Making plans with friends was a lot simpler in 1990. Cell phones didn’t hit the market yet so text messages were unheard of. When someone said; “I’ll call you” that meant they would actually dial my number and speak to me. I remember pacing impatiently in my parent’s kitchen then lunging for the wall phone when it rang. Oh how I miss that tan coil cord.
“Can you drive tonight?” My friend asked.
“Yup. I’ll pick you up. Tell everyone I will be over soon.” I replied then ran out of my parent’s house and into my 1976 red Chevy Malibu. I popped in my dance mix cassette tape and was off to hang out with my friends.
My friends and I weren’t part of the popular crowd in high school and that didn’t change the year after we graduated. We might have not been the cool kids but that didn’t change the fact that we were on a mission that night; we needed to find boyfriends. We didn’t have Facebook or Twitter so in order to “chat” with boys we had to physically leave our homes and ignore them in person.
After I picked up my girlfriends, we headed to where the boys were and that was McDonald’s on South Main Street. We jammed to Regina’s “Baby Love” and talked about the boys we hoped to see. I had a good feeling about that night. I had my eye on Bill for a while and word on the street was that he broke up with his girlfriend. I was thrilled! I drove by him (1990’s version of stalking) in the McDonald’s parking lot every weekend for over a month. One weekend he even talked to me. Ok, so he asked me to pass him napkins because I was standing in front of the dispenser but that still counts! If I didn’t have to be home by 10:30pm, I’m sure we would have talked to me longer.
I know what you’re thinking; “Your curfew was 10:30pm?” The answer to that question is yes. Let me explain, my parents are your typical strict Italian parents. There were and still are many benefits of being a daughter to Italian immigrants. Of course, in 1990 I didn’t recognize these benefits. Back then I just focused on the fact that I wasn’t allowed to date all through high school and going away to college was not an option. You heard me right. Moving out of my parent’s home before my wedding day was more than frowned upon, it simply was not allowed. I was a nineteen-year-old girl with over protective parents (and over protective male cousins but I’m saving that for another story) and going to Community College. I was such a catch.
I drove through the parking lot about a million times this particular Friday night before I parked my car. My friends and I reapplied our makeup and mentally prepared for the intimidating walk through the groups of boys and girls. I spotted Bill standing by the restaurant door and asked my friends to act cool, whatever that meant, when we pass him. They promised that they would.
“There she is!” I heard a boy yell out as the other boys whistled and teased.
“Go up to her!” Said another boy. It sounded like they were referring to us but I wasn’t sure. We didn’t turn around to see who they were talking about incase it wasn’t us. Last thing we wanted to do was turn around to find out they were cat calling another group of girls. That would have been social suicide so we talked among ourselves as we walked into McDonald’s.
Bill walked in right after we did and stood behind us in line. He cleared his throat a few times and spoke loudly with his friends.
“What is she ordering?” His friend asked out loud.
"I don't know." Bill replied.
“Why don’t you ask her?” Another friend suggested.
“Hey! What are ordering?” Bill asked. There was no doubt that he was talking to me but I was paralyzed with fear so I ignored him, naturally.
My friends and I walked over to a booth to eat our cheeseburgers, fries and chicken nuggets.
“Why did you ignore him?” My friend asked under her breath.
“I have no idea.” I replied then squeezed ketchup on my cheeseburger wrapper.
Bill walked up to us and asked if he could join us. I felt my face turn red and I wanted to say yes but for some reason, I couldn’t get the words from my brain to my mouth. He stood in front of us, holding his tray of food, waiting for my response.
“Say something.” My friend said then pinched me.
I still couldn’t talk. All I could do was shake my head yes, which I did. My friends moved over so he could sit next to me. That was it; we were inseparable for the next few years.
The best thing about Bill was that understood how strict my parents were. He respected my parents and made sure not to do anything to upset them. I was always home on time, which my parents liked, and Bill talked to my father about gardening, which I liked.
We did the typical dating things; we went to theme parks, county fairs, movies and out to dinner. Our group of friends also understood my dating restrictions. It upset me when I had to go home early every time we went out but they never made me feel like a loser. I tried to have as much fun as I could with the limited time I had. Eventually, my curfew changed to midnight.
