Chapter 1- Whiskey in Oklahoma
"So, how do I look?" I placed a hand on my hip and adjusted my stance so my waist would seem smaller. God, that would take a miracle.
I tugged at my mini skirt to try to retain some of my modesty. The days of poodle skirts that could hide any small imperfection or insecurity were gone. A new era of "freedom" was being ushered in. Women were now liberated! It wasn't such a big deal to bring up a diaphragm with your doctor or to have a girl's night on the town. Mom said it was the same old oppression but with different nuances. Just because you were allowed to show some leg doesn't mean the patriarchy has vanished. This was something that my mom would froth at the mouth over.
"Remember that women are still seen as objects by some men out there." She jerked a thumb towards the window as if the evasive danger of society was just one man standing on the sidewalk outside the shopping mall. "It's just more acceptable to put objects on display now," my mom scoffed as a held up the mini skirt for tonight.
"I'm pretty sure that our daughter is just trying to emulate the new scene, not embody the dysfunctions of society, Connie." My dad chuckled at her, but you could see the pure admiration he held for my mother in the twinkle of his eyes. "She is probably hoping that she can look like that Twiggy." My dad winked at me, happy to be keen on something recent and not centuries old.
My dad was a professor of the arts at the University of Tulsa. He described his job as enduring the art history lectures and reveling in the upper division classes, where he encouraged the future, young artists to express their creative visions. On the other hand, my mom worked as a tutor for advanced math courses at the university. Most students sneered at their new tutor with hair that reached her lower back and her floral, floor-length skirts. But her comprehension of algorithms and calculations was unparallel. Most people would eventually accept her because she always accepted them as they were. It wasn't conventional, but nothing about them was.
That's why their relationship worked though; my dad often reminded me. "A perfect symphony is a mixture crescendos and decrescendos. Harsh notes complemented with beautiful pitches. Dramatic flares followed by simple tunes. It all works in harmony." He did this while waving the spoon he was using to mix the pasta sauce like a conductor. We were playing our favorite record that had Bach's Cello Suite No.1 while preparing dinner. This particular conversation happened when I was 14. I still thought about it, even now.
My life had felt like a series of boxes that ought to be checked. I had filled up a good portion of these boxes up until this point. Isn't it ironic that I had parents that would support me whether I dreamed of being a fashion designer in New York or a construction worker in Houston? I would also get a discounted tuition rate since my parents worked for the university. I just had no clue want I wanted to be. So, I decided to stay at home and keep working at the bookstore. We didn't depend on that money or anything like that. Mom wanted me to have a job so that I knew that I could be self-sufficient and independent.
Tonight was another box to be checked.
My best friend and even my parents insisted that I attend the end of the school year traditional bonfire. It was one of the few occasions that socs and greasers could enjoy from their respective ends of the football field. There was probably going to be a few kegs, maybe a drunken brawl. But it was an honorary experience that I should have, according to everyone else.
After giving up on my appearance, I flopped on my bed and turned up the volume on my graduation present radio. The beginning chords of Dumb Blonde by Dolly Parton hummed through the speaker, and I cleared my throat to begin belting along. After the first verse, I heard Bonnie join in from the first floor in my house.
Bonnie and I had been best friends for so long there was not a point in my life that I don't remember her not being around. I met her at the foot of my stairs, shimmying along to the chorus.
She looked spectacular tonight. She was wearing a mini dress in a soft rose color. It perfectly complemented her shoulder length blonde hair. Her makeup was impeccable, like something you would see on a magazine cover. It put my natural look to shame since I had barely contained enough motivation to apply some mascara. She had wonderful curves like Marilyn used to. I warned her that my physique was on the horizon now that Twiggy was the new icon. I didn't have a lot of curves to work with and my caramel hair looked boring next to her. My hair was slightly lower down my shoulder blades. It was not nearly as long as my mom's but not as short as Bonnie's. That was a pretty good summation of my life; I always was like someone else but not defined enough to be my own self.
"I'll just keep telling myself it's a coincidence that this song always plays when I enter a room!" Bonnie and my mom giggled. Bonnie hugged me, happy that I was finally attempting to participate in something that wasn't a flea market or a book sale.
I kept telling myself that I would have fun tonight as we loaded into William's car. William was a footballer that always kept a side eye on Bonnie when she cheered. At least we didn't have to walk to the party in heels. I could at least appreciate William for that much.
