say, “We have a very important mission today. If we’re going to win the WAMM, one of us has to buy the tape version of Rush’s new album if I buy the record.”
“I was gonna get the tape anyway,” says Ken.
“Excellent! What about you, Tony? What are you going to do today to help the cause?”
“I’ll wait and see if I like it.”
“Fair enough.”
Ken leads the way past a few aisles to the R’s.
I follow and see the brand new Rush album. The cover is all red with three red floating balls that have shadows behind them, one for each member of this most powerful of Power Trios. More powerful than Cream, Triumph, and Emerson, Lake and Palmer! Bigger than Zeppelin! Smarter than Pink Floyd! More complex than Yes! They have the most of the best of everything you’d ever want in a musical entity!
I hold the record in my hands and flip it around to read the song titles. Force Ten, Time Stand Still, Second Nature, Prime Mover, Lock & Key. Awesome! Who else could come up with such intelligent and cool-sounding titles, huh? No one. If only more people were as enlightened as me.
* * *
“You guys ready to go?” asks Ken. Tony and I are flipping through the Iron Maiden records, looking at imports. U2 is now playing on the store’s speakers. That With or Without You song. Make up your mind already, Bono dude. They shouldn’t even be playing U2. They should be playing the album in my hands. In fact, it should be ALL RUSH ALL DAY. Hell, I bet if they’d play Hold Your Fire, it might get a few more people to buy it.
“I think so,” says Tony.
“I’ve got what I want,” I say.
“You’re not getting anything, Tony?” says Ken.
“Nah. Not today. What about you? Anything besides the new Rush?”
Ken’s holding a cassette copy of the album. “This is it. I’m low on cash this week.”
Tony reaches for the tape. “Let me see.”
Ken hands it to him. Tony turns it over. “This might suck.”
“What makes you think it’s gonna suck?” I ask.
“Their last two albums were pretty lame. Their earlier stuff is the best. It’s been downhill since Moving Pictures.”
“There will be no insulting the glorious legacy of Rush today. I think you’ve been talking too much to your brother Phil.”
“He hates Rush. I don’t hate them. I’m just not into their newer stuff. And, for your information, I haven’t spoken to him in months.” He hands the tape back to Ken.
The three of us head towards the front of the store.
“There’s this one chick who works here who’s got this straight blond hair and wears thick black eyeliner. She’s always in the tightest jeans,” says Tony.
“You just described half the Metal Chicks in this country,” says Ken.
“You know who I’m talking about.”
“I don’t. There are a lot of hot chicks who work here.”
“Who neither of you have the guts to talk to,” I say.
“And how many chicks from this store have you had any success with?” asks Tony.
“I’ve already got a girlfriend.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“What you’re asking doesn’t matter.”
“No. You’re saying you could score with one of the chicks here.”
“The question is moot!”
“There she is!” Tony whispers, nodding toward the front of the store.
I look, and see a girl fitting Tony’s description walking quickly from the cassette tape section to the cash registers, like she has to be up front now.
“Oh yeah. I saw her when I was over in the tape section there,” says Ken. “She is pretty hot.”
“See?”
“Go up and talk to her,” I say.
“Dude, no way,” says Tony. “She’s older than us.”
“You’ve always got an excuse to not talk to girls. I’m beginning to think you’re gay.”
“If it’s so easy, Carol, why don’t you show us?”
Last year, we started giving each other shit about our mother’s first names. It started in the class ahead of us when someone found out that Greg Reichenbach’s mom’s first name was Traud (rhymes with Maude). But unlike Maude, no one has any idea what kind of name Traud is. So some of Greg’s buddies started calling him “Traud” whenever they wanted to give him a hard time, and he started calling his buddies by their moms’ first names. Pretty soon it had spread around to a bunch of different circles of friends, all guys. The girls aren’t into giving each other shit the way us guys are.
“Okay, Roberta. To show you what kind of friend I am, I’ll get her number for you.”
“Go for it, Carol.”
“I will, Roberta.”
I go up to the registers and set the album on top of the counter. Then I glance over my shoulder. Tony and Ken are right behind me.
“Is this it for you?” the hot blond asks. She looks older than I thought; maybe mid-twenties. She’s pretty like my girlfriend: blond hair, blue eyes, oval-shaped face. But she’s wearing a lot of black eyeliner and Jen’s breasts are bigger. Thankfully, Jen has let me touch hers more than a few times.
“Yep,” I say.
She rings it up and I hand her a 20 dollar bill.
“Out of 20,” she says.