I was never a big drinker mostly because I was afraid to go home drunk. I wasn’t sure how my parents would handle a hung-over daughter and I was not about to test it. Bill, on the other hand, enjoyed drinking and has his share of drunken stories. He was amusing at times but being the sober one in a group of drunks wasn’t always that much fun. Don’t get me wrong; I had my share of purple passion but my party ended earlier than the rest of my friends because I needed to get home.
“What will happen if you get home a little late?” Bill asked one night
“I don’t want to find out.” I replied.
“Ok, how about I promise to get you home on time, like I always do, if you promise to get drunk and have fun?” He asked.
“Are you implying that I’m not fun?” I asked sadly.
“Nope, not at all. I just think you should get drunk just for tonight.” He said before introducing me to Gold Scholgger.
I wasn’t sure if I was ready to abandon my favorite purple color cocktail for a gold-flaked beverage. However, the sparkles that came from the shot glass did look appealing so I took a shot. It burned the back of my throat but after the third shot, and my throat and the rest of my body became numb so I kept drinking.
I don’t know how many shots I did nor do I have any recollection of how the rest of the night went. I do remember Bill asking me to stop vomiting in the parking lot.
“I would if I could.” I slurred back to him before getting into his car.
I was so annoying the whole ride home. I vaguely remember praying out loud because I truly thought I was dying. If I didn’t drop dead in his car, I knew my parents were going to kill me when I got home. Either way, I was convinced I was a goner that night. My prayers intensified the closer we got to my home and I became more annoying.
“Will you please just shut up?” Bill said a few times which only made me cry and pray louder.
He somehow managed to get to my house before my curfew.
“You’re home. Get out.” He said leaning over my seat to open the door from the inside. I wanted Bill to walk me in my house because I really needed his help.
“No way! Your father will kill me if he knew that I got you drunk.” He said then gently pushed me out of his parked car.
“Please, just get out. I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” He pleaded still trying to get me out of his car, quietly.
I mentally wanted to get out of his car on my own but I physically couldn’t do it.
“Look the main lights are off, my parents are sleeping.” I pointed out to him as my last attempt to get help from him.
“Fine, I’ll help you. Promise me you’ll be quite.” He pleaded then and walked over to my side of the car and opened the door. I poured out of his front seat and Bill collected me off my parent’s sidewalk. We walked slowly through my parents front lawn. When we got to the door, I looked at him and said, “Oh my God, I’m going to get sick!” And started to cry again.
“Please, please, please, please stop crying and wait until I leave before you throw up.” He begged.
“I can’t!” I whispered loudly.
“Just walk me down the street. I’ll throw up in the bushes.” I continued in what I thought was a softer whisper while tugging on his jacket.
“Are you crazy? No way! I've got to get out of here and fast!” He said then opened the front door with my key.
I looked in my parent’s dark living room and then at Bill.
“I’m so sorry. It was nice knowing you.” I said then proceeded to vomit violently all over my parent’s tiled living room floor. Bill looked at me then at the vomit.
“I’m so sorry it had to end this way.” He said then got the hell out of there.
Part of me couldn’t believe that he left me but a bigger part of me wish he took me with him.
I heard my parents jump out of their bed and running down the hallway.
“TAKE ME WITH YOU!” I shouted out the front door but it was too late. He skidded off in his Camaro and left me standing in my own vomit with my confused parents.
I tried to tell my parents that I had food poisoning but the gold flakes and the smell of cinnamon made it an incredible excuse.
“You’re drunk.” My mother said and helped me to my room. She continued to lecture me on the dangers of alcohol and my father joined in. They scolded me days after the incident and I promised to never drink again.
A week or so later, Bill reappeared. He capitalized on the situation and told my parents that he tried to stop me from drinking.
“What are you doing?” I asked him after he took my parent's side in front of me. I couldn't believe he threw me under the bus like that!
“Agreeing with your parents. They’ll love me, watch.” He said and it worked.
Bill and I dated for about four years. Like I said, things were simpler in 1990.
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