Band Fags! (36 page)

Inside her white Pontiac Grand Am, we sit passing a bottle of Baileys back and forth between us. “You like it, Sugar?” she asks.

I can't say I've ever had Irish Cream before. But it's good. Sweet and creamy, of course. I place the bottle to my lips, taking a sip. Just as I'm about to pass it back to Gwendy, I hear a tap on the window. Quickly, I stash the bottle down on the floor at my feet. Which is a good thing as there's a Man in Blue now standing beside the car.

He motions for me to roll down the window. To which I promptly comply. Minding my manners, I say, “Good evening, Officer…” Which almost comes out “Occifer.” Partly because that's an old joke with me and my friends. And partly because I'm now occifially—I mean, officially—drunk. Who knew Irish Cream was so potent?!

“Step out of the car, would you?” Mr. Occifer asks, minding
his
manners.

At which point Gwendy and I do as we're told. She gets out on her side, me on mine. I feel like we should put our hands up. Though it's not like we're Armed and Dangerous. Unless you count a fifth of Baileys in the hands of a couple of 17-going-on-18-year-olds as an illegal weapon.

Now maybe it's because I'm down here in Daytona Beach on Spring Break where nobody knows me. Or maybe it's because I'm trying to show off in front of Gwendy so I can get laid…But the next thing I know, I hear myself say in a voice reminiscent of
Leave it to Beaver
's own Eddie Haskell, “What seems to be the trouble, Officer…” I pause a moment, focusing on the blurry name on his badge, DIAZ. He kind of reminds me of Erik Estrada, need I say more?

Officer Diaz replies, “All right, son…Hand over the beer.”

Maybe it's because I've had a little too much to drink. Or maybe it's because I'm trying to show off in front of Gwendy so I can get laid…But the next thing I know, I turn into Billy Bad Ass!

“What beer?” I ask. “I don't have any beer.” Which is true. Because I don't.

“Come on, son…Don't give me a hassle, all right?”

“I don't know
what
you're talking about,” I say, all Mr. Innocent. Though I can tell Mr. Daytona Beach Beach Patrol is in no mood to be toyed with by the likes of this City Boy born and raised in South Detroit.

Don't ask what's gotten into me. Talk to any teacher I've ever had since 1975 and they'll vouch for me. I'm a Good Kid! But now, it's like I'm in one of those
Where the Boys Are '84
Spring Break movies with the likes of
Grease 2
's Lorna Luft, and Lynn-Holly Johnson from
Ice Castles
—my fourth all time favorite movie.

The next few minutes are a blur…First I'm standing beside the open door of Gwendy's car. Officer Diaz reaches in past me. Then he finds the bottle of Irish Cream on the floor and literally goes, “Oh-ho-ho.” Followed by, “Guess you
were
telling the truth…There's no beer here.”

I'm tempted to say,
See…?
But my buzz has now officially been killed.

Which is when Officer Diaz asks, “How old are you, son?”

Maybe it's because I've never been in this kind of trouble before…As in “With a Capital T and that rhymes with B and that stands for Busted!” Or maybe it's because I'm trying to show off in front of Gwendy so I can get laid…But we both know the answer to his question: seventeen.

But what do I say? “I'm 19.”

“19?” he repeats, raising a brow. Because let's face it, I still look 12.

I nod.

“19?” Officer Diaz repeats again. “You sure about that?”

Again I nod, thinking that if I'm over 18, i.e., a Legal Adult, I won't get in nearly as much trouble for Possession of Alcohol.

At which point I'm informed, “You're under arrest, son.”

Why is this happening to me? How am I going to get out of this? What are my parents going to think?
Like Mario Andretti at the Indy 500, these thoughts race around the track that is my straight-A student mind. I'm sure you can imagine the panic I'm feeling at this moment.

I look around the parking lot…Suddenly, like Max before, Gwendy is nowhere to be found. Guess I
won't
be getting laid on my Spring Break '88 vacation after all.

“Looks like your girlfriend left you high and dry,” Officer Diaz observes, as if I don't have two eyes of my own. “Now what're we gonna do?”

I have no idea what “we” are going to do…What
I'm
going to do is start kissing some Cop Ass to the best of my ability so I can get back to the hotel, find Max, and escape Daytona Beach without so much as a scuff on my Permanent Record.

“You got some ID there, Mr. 19-year-old?” Officer Diaz questions.

I hesitate. “Um…”

Now what?

“What's-a matter? You don't drive up there in Dee-troit?”

Reaching for my wallet, I'm about to pull out my license. Though I can't help but crack a smile.

“Something funny?”

I reply, “That would depend on your sense of humor.” Then I hand over my Michigan Operator's License.

Officer Diaz takes one look at my DOB. Which we all know was just a mere seventeen years and ten months ago. “You sure are a lucky
boy,
” he tells me. “Now get outta here.”

And with that, I'm gone!

There's been an accident.

Last night around 9:30 PM, I got a call from Betsy. I was sitting at my desk in my bedroom, editing Claire Moody's latest “Fashion Faux Pas.” Being the end of April, the deadline for the final '87–'88 issue of
The Hazel Parker
is fast approaching and if Claire's final column doesn't make the cut, she'll never let me hear the end of it.

