It all started with a kiss on a hot summer night at a garden party. I’d put “House of Fun” on the invitations but here I was, sitting in the corner like a wallflower with all the other lonely people. I’d tried dancing with myself but it wasn’t until my long-haired, country boy came dream walkin’up and said “Let’s dance,” that my sweet sixteen party got into the groove. It may have seemed, looking in from the outside, that I was just another brown-eyed girl and he was a rebel rouser but something clicked and in a flash we were keeping the beat and partying like it was 1999. He said I had a crazy smile and a bad attitude that separated me from all of the other fat-bottomed girls. Hallelujah! Rapture! I was feelin’ groovy!
“Come on Eileen,” shouted out Roxanne, the dancing queen of Crazy Town and soon the joint was jumping.
“Hell’s bells!” Cotton-eyed Joe said with a shout. “This esky’s running on empty.”
We sent out an SOS for more tequila and a bottle of wine.
Big, bad, Leroy Brown looked the oldest so he got the beer run gig. Unfortunately, as he jumped out of the big, yellow taxi in the Hotel California parking lot, he was nabbed for underage drinking. He resisted arrest and was in for a night of rubber bullets and jailhouse blues.
Meanwhile, home on the range, when it became apparent Leroy was a no-show, we thirsty desperados decided to raid the oldies’ drinks cabinet. Soon we were knocking back rum and Coca-Cola and red, red wine.
Angie was on a roll with cigarettes and chocolate milk and throwing up in the fake, plastic trees.
Imagine our state of shock when my Mother appeared out of nowhere and, with a twist and shout, unplugged the jukebox. Dazed and confused we stood in the sound of silence, knowing we were in a whole lot of trouble and this was possibly the end of the line.
She began to shout it out. “It looks like the eve of destruction in here! What’s that smell? It looks like someone let the dogs out in Candy’s room! What have you been drinking?”
The old lady was a girl gone wild.
“Just one bourbon, one whisky, one beer” I lied miserably.
“I’ll stand by you”, muttered my braveheart rebel soul, averting his lyin’ eyes.
“Stop acting like Madam Butterfly. Everything is torn and frayed and you are going to have to come up with the money, money, money honey and I don’t care if you have to go down on the corner to get it!”
Mum was singing that same old authority song I knew so well.
“Damned if I do”, I replied cheekily. “Well you can pack your bags and catch the last train to Clarksville. I’m serious.”
Uh oh.
“It’s all over now baby blue,” whispered my new Lover Boy making his final exit.
“Really?”
“You got it.”
It was game over in a jumping jack flash and I was a victim of circumstance and the casualty of yet another teenage dirtbag, third-rate romance.
In the wee hours of the morning I had time to reflect.
I had taken a walk on the wild side and been left with the sound of failure and voices in my head.
Oh love hurts when you’re just sixteen
But I’ll get it right next time…maybe baby…maybe..