Bonnie and I tried to catch up during the car ride over, but William required a great deal of attention. I wanted to whisper to her that it was asinine how much special attention he thought he deserved because he offered us a lift. She would respond that I sound like my mom. Not like Eliza. Like someone else.
The party was already in full swing. A couple of logs were pulled up to the massive bonfire where established social circles were reliving the events at graduation. Socs had Stingrays with foreign beers and liquors with unpronounceable names. Greasers had cases of the cheapest beers on the market. Bonnie and I sauntered over to a Stingrays and grabbed a solo cup with some kind of whiskey. Although I had never been to a party before, I sometimes had a glass of wine with my dinner or some scotch with my dad as we worked on the daily newspaper crossword. My parents didn't see a problem since I was responsible and in the sanctuary of my own home.
Bonnie joined one of the social circles with a gaggle of cheerleaders. It definitely did not feel like I belonged in that group, so I sat on a log next to William and some of the other guys from the team. They were having a very important conversation about the importance of maintaining your car. The central theme of this conversation was mainly to make snide comments about the clearly worn and used greaser cars in the other lot. I looked up at the stars and sipped the whiskey. Somehow that made the party more bearable.
"Hey Baby! What don't you come over and have some fun!" A greaser wearing a Mickey Mouse shirt called from the other side of the bonfire.
At first, I didn't realize he was talking to me. It's not like this was customary when I was always the girl standing next to someone like Bonnie.
"C'mon! Join us for a game of beer pong! I promise it will be more fun than hanging out with those geezers." He wiggled his eyebrow which was so comical it almost made you forget that he hurled an insult.
William and other boys' jaws were set in a line. Clearly, this was no laughing matter and I was naïve to laugh. However, thanks to my mother's convictions, I had no hesitation in absolutely and completely ignoring them and joining the other side.
Everyone knew who was in the Curtis Gang. It was hard to forget the events that transpired two years ago. It seemed like every week there was a new headline in the newspaper that someone from my high school had died. Another stark difference between the greasers and socs is that when Bob died, they mourned for a couple months but everyone moved on afterwards. It never seemed like the Curtis Gang did though. They didn't stick together because their dads were in the same country club. They were actually friends and really did care about one another.
That was clearly evident in Steve Randle and Sodapop Curtis's friendship. I guess they were the male equivalent of Bonnie and me. And now, they were squaring off against Two-Bit and I for a game of beer game was set up on a collapsible card table and I could immediately tell that I would be getting officially irresponsibly drunk tonight.
The game was about halfway through. I was informed that Tim Shepard was the guy I was subbing for. He had to take the leave of absence due to some blonde in a dress that made me look like a nun. I usually felt that out of place, especially now.
Two-Bit presented his case on why he should have a brief recess so that I could receive some critical instruction on the regulations of beer pong. After this debrief, I lined up to take my first shot. Naturally, I missed the cup and the ball didn't even come close to a bounce on the table. Both Steve and Soda laughed at me, Soda a little bit more inconspicuously.
"Perfect!" Two-Bit inexplicably exclaimed. "That was exactly what we talked about." Two clapped me on the back and sent a wink across the table. The boys scoffed at him and sunk their round of shots. Over the next couple of rounds, the laughter was contagious. The cheap beer tasted better than anything offered on the Soc side, but I am pretty sure that had more to do with the company.
Two-Bit stopped carrying our team when he spotted a bottle blonde grabbing a beer from an ice cooler a couple of cars down. Evie had been standing off to the side, waiting for an opportunity to snag him off to a quieter location. So, Sodapop and I were deemed to be the clean up crew.
We started stacking up the used cups when he started to talk to me.
"So, I don't believe I ever got your name." He looked up at me with those chocolate eyes that were just as sweet and warm as a candy bar.
"I don't think he ever asked," I laughed, wanting to seem casual and a bit coy." Eliza."
And there it was. "Oh, like short for Elizabeth."
"Nope, just Eliza. My mom named me after a Canadian feminist. I guess it would make more sense if you met her." Oh, God. Why did I just say all that? Like he would actual want to meet my mom one day. Stupid girl.
"Hey, it's okay. You do realize who you are talking to, right? Your name sounds perfectly proper." He held up his pinky when he said the word "proper". I laughed, feeling a mixture of silly and buzzed. I felt as light as a feather.
