STEVE 2
December, 1979
"Happy birth-day to yo-o-ou...happy birth-day to yo-o-ou...happy birth-day dear Dee Dee-e-e...happy birth-day to yo-o-ou..."
That's what we were singing at Uncle Ken and Aunt Laura's house. Dee Dee was turning eleven years old today, and she was enjoying every second of it. One minute, she was a little girl; the next, she was stretching toward womanhood. To her, being eleven meant that she could finally dress the way she wanted and choose her own hairstyle, both of which were a big deal to her. Today, she was wearing a black long-sleeved T-shirt and blue bell-bottoms. And her hair, which was pulled back in a ponytail, was so long that she could practically sit on it. She even got her ears pierced, much to Mom's chagrin. Any parent with a daughter in that age group knows that when that happens, that girl is no longer yours. She is her own person. Good-bye, Girl Scout cookies and Shaun Cassidy; hello, cigarettes and AC/DC.
"Open my present first!" six-year-old Michael said excitedly.
"No, mine!" four-year-old Amanda jumped in.
"Okay, just relax," Dee Dee smiled, reaching for a present. "I'll open all of your presents, guys, but I think I'll start with this one."
I think it's time to explain a few things here. Since our summer vacation in Cape Cod, as you can guess, my family has grown. I'm now thirteen, Dee Dee was turning eleven, and Michael was now six. We've also added two new members to the family, so I have another brother and sister. Amanda will be five in April, and Jacob turned two in October. He's sort-of named after our Great-Uncle Jacopo, Gamma's brother—who, I'm told, was killed in a car accident around the time I was born.
Oh, I should also mention something. On July 20, 1976—which was not only the seventh anniversary of the moon landing, but also the same day the Viking I satellite landed on Mars—Mom gave birth to a little girl named Roberta Maxine, but we all called her Bobbie. Sadly, little Bobbie died just six and a half weeks later, on September 3rd, the same day that Viking II landed. We couldn't understand it. She was so healthy, but the doctor told us that it was a condition called Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, and it was nothing we did.
You're also probably wondering why we're still in Cincinnati, especially now that it was December. Well, we'd spent Thanksgiving with Uncle Ken, Aunt Laura, and Gino, who was now eighteen. It had been a week since Thanksgiving, and the reason why we were still here is because a huge blizzard had hit New York, and we couldn't get home. Luckily, Dee Dee, Michael, and I had brought our school books with us so we'd be caught up on our school work.
Okay, back to Dee Dee's birthday. The first present she opened was from Michael. "Wow!" she exclaimed. Michael's present was a copy of Olivia Newton-John's newest album, Totally Hot. "I've been dying to get this one for weeks! How'd you swing it?"
"Well, it wasn't easy," Michael confessed. "I had to give up a lot of the necessities of life. Baseball cards, Happy Meal toys, girls..."
"Mikey, you're only six!" I laughed.
"Okay, just baseball cards and Happy Meal toys."
"Thanks, little brother," Dee Dee smiled. And the two of them hugged.
After Dee Dee finished opening her presents, and we all enjoyed cake and ice cream, Gino called me into the kitchen. "What's up?" I asked as I put the first load of dishes into the sink to be washed.
"Well, Steve, I've been thinking," he said. "Since your family's still here, thanks to that blizzard, I thought maybe you and I could spend some time together before you go back to New York. Just the two of us."
"Okay, sounds good," I said. "What'd you have in mind?"
And with that, Gino proudly held out his hand. "Ever listen to the Who?" he ask-ed.
"Sure. Who hasn't?"
"Well, they're playing at Riverfront Coliseum on Monday night, and I thought you and I could have a little guy-time and go see them."
"You're kidding! That is so awesome!" I exclaimed. "Man, how the hell did you get these?"
"I won them in a radio contest," Gino answered. "They were wanting to find out who could correctly guess the number of molecules in John Entwistle's beard. I was off by four, but I still got the tickets."
"Gino!" I laughed. Like Great-Aunt Jessica, he's always making jokes.
But I didn't care how he'd gotten the tickets. All I could think about was being in the audience with my favorite cousin, and listening to my favorite band.
Well, the night of the concert finally arrived. You're probably wondering how Gino was able to convince our parents—well, mine, specifically—to let me go to the concert with him, because like I said, I'm only thirteen. The one thing he promised them was that he'd watch out for me—which he always did, for as long as I could rem-ember. They still had their doubts, but they finally decided it would be okay.
Looking back on that, there was no way I would've said yes if I were them.
We arrived at the parking lot of the Coliseum about an hour and a half before the concert was to start. Like I'd thought, it was jam-packed. And with our luck, our parking space felt like it was in the next county. Neither of us were surprised, though. I mean, this was the Who, for crying out loud. And besides, we were told that it was festival seating. As in first come, first served. You get the idea, right?
"Hey, Gino, looks like we're not going to get in, man," I said with a disappointed sigh.
"Have no fear, Gino's here," my cousin grinned. "You're about to get your first lesson in how to deal with crowds."