“Hey, how is it that Rush has released a new album today but we have to listen to U2? Couldn’t you guys at least play some old Rush?”
“The manager on duty hates Rush.”
“How did he get to be the manager if he doesn’t like one of the truly great musical entities of our age?”
“I worked my butt off,” she says. Then she holds out her change-filled hand and smiles at me.
* * *
Outside by his car, Tony says, “So Skater, when’s your next lesson for us?”
“Shut up!”
“That was pretty impressive, Skater. You managed to insult her taste and her job without even getting her name, let alone her number,” says Ken.
“How was I supposed to know she hated Rush? Anyone who hates Rush shouldn’t even be a manager at a music store.” I put my bag on the back seat of the car.
“Maybe you should organize a boycott of the store for employing a Rush-Hater.”
“Yeah, you’re real funny, Mary.”
“What do you guys want to do now?” asks Tony.
“Drive around and listen to Hold Your Fire. What else?”
“There’s plenty of time to do that later today.”
“But I want to hear it now. It’s the whole point of the day!”
“For you. But I wanna do something else that’s fun.”
“But—”
“Harlem and Irving Plaza’s right over there. We could bum around for a bit and then get some lunch,” says Ken.
I can’t believe I’m going to have to wait to listen to my new album. This sucks. If I had my own car, I wouldn’t have to wait. My father has been promising me, since before I turned 16, that he would buy me a car. And I haven’t seen it yet. I bet Ken and Tony are doing this to me on purpose.
“They got that arcade,” says Tony.
Ken’s face gets all excited. “That’s right!”
“We can even smoke a joint before going over.”
“I don’t want to be stoned or coming down from being stoned when I take my quiz.” Ken tucks his bag under the front seat of the car and shuts the door.
“Dude, you’re cleared for the whole day,” I say.
“No, I had Tony clear me for a half-day.”
We all called in to school this morning pretending to be each others’ parents. None of that Ferris Bueller faking sick crap for us. That’s too much work. Way more than necessary to accomplish the same thing. In January I’ll be 18, which means I’ll be able to call in for myself and I won’t have to go through this whole charade.
“Ken, you’re no fun sometimes.”
“It’s Mrs. Kreutz who’s no fun. I’ve got a quiz in my English class. I can’t start the year by failing my first quiz because I missed it.”
“Wait a second! What the hell is there to have a quiz on? The semester just started,” I say. We start walking towards the mall.
“A short story called Araby by James Joyce. It’s about a weasely kid with a crush on some chick.”
Sophomore year Ken had this huge crush on Tammy Flynn. I can’t say I blame him. She’s still hot. But he was just friends with her and he never got up the nerve to say anything to her.
“Then you know all about it,” I say.
“Is that right, Carol?”
“So what did you have to read the story for, Mary?”
“Some of us don’t want to have to repeat a class, Carol.”
Okay, he’s got me there. I did screw up so badly in my American history class last year, that I had to take it again in summer school. This past summer, in fact. Talk about sucking. I’m not going to explain why because there’s really no need for it. The real question is: Who wants to spend your last summer vacation in summer school? I mean, the words “summer” and “school” don’t even belong together. While everyone else was doing whatever they wanted, I was getting up at seven so that I could ride my bike a mile and a half to school everyday. And if it rained, holy shit. Let’s just say that there is no way that you can look cool while riding a ten-speed bike in the rain. If my father had come through with that car, I would not have had to pedal my own ass to school. Plus, summer school took serious time away from being with Jen.
“I get it. What’s the big deal about the story anyway?”
“Well, even though it was written like 80 years ago, it’s supposed to be one of the first modern short stories because it’s got an epiphany; a point when someone realizes something important about themselves. At the end the kid says he saw himself as a creature driven and derided by vanity. I don’t know any 14-year-old who talks like that, but this one does.”
“Sounds dumb,” says Tony.
“It’s what the quiz is on,” says Ken.
We’re not even halfway to the entrance to the mall. The lot is pretty empty. Bet there won’t be hardly anyone inside.
“You’d ace it stoned or not,” I say.
“No guarantee. Besides, the last thing I want is to get busted being stoned in class. I don’t need to draw too much attention to myself.”
“Dude, give me a break. You’ve got the longest hair of anyone in honors classes. If that don’t make you stick out, I don’t know what does.”
* * *
The mall is pretty empty. Some mothers, fat and skinny, with small kids is all. No hot chicks ditching school. Jen shoulda ditched with me. I told her we could get her cleared for the day, but she said not today, that it’s too soon in the semester. As far as I’m concerned, there is no such thing as a bad day to ditch school.