"Ever play flip cup? Maybe you'll have better luck than beer pong." He responded after seeing me shake my head.
More drunkenness ensued.
It was weird and strange to be around Sodapop Curtis. It was the easiest thing in the goddamn world to talk to him. It was like conversing with my mom or with Bonnie. It was natural and I didn't feel self-conscious anymore. It also seemed like he showed genuine interest in what I had to say.
"Can I ask you something?" Soda asked after I successfully flipped another cup. We were almost matched in skill for this game. I nodded.
"Why are you over here?" He laughed but you could tell it was a ploy to cover up his curiosity.
"To be honest, I don't really know. I didn't really seem to fit in over there. And this seemed like fun. I am trying to be a more adventurous type of wallflower." He nodded along, simultaneously agreeing and pondering what I said. "Also, I would rather pull my own teeth than listen about cars for another minute." He took personal offense to this.
He started to tease me when Bonnie came over and grabbed my hand.
"Hey, William's taking us over to the Hop to grab some burgers. You're coming right?" She glanced over at Soda. It wasn't necessarily a vicious glare, but it wasn't inviting either. She pushed her bangs out of her face and you could visibly see her take a whiff of me. "Did he get you drunk?" She sort of whispered in that super scandalous way.
"Actually, I can get drunk all by myself." I tried to hide a drunk hiccup, but I accomplished just as much as I did in beer pong. Soda laughed at me and Bonnie plainly did not find any of this amusing. "Just give me a sec and I'll head over." The reluctance in her agreement was palpable.
"Well, thanks for a good time. I really enjoyed myself." I gave him a real smile. I meant what I said. This turned out to be way more enjoyable than I could have ever imagined.
"I like how happy you get when you are drunk. It's really cute." He returned my smile with an equally goofy grin. "Listen, I know I might be crossing a line here, but I was hoping maybe you would go on a date with me sometime?"
My jaw went slack. "Oh! Um." I stammered. "I'm sorry. I've really had a good time. Swear! But you probably don't want to date a girl like me. I'm really sorry."
I didn't feel capable enough to run away at this point, despite how much I wanted to. Humans have a natural response to uncomfortable, distressful situations: fight or flight. And there is no shame in getting the hell away from something.
Bonnie had been standing close by, monitoring the situation. She looked like one of those moms that watched their kids at the park too closely. They wait for disaster to happen and it usually does. A self-fulfilling prophecy.
"Did he really just ask you out?" Was there a hint of jealousy in that question? Was I imagining that? Maybe this whole thing is just a dream. That seems to be the most rational solution to this whole night.
"Yeah, he did. I really want to leave right now." My eyes were starting to water a little bit. To be fair, the alcohol was definitely hitting me, I was completely embarrassed with myself and I had pushed away a guy I had a crush on.
"It's probably for the best." Bonnie gave a half-hearted attempt at putting a band-aid on the night. "He hasn't gone steady with anyone since Sandy. It would be setting yourself up for disappointment."
I guess there was some truth in that. He hadn't consistently gone out with the same girl since that happened. Everyone knew. It was hard not to talk about a girl who magically disappeared for 10 months and returned with a fuller face and wider hips. Yet, somehow, I felt like I was the one that set him up for disappointment tonight.
"I never understood that," I confided, "How no one ever could ever live up to the expectations that an ex set when she cheated on you and vanished overnight." Ah yes, time for a drunk ramble.
Bonnie seemed proud of herself. She was personally responsible for me having this conclusion. I don't think this was my belief though.
We approached William's car and a large group of socs were planning on where to meet up and how everyone would get there. I didn't notice that Soda's truck was parked nearby. He was right on the precipice of the greaser and soc world. A line that was starting to become blurred to me. He was a couple measures behind me, so I gave a silent prayer that he didn't hear me.
"Lemme know if you change your mind, Eliza. I hope you do." He called out as he loaded some leftover beer in the back of his truck. Who would've ever thought that Sodapop Curtis would try so hard to get one date? And that I would be the gal.
"Who are you talking to, greaser?" William responded. The word "greaser" held a connotation similar to that of a swear word muttered by sailors.
Soda took steps forward to square off against William. I couldn't hear what they were saying to each other. Steve and Two-Bit seemed to appear out of thin air. I guess they had an instinct for it, like your dog before a giant thunderstorm when there isn't a cloud in the sky.
I don't know who threw the first punch. I don't know if I want to.