I followed Gino across the parking lot and up to where the general population was. And as it turned out, Gino's way of dealing with crowds was to go up to any random person he saw and tell them that the concert was actually tomorrow night, and the real reason people were here was to see the Bay City Rollers. And some of them actually believed him! Even if I hadn't been drinking—which I'm pretty sure some of these people were—I probably would've bought Gino's bullshit story, because I hate, HATE the Bay City Rollers. LeeAnn and Cindy, on the other hand, can't get enough of them. If you were to mention Andy Gibb, Shaun Cassidy, Leif Garrett, or one of those teeny-bopper, nose-in-the-air pretty-boy assholes to them, they will go crazy. The only exceptions are Peter Frampton and Tommy Shaw from Styx, mostly because they play guitar and have actual, legitimate talent. In other words, as Mom would say, they're not just another pretty face.
"Wow, Gino, how the hell did you do that?" I exclaimed, once we were a little closer to the doors. Sure, people were still pushing and shoving each other and fighting to keep their balance, but who gave a rat's ass?
"Lesson one: the more the average concert-goer has had to drink, the easier he is to convince," Gino answered, sounding exactly like a college professor who's so impressed with his own intelligence that he doesn't realize what a dick he really is.
I would've burst out laughing, but the next thing I heard was a guitar chord from inside. Naturally, it sent the crowd into a frenzy. Gino and I naturally assumed that it was just the sound-check, but everyone else thought the concert was starting, and they starting pushing and shoving each other and kicking the doors, trying to get in. Some were even clocking each other as they fought their way to the doors. We were lucky we weren't one of those people, but we were still being pushed and shoved all over the parking lot. I thought for sure that we were going to suffocate.
It was so crazy out there that Gino and I got swept away from each other. "Gino!" I gasped, looking around in panic for my cousin. Where was he?
That's when I felt a hand snap shut around my wrist. I looked to my left and saw a girl who looked about my age, maybe a little older. She had black shoulder-length hair, was wearing a white turtleneck, and black bell-bottoms, and looked as scared as she could be. I hadn't seen that look in anyone's eyes since Michael had been chased by our neighbor's Doberman last summer.
"Please help me," she begged. "We have to get out of here."
I felt really bad for this girl, whoever she was, but at the same time, I needed to find Gino. My eyes darted wildly from one side to the other. Where was he?
The next thing I knew, I was being smashed up against the window next to one of the doors. I looked out of the corner of my eye, and to my horror, it was still closed! What the hell was this? Didn't anyone inside know what was going on? And didn't the crowd know that the concert hadn't actually started yet?
"MOVE THE FUCK BACK!" I heard someone shout. I couldn't tell if it was Gino or not. People were jam-packed against me so tightly that I couldn't even breathe. I wondered how much longer my ribs would hold out, and wished that someone would just open the damn doors already.
Well, the doors did eventually open—outward, no less—and that's when the stampede started.
I was still beside the door, and the people that were wedged in behind me back-ed off and made their way inside. I sank to my knees, and was trying like hell to catch my breath, when I heard a voice yelling, "Steve! Steve, where are you, kid?"
"GINO!" I shouted. "Over here!"
"Keep talking, let me follow your voice!"
"I'm over here by the door!"
After what seemed like an eternity, Gino had fought his way through the crowd and gotten to me. Except for a few bruises and a busted lip, he seemed fine.
"You all right?" he asked. Gasping, I nodded. "Good. Come on!"
We somehow managed to get inside out of the cold, but in the struggle to keep up with the crowd, I tripped over what I thought was my own foot. Down I went, still clinging to Gino's hand, so I wouldn't be on the ground. I didn't want to get trampled, and held on with everything I had, but it was no use. There was no way I'd make it out of there alive.
"SHIIIIIIT!"
That was the last thing I heard my cousin scream before I hit the floor.
The next thing I felt was my head pounding. I opened my eyes, but all I saw was white light. I thought for sure I'd gotten a concussion, or I was going blind. Not only that, but I felt myself on my back and strapped down onto something. That's when I figured I was lying dead in one of those metal drawers at the morgue, and my parents were waiting to identify me. But that couldn't be it, either. For one thing, I heard the sound of wheels squeaking across the floor, as well as a woman's voice saying, "I think he's coming around, Bob."
When my vision cleared, I found myself lying on a gurney that was being wheeled outside. As the cold air rushed over me, I could clearly see the woman's face that was by my head. She looked almost as old as my parents, and had short dark brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses, and was wearing a light blue long-sleeved shirt and black pants, and her stethoscope was hanging across the back of her neck.
"It's all right, son," a man's voice said. I raised my head a little and saw a slightly heavyset man with reddish-brown hair with a few gray streaks and a beard, and wearing the same uniform as the woman. "You're going to be okay."
"Wh—what?" I whispered. I didn't even know where I was, or even if the concert was still going on. And on top of all that, I didn't know where Gino was, or if he was okay.
On the way across the parking lot, I could see the red and white flashing lights from the ambulances and cop cars lighting up the night sky. And that's when I knew people were hurt. My eyes drifted to the left, and right beside me were jackets, shoes, and other pieces of clothing strewn