* * *
I’m kicking ass on Super Punch-Out while Tony and Ken feed quarters into Gauntlet. So much for being low on cash there, huh, Ken? Being in the arcade in the middle of the school day is the best.
* * *
“We have struck another blow against Music Mediocrity,” I say from the front passenger seat. We’re heading south down Harlem Avenue. Ken’s tape is playing in the stereo; the song Prime Mover. Another great song on another great Rush album. I didn’t realize until now just how dirty Tony’s car is. There’s a thick layer of dust on the dashboard. I’m almost afraid to touch it.
“The album sucks so far,” says Tony.
“Are you out of your mind!”
“Other than the first song, and this one, the album sucks.”
“You, as usual, have no taste.”
“Let’s talk about this sensibly. We’re not insensitive. What kinda lyrics are that?”
“It’s about maturity.”
“It’s lame. Glad I didn’t waste any money on it.”
“To hell with you, man.”
“I’m just sayin’ that they aren’t as good as they used to be.”
I look at Ken. He’s smirking. “What do you think, Ken?”
“Sounds pretty good to me,” he says.
I turn back to Tony. “See? Ken is among the enlightened.”
“Ken, do you really like it?” asks Tony, looking at him in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah. I think it’s a pretty good album so far.”
“Whatever,” says Tony. “At least it was a decent excuse to blow off school for a day.”
The car slows to a stop at the light at North Avenue.
“Sometimes, I think there’s no hope for you, Tony.” I pick up the lyrics sheet.
“Sometimes I think you’re deluded.”
“No. I have good taste and I enjoy and celebrate that fact. We should be cranking this thing up full volume so everyone knows we’ve got the new Rush album!”
“How long before this tape is over?” says Tony. “I wanna put in some Dokken.”
* * *
We got here to Johnnie’s just early enough to beat the lunch-time rush, when the line goes out the door halfway to the street.
“It sure is dead compared to the weekend,” I say.
“That’s ‘cause everyone’s at school or working,” says Tony.
“Tough luck for them.”
I want Time to stand still this moment as I savor my finished sandwich with the hot peppers still pricking my mouth, my friends sitting with me while everyone else is in school, the fact we’re seniors, and the fact I’ve got the new awesome Rush album on this sunny day. Can it possibly get any better than this?
“Aw, shit!” says Tony. He’s looking past me and Ken.
“What?” asks Ken.
I turn my head and see Tony’s oldest sister Maria. She’s getting out of her car with her daughter and son. Maria is not cool about anything. She went to Mother Guerin for high school. A strict Catholic girl all the way through. If it was Tony’s older brother Phil, he’d just cuss him out, maybe even biff him upside the head. But he wouldn’t tell on him. No, Maria is no fun at all.
“Don’t look!” says Tony.
I whip my head back around. “What’s she doing here?”
“Probably the same thing we’re doing.”
“She doesn’t live that far from here,” says Ken.
Tony tries to duck down behind us.
“Tony? Is that you?” she yells.
Tony keeps his head down.
“I see you!”
She walks over, dragging her daughter by the arm and followed by her son. “You’re supposed to be in school! Dad would kick your ass for this.”
“What wouldn’t he kick my ass for?” says Tony.
“Maybe if you were doing what you’re supposed to be doing.”
Some of the people standing in line and sitting at the other tables turn towards us. Crap, everyone’s looking at us. Real nice. That’s the thing about Tony’s family: they are not afraid to make a scene. Even if my own mother saw me, she wouldn’t say anything. She’d wait until I got home, then chew me out and ground me.
“Just leave me alone. I’m trying to eat my lunch,” says Tony.
“Don’t you talk to me that way. What are you doing out of school?”
Tony looks at Ken, then me, then down at what’s left of his lunch.
“We went to Rolling Stone Records and bought the new Rush album,” I say.
Ken laughs, spitting out some fries onto his beef-sandwich topped wrapper.
“It’s called Hold Your Fire. It’s pretty awesome. Isn’t it, Ken?”
“You think this is funny?” says Maria. She’s still giving Tony a nasty glare. She always looks pissed. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile. How she ever got married and reproduced I’ll never know.
“Of course,” I say.
“The school year’s barely started.”
“But we’re seniors. This is what seniors do. We cut school to do fun things. Like buy the new Rush album, blow some quarters at the arcade, and eat Johnnie’s beef sandwiches.”
“I’m not talking to you, Skater.”
“Okay.” I pick up the last of my fries and shove them into my mouth.
Ken picks up his drink and sips through the straw and turns to Maria, then back to Tony. He looks amused. He’ll only crack one in situations like this if he knows for sure he can get away with it. His attitude is usually to let people say whatever without arguing with them, and then go do what he wants anyway. Hell of a lot more devious than most people think. But I don’t have that kind of patience.
I don’t think Tony knows what to say. The dude has been kicked for so long by his bitch of a sister and his asshole parents, that he just takes it and takes it. I don’t know how he does it. I’d go crazy putting up with that much shit. I hope I’m not around for the day he blows. ‘Cause holy shit is it gonna be a mess.
“Maria, just lay off me,” says Tony. “This ain’t the first time I ditched school and I can honestly tell you it ain’t gonna be the last.”
“No wonder you’re going nowhere. And Ken, you know better.”
“Probably,” he says.
“Ken’s got a quiz this afternoon,” I say. “That he’s actually gonna be back in time to take. And, I’ll have you know, we haven’t even smoked a single joint, yet. So you see, we’re not totally irresponsible.”
* * *
We’re coming along Maywood race track as we pass under the train tracks by First Avenue.
“Too bad the track’s not open,” I say. “We could hang out there for the rest of the afternoon.”
“I’ve got a quiz,” says Ken.
“Without you, of course.”
“Maybe you should just get a job at the track. Or, better yet, apply for a job at Rolling Stones. I hear you got an in with one of the managers.”
Ken and Tony share smiles.
“I don’t want to hear that word until after graduation.”
“Job,” says Ken.
* * *
Tony and I are watching the Rush concert video Exit Stage Left. We dropped Ken off at school then headed to my place. Tony didn’t want to listen to the new album again so we compromised on the old concert video. I have to admit that this is Prime Rush that’s on right now. Sweet.
“We need to do this kind of thing more often,” I say. “This is our last year, our last chance to do stuff purely for the fun of it.”
“Yeah, it’s lots of fun getting caught by my sister,” says Tony. “And sitting there while she makes a scene about it in front of a bunch of people.”
“It’s the first and only time she’s caught you ditching. It’s not like it’s gonna happen again.”
“Yeah, you say that, and watch what happens. You didn’t exactly help any either with that crack about not even smoking a joint yet.”
“I was just trying to keep things light. She has no right to try to ruin our day off.” I light a joint and take a few hits.
“She always ruins my day when she’s around. Like the rest of my family. They’re a bunch of buzz-killers.”
I pass him the joint. He puts it to his lips then pulls it away and says, “Dude, I hear someone pulling up.”
“What?” I get up and look behind Tony through the front window. I see the back end of my mom’s green Bonneville disappear behind the house. “Shit! It’s my mom. She’s home early!”
“Fuck! What do we do?”
“Get the hell out of here!” I get to the TV and turn it off, stop the tape, pull it out of the VCR and shut it off.
“Good thing I parked on the street.”
I grab my Rolling Stones bag with the new album. “Shit! Out the front door. She’s gonna smell the pot. She’s gonna know we were here. Go! Go! Go!”
* * *
From our spot right in front of the main entrance to the school, I can see everyone coming out. I’m keeping my eyes open for Jen.
“She knows we’re comin’ to pick her up, right?” says Tony.
“Yeah, yeah. I told her this morning before you guys came over.”
“Just checkin’.”
This day has not gone as planned. After our joint-smoking was cut short, I spent the next hour driving around, listening to Dokken while Tony told me for the millionth time how great a guitarist George Lynch is. (Before we pulled in here, I managed to get him to put in Metallica’s Master of Puppets. Much better.) We stopped at the 7-11 to get some beef jerky and Slurpees, and sat in the parking lot until some cops pulled up. We waited until they went inside before leaving. Didn’t want to look suspicious. I stop staring off into nothing out the front window and focus on the dirty dashboard.
“Tony, when you gonna clean this car?” I drag the tip of my finger across it and show him the black.
“Why don’t you clean it, Carol? You’re doin’ a pretty good job right now.”
“It’s not my car, Roberta.”
“Then you shouldn’t’ve volunteered.”
“I’m not volunteering to do anything.”
“So what were you doin’ today while you were out avoiding me?” asks Jimmy’s voice to my right. I’ve literally got the chills. I’m really fucked now. But I need to stay cool no matter what happens.
“I was getting this, the new awesome Rush album.” I reach down and pull out the album, then hold it up, still in its unwrapped pristine glory. I tilt it from side to side to show it off. Screw him. Ken is standing behind Jimmy, chuckling.
Jimmy grabs it from my my fingers, pulling it through the open window.