“My Uncle Dave called,” reported Betsy. Remember her uncle, the Detroit Cop? He's the one who allegedly busted Joey and Brad down at the gay bar on Woodward and 6 Mile. “Some guy robbed a party store on 7 Mile and I-75.”

“Did they catch him?” I wondered, not finding this to be earth-shattering news.

“Not till he ran a red light and crashed into another car over by St. Mary's.”

Perhaps this explained the Doppler Effect filling my neighborhood earlier this evening.

“Was anybody hurt?”

“The guy walked away without a scratch,” said Betsy. “But the other car was totaled. My Uncle Dave said three Senior girls from Hazel Park were riding in it and one of them was killed.”

“Oh, my God…Any idea who it was?” The odds were pretty likely we'd know the person considering our class only has about two hundred students in it.

“Not yet,” Betsy replied. “They haven't released any names.”

At 11:00 PM, I turned on the Channel 7 News and waited for Diana Lewis' report…“A trip home from a high school Band concert ended in tragedy tonight for three teenaged girls from Hazel Park.”

I sank to my knees, hands involuntarily covering my mouth. My heart dropped to the pit of my stomach at the reality of the situation. Something about hearing the Official News on TV made it all the more grave. I thought for sure I would throw up. Yet the Journalist in me paid close attention to detail. This could be the Killer Scoop I'd been waiting for. I imagined the story I'd write for my final issue as Editor-in-Chief of
The Hazel Parker…

“All graduating Seniors,” Diana Lewis continued informing her Metro-Detroit viewers, “the girls were on their way to an after-concert celebration at a nearby Big Boy restaurant. Two sustained minor injuries and were taken to Oakland General Hospital in Madison Heights, while the third girl died at the scene. Detroit Police Officer, Dave Sheffield, reported she was not wearing a seat belt. The girl's name is being withheld pending family notifi—”

I clicked OFF the remote. I couldn't listen anymore. Neither could I believe that somebody I probably knew personally had lost their life tonight. For a split second I thought about calling up Brad to see if he'd heard anything more about the incident. Chances are he was on his way up to Big Boy's after the concert, too, and would know who hadn't arrived safe and sound. Thank God
he
wasn't involved in the catastrophe. As much as our friendship has fallen apart, I couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to my Best Friend since 7
^th
grade.

Driving to school this morning, I feared the worst…

Luckily, I've got Audrey in 1st hour World Literature with Miss Horchik. Being on Flag Corps, I assumed Audrey had been at the concert last night and would know something. And if not, she would've gotten word from her two Best Friends, Ava Reese and Carrie Johnson. It seemed lately, those three were inseparable. But for whatever reason, I found myself running late today. I don't know why I've been having such a hard time waking up. Back in 10
^th
and 11
^th
grade, I had to get up even earlier for Marching Band practice. I keep telling myself,
It's almost over.
Only six more weeks of school…Ever. Or at least till I start college at Michigan State in the Fall.

Did I mention that I finally applied and had been accepted? Not that I didn't think I would, 'cause I did. Based on my 4.0 GPA, my Guidance Counselor, Mr. Verlander, said I shouldn't have a problem. And he was right. Though I did feel kind of bad the day I received my acceptance letter in the mail. Ever since I've known her, all Audrey's talked about is how she wants to go to college at MSU. You should see her locker…Covered top to bottom in Green and White Spartan paraphernalia! Unfortunately for her, I recently heard that she hadn't been accepted. Of course, now that Audrey's no longer my friend, why am I even concerning myself with her? We're probably better off not being on the same college campus together.

The clock on the wall tells me it's 8:20 AM…Which means I'm officially Tardy. Which is no big deal, really. It's not like I'm usually late. Besides, Miss Horchik isn't going to care on account of she totally loves me.

This is just one example of the appropriately named “Happy Notes” my World Literature teacher likes to send home for a job well done. In March alone, my parents received three of these. In the mail!

For whatever reason, not everybody likes Velma Horchik. Rumor has it she used to be a Nun, so I think a lot of people are afraid of her breaking out the ruler. But I don't know if I believe it. I mean, whenever anything the least bit sexual comes up in class, she seems very eager to discuss. I'll never forget when I wrote my paper on Tennessee Williams'
A Streetcar Named Desire,
Miss Horchik took a
great
interest in his description of the cats in heat out on the New Orleans fire escapes.

“Good morning, Jack,” she says politely when I creep into the room. With a short pageboy haircut, Miss Horchik always wears a simple plain dress, big shoes with buckles, and no makeup whatsoever. Which makes her dark brown eyes seem even more squinty than they naturally are. She kind of reminds me of what a Pilgrim might look like out of uniform.

“Sorry I'm late,” I apologize, sensing Miss Horchik seems a bit subdued this morning. In fact, the mood among my classmates is nothing short of sober.

