A bit of a character building chapter. This story is a bit like that... there will eventually be drama and stuff rather than simply John's teen-angst musings.


Friday, September 16th 1983

Another Friday night, another party at Diego's. John didn't know how this had happened again. He'd skipped last week's gathering (a good thing in retrospect as apparently there'd been some altercation with the cops gone midnight when the neighbours complained) and he wouldn't have said his alternative plans had been all that much worse in comparison. He'd still got drunk and smoked far more than was good for him, albeit in a different location. What had driven him back here tonight was less desire and more the certainty that something would take his mind off of the week he'd just had. The last thing he wanted was to limp back home before his parents had shouted themselves out. He'd made that mistake one too many times already this week.

Within an hour of arriving, though, he'd found himself aimlessly wandering through the house, picking up and dropping conversations with frightening regularity. He wasn't sure what had happened to him. Time was, he was able to while away hours at these parties, talking about nothing with anybody who happened to be there. Beer and tobacco and pot helped to loosen everybody's tongues. The people hadn't changed; the revolving door of Diego's house brought new faces as ever, but some familiar faces too. Some people John loosely interpreted as friends, much in the same way he deemed Diego a friend, yet he was finding even their company trying. It wasn't their fault, and so he displaced his usual angry frustrations by moving from room to room and hoping that sooner or later he'd find something to calm his restlessness, because narcotics just weren't working for him this evening.

There'd been a talk at school this week about college. It was the sort of event that John usually avoided if at all possible, or at least sat with his cronies and scoffed at. In fact, that was exactly what he did do, contorting his face into ever more disgusted expressions and rolling his eyes more than once at the imperatives the principal and vice-principal had used. It had earned him his first Saturday detention of the year tomorrow; Mr 'Dickwad' Vernon had caught him in one of his more dramatic reactions and found him to be 'lacking in basic respect and manners which I'll drill into you as nobody else will.' On one level, the vice-principal could be seen as generous. John wasn't working on that level.

Underneath the scorn and derision, however, some of what had been said in that talk had affected John more than he would ever be able to admit. At one point, he'd glanced around the room, looking beyond his immediate circle of like-minded burnouts, and what he'd seen had unsettled him. All around him were dozens of seniors, jocks and cheerleaders and nerds and musicians, people he'd walked the hallways with for years. For so long, he'd mocked them and their cliques, seeing himself as something separate, something unique, something different from the mindlessness he saw in all of them. Now he wondered if he'd done all of that because deep down he'd known. Here they were, listening to the same talk, and they were nodding, agreeing, taking notes. This wasn't just some talk to them: this was their future. It had hit him hard.

College had never been on his agenda. He was so done with school, only having stayed on out of a sick need to prove everybody around him wrong. The thought of four more years in education had been enough for him to block the mere consideration of college out. There was nothing college could teach him that he wouldn't be able to learn quicker and more effectively in life. But suddenly he realised what college could do: it could get him out of here. All of the people around him, in their lettermans and turtlenecks, they were making plans to leave this place, this city, to move far away from what had made them who they were at Shermer High. They were getting exactly what John wanted: they were getting out.

There were other ways of doing that of course, but now it was all John could think about. He'd left that talk in a crushing depression, suddenly jealous of everybody around him for whom that last hour hadn't been a complete waste of time. Gazing out across the parking lot at the cars bought for the princes and princesses of the school, he had an urge to do something drastic, smash their windows, puncture their tyres. Life was unfair, he'd always known that: he had the bruises and burns to prove it. But he'd never imagined it was so unfair. These people had everything and they were going to get more. John had rarely felt his poverty so acutely.

Now, drinking from a bottle as he let the lame jokes of his friends wash over him, he allowed himself to entertain the idea of telling his parents he wanted to go to college. He imagined it wouldn't be the most painful experience of his life. His father's laughter was something that wasn't heard very often in the Bender household. A story like that would keep Mr Bender amused for a long time. As for his mother, she'd no doubt fire off some witticisms at his expense and bring it up periodically in order to highlight how useless he was. Not for the first time, John felt weary at the predictability of his life.

So he felt he could be excused from feeling particularly sociable this evening. Less drunk than he'd wanted to be, he walked out onto the back porch of the house and fumbled for his cigarettes.

'You got any I could bum?'

He looked up to the source of the question. He didn't really need to; that voice was uncomfortably seared into his memory. Still, the sight of Nancy Kennedy in the light spilling out through the windows did something to raise his spirits. The temperature gradually dropping had forced her out of the shorts but the dress she'd poured herself into left little to the imagination either. With the red lipstick, she added a level of glamour to the whole evening.

He handed one over silently and lit it. She didn't break eye contact as she took a long drag off of it and exhaled slowly. John wasn't sure how to explain it, but she seemed to smile without moving her mouth. It was something to do with her eyes or her skin or something else about her. It was pretty attractive.

'So… history with Mrs Dunstan.' Those dark eyes sparkled mischievously.

'What about it?'

She shrugged carelessly. 'I just didn't have you down as a history kind of guy.'

It was flirtatious banter, nothing more, and yet John found himself actually curious. 'No?' That she'd even given him much thought at all was both alarming and interesting. For his part, he'd not only consigned their night in the summer to the past but locked the door securely behind it, not even a snapshot to commemorate it. Girls tended not to be so clinical though, and ordinarily that sort of bothered him. Not today though.

'No.' She shook her head, that strange not-quite-smile on her face again.

He couldn't resist. 'What kind of guy did you have me down as?'

That shrug again. 'I don't know.' She took another drag on her cigarette, seemingly enjoying making him wait for her response. He surprised himself in doing just that. 'You just seem like the sort of guy who doesn't enjoy looking backwards much.'

'Nancy!' An arm suddenly snaked its way around her neck, shattering the moment for John. Its owner was one of the many nameless interchangeable faces who inhabited the place. 'Where did you get to?'

Nancy flashed that secret smile at John again before fixing a more obvious one on her face and turning towards the limpet around her neck. 'I've been right here.'

'Well come on inside.' The guy smashed his face up against her so that even John felt uncomfortable. 'You need to warm up.' The last was said in a heavily innuendo laden voice, probably intended to be a whisper but coming out in a drunken bellow.

Nancy gave a false giggle alongside the guy's smutty chuckle, took a final drag of the cigarette and ground it out. Just before she gave in to his demands, she glanced up at John from underneath her eyelashes. 'I'll see you around, John.'

For a few moments, he was left alone on the back porch, burning cigarette left unsmoked, half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. It was as though he didn't quite know what to do in the wake of Nancy's departure. It wasn't a feeling he much enjoyed.

He wasn't left alone long.

'So you've met Nancy.' The statement came from Diego who sauntered over, joint in hand and a broad smile on his face. 'Oh Johnny boy.'

John didn't recover quite quickly enough, even as he tried to appear nonchalant as he said, 'What do you mean?'

Diego's grin widened. 'You know what I mean. Exactly how many times have you two "met"?' He didn't wait for an answer before saying again, 'Oh Johnny boy.'

John regained some of his usual equilibrium as he knocked the ash off of his cigarette and smoked it in several successive drags. 'She's a cool chick. You know.'

'I know.' Diego nodded solemnly before laughing. 'Oh man!'

John somehow couldn't help agreeing.