“Hey!”
“I’ll take this as collateral.”
“Give it back.”
“You owe me money.” He waves the album.
“I know, I know.”
“Then you know what you gotta do.”
“Fine.” I dig into my pocket and take out my wallet. I take out a 20 and give it to him. “Here’s 20 for now. I’ll give you the other 50 within a couple days. Now, can I have my album back?”
Jimmy tucks the bill into one of his front pockets. “Hmm. I’ll have to think about that. Afterall, you’ve got money for Rush, the arcade, and a beef sandwich, but not me?...I dunno.”
“How am I supposed to be able to show off my superior musical taste without the album?”
“Tell you what,” says Jimmy. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and uses one to cut open the wrapping. Then he starts to pull the inner sleeve out. “You can have the album cover as proof.”
“No, no, no! You’re gonna break the record!”
Jimmy slides it back in. “Suit yourself. Catch you later.”
“Ken?”
He throws out his arms like he’s helpless and then follows Jimmy toward the parking lot.
This is messed up. My whole reason for ditching school today has now been taken away from me. I smack the dashboard with my open hand a few times and now my palm is smudged with black. I wipe my hand on my jeans, which thankfully are black.
“Dude, you really need to clean this car.”
“You really need to pay Jimmy.”
“Can you believe what just happened?”
“Ken and I warned you.”
“I can’t believe he took my album.”
“I can’t believe you waved it in front of him. What the hell were you thinking?” he’s laughing now.
“Eh, I wanted to rub his face in it.”
“You sure did.”
Jen walks up with her best friend Terry. She’s wearing a yellow tank top with blue jean shorts. I open the door and get out.
“How was your day out of school?” she asks then gives me a kiss.
“Lovely.”
“You don’t sound happy. Did you get your album?”
“Of course.”
“So, what did you get me?” she asks.
I’m trying to remember if I was supposed to pick up something for her. “Nothing,” I say.
“Nothing?”
“Yeah.”
“You mean to tell me you blow off school to go buy your Rush album and you didn’t think of me.”
“I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t I, Tony?”
“He made sure we were back in time to pick you up,” says Tony as he gets out of the car.
“Is that a fact?” She’s got her arms folded, like she doesn’t believe me.
“Yes,” I say.
Tony’s smiling. “Except there was that chick at Rolling Stones he tried flirting with.”
What the hell is he trying to do to me? Is this his idea of getting back at me for that crack I made to his sister?
“The chick you have the crush on, Tony.”
“You were flirting with someone?” says Jen.
“I was just trying to get her number for Tony because he was too scared to talk to her.”
She looks at Tony and asks, “Is this true?”
He’d better vouch for me. I embarrassed myself on his behalf.
He nods. “Yes.”
“See?” I say.
“I see. I was just checking to make sure you were being a good boy.”
“You shoulda ditched with us.”
“I will. The next time you guys cut. So, how’s the new album?”
“It’s good. I was gonna suggest we go over to your place and listen to it, but Jimmy just took it from me not even a minute ago. The asshole is holding it as collateral.”
Jen’s eyes bug out. “You still haven’t paid him!”
* * *
Tony and Terry leave Jen’s house. He’s giving her a ride home. Jen and I continue to sit on the couch and watch videos on MTV. They aren’t even playing Rush’s new video from the new album. What is this? Is today “Get Skater Day?”
“You know, Skater, if you had a job, you could pay for your pot honestly, instead of guilting your dad into giving you money...You should think some more about my dad’s offer. He could get you work-study credit.”
“That’s a real nice thing for him to do. Is he serious about it?”
“He wouldn’t offer it unless he was serious. Think of all the things you could do if you were working and making money. You could pay off Jimmy right away and not play all these games avoiding him. Buy every Rush album to your heart’s content. You could finally get a CD player. Better yet, you could buy a car. There’s lots of possibilities.”
At this point, with the way things have gone today, I might as well give in. Get the inevitable over with. It would be nice not to have to run from Jimmy all the time, pay up, then beg him to front me an eighth or a gram or two here and there and start all over again with the running until I can scrape up the cash. And not beg either of my parents for money. Shoot, having my own car would free me up to do what I want when I want. My father is never going to follow through on that promise to buy me a car.
“I’ll call your dad now. Is that all right?” I say.
“Yes. Of course it’s all right. I’ll get the number for you.” She looks giddy as she gets up from the couch, excited in a way I haven’t seen before in her. Like she’s proud of me. She runs into the kitchen.
© 2006 Richard T. Hellinga. All Rights Reserved.