It was the 80's that night

Stop. Rewind. The year is 1987. I am a sophomore in high school and it is a Saturday in the fall. Smell those autumn leaves. In the hallways at school the buzz all week has been the party at the Raptist brothers house. Parents are out and the beer will be flowing. One thing for sure, the party is going to be bumping, and oh yes, I will be in effect.

Hold up, not so fast. See your boy has a chica friend from another school across town and her mom's throwing up the red light. What's a strapping young lad to do? Skip what is sure to be the dopest night of the year and spend it with his lady or hit the party with his boys and turn that mother out?

Amy H. rings me up on the phone after a full day of back and forth about what I am going to do. She proceeds to lay down the guantlet, "If you go to that party, don't worry about calling me tomorrow." Silence on the line. What to do, what to do, what to do? Come on folks, this is no contest. "Ok," I retort, "Take care." Click.

7:30 in the PM and the big brother drives me and my boys to the party but not without a stop at the 7-11 to pick up some beer, plus his normal twenty percent (Hey, it is a buyer's buyer's market.) With my Old Milwaukee tall boys, eight beers in the convenience of six cans, I hit the party and what clearly is a new world.

The Raptist brothers are seniors but one of my boys has an 'in' so we are golden to get the pass, free from hassle. I am seeing shit I never thought I would ever see, is that a joint being freely passed around out in the open? Over to me, "Hey, you cool?" Toke, toke. "Cool enough."

Scoping the scene and the upper class ladies are to die for. Jennifer L. and Katie C. girls in womens bodies. Allison and Laura, twins, so much beauty God had to make two. Ms. Weaver, you and your lady friends, in all of your independent flair, it is just too much for the man in this boy...for now. We will come to meet ours, but for now a hand reaches down from above and a voice rings in my head, "Walk first, plenty of time to run later." Now is the time to play with kids my own age.

Deep into the tall boys, I have a full swagger. Any writer worth their salt will tell you to write what you know, so goes the same in life, work what you know. I settle into some conversation with Elizabeth T. and Angie H. (fellow sophomores) and on the stereo this new song that is gaining traction on the charts comes on. A new band, called Whitesnake and the song is called "Here I Go Again."

Never before in the history of this man has music been so fitting. Sure I like music as much as the next guy, but when David Coverdale opens that tune with:

I don't know where I'm goin
but I sure know where I've been
hanging on the promises in songs of yesterday.
An' I've made up my mind, I ain't wasting no more time
but here I go again, here I go again.

It was a flash of clarity, there are in fact plenty of fish in the sea and also at that precise moment music stopped being background filler and stepped into the role of soundtrack to my life.

Right after that another voice sounds off in my head, "If you go to that party, don't worry about calling me in the morning." No problem because I am in the middle of trying to decide which of these two girls is going to be sucking on my face in thirty minutes.

Epilogue:
Amy H called on Sunday morning to apologize for her behavior, I didn't.

All for now,
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