Nobody even looks at me or comments on the fact that I'm late. I thought for sure I'd never hear the end of it. Or at least everybody would be all,
Did you hear?
Talking up a storm about last night's accident. Especially with Audrey and her big mouth in the room. Let's just say she wasn't voted Class Clown at last month's Senior Banquet because she's a quiet girl. By the way, Prettiest Eyes went to Yours Truly. Apparently, my Class of '88 classmates think Tom Fulton is Most Likely to Succeed material. Even though I'm the one well on his way to giving the Valedictorian speech at Commencement…Whatever! I keep telling myself,
It's almost over.
Only six more weeks of school with these people…Ever. Period.

“No need to apologize,” Miss Horchik assures me. “We're just happy to have you here, safe and sound.”

I don't know why so many people have such a problem with her. I think Miss Horchik's a very sweet woman, despite her making us sit in alphabetical order. Like we're in Pre-School. Based on the way things fall, Audrey sits in the row right next to me. At times it's been awkward since we're still not speaking. In fact, I don't think we've said a word to each other since Senior Breakfast back in November. Almost six months ago!

But when I take my seat, I see Audrey's not in hers. She must be running later than I am. And that's when it hits me…

Audrey is
dead.

Turns out, the car involved in the accident was driven by Ava Reese. The passenger in the front seat, Carrie Johnson. Audrey sat alone in back. Which is the precise spot where the northbound car hit them as they passed through the traffic light, heading westbound on Woodward Heights. Who would've guessed that Audrey would one day lose her life in front of the very church where she once attended Catholic School?

Listening to Miss Horchik explain the details of the accident, I can't even believe it. But for whatever reason, I don't cry. Not that I'm not devastated, 'cause I totally am. And numb.

This isn't the way things are supposed to go. As much as Audrey and I haven't seen eye-to-eye this year, I always expected we'd eventually make up. Especially with all the Graduation activities occurring next month. The Car Parade, Class Day, Commencement.

Now I'll never get a chance to tell Audrey how sorry I am that we drifted apart…

How could something like this happen?

I'll never get a chance to go to The Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island with her and sit by the trees from
Somewhere in Time…

Why was I such an Asshole all year long?

I'll never get a chance to say good-bye.

Why did I waste so much time?

There's always the funeral…

Not since my Grandma Freeman's back in 1977 have I been to one. This is the last thing I expected or wanted to be doing at this point in my life. But two days later, here I am climbing the steps to the Shrine of the Little Flower on Woodward and 12 Mile in Royal Oak.

Even though her family belongs to St. Mary Magdalen's in Hazel Park, Audrey's Mom couldn't bear the thought of her funeral taking place right in front of the spot where she died. And I can't say I blame her. Whenever I pass by and see the makeshift Memorial of flowers and balloons and stuffed animals that have been placed before the tiny brick wall on the corner of John R and Woodward Heights, I can't help but imagine the Horror that occurred there.

All dressed up in my khaki pants and blue button-down Polo dress shirt, I'd much rather be going to a wedding when I enter this Church. I'm wondering now if I should've worn a tie.

I can't even believe it when I see her name printed on the back of the little prayer card I'm given at the entrance to the chapel. On the front is a picture of the Virgin Mary adorned in traditional blue and white.

And that's it!

Is this what becomes of a Life? Reduced to a single column in the Obituary section of the Royal Oak
Daily Tribune.
Nobody's going to know anything about Audrey or what a great person she was after reading this crap. What about her favorite movie,
Somewhere in Time?
What about her “childbearing hips”? What about the way she turned her head slightly to one side, furrowed her brow, and pursed her lips when she gave you her “Don't Even” look?

I hate being in Church. Not because I don't believe in God or Jesus, 'cause I do. In fact, I pray almost every single night. But the way it always makes me feel…Like a Total Sinner. I'm surprised I don't burst into flames the minute I sit down in a pew near the back.

I take a look around, disgusted by what I see…Popular People everywhere! Tom Fulton and his entire Jock Jerk crew, all wearing shirts and ties, sit together three rows in front of me. Since when were
any
of them ever friends with Audrey? Did they even know her name? They're all just looking for an excuse to take a day off school. Which is Total Bullshit! If we weren't in a Place of Worship right now, I'd stand up and say something.

Then again, was I even friends with Audrey anymore? At least I
used
to be.

Poor Rob Berger…I can't even imagine burying the person I love at such a young age. He looks rather handsome all dressed up in a navy blue suit and matching tie, sitting down front with Audrey's Mom and now mohawk-less brother. I almost didn't recognize Mike with his head shaved and wearing a suit…He still looks hot.

I pray he doesn't recognize
me
from that time at the gay bar. Though it's been almost two years since I've seen him, so why am I worrying? As much as I should probably go over and give my condolences, I think I'll wait.

Over to my right, I see another familiar face…

Brad looks good, all tanned from his recent Band Fag trip to Florida on Spring Break. He sits at the end of his row beside Ava and Carrie. Thank God they both managed to escape the encounter with only minor scrapes and bruises. Though I've got a feeling the trauma will haunt them for the rest of their lives. All three have their heads bowed in prayer so I don't think they've spotted me. Which is probably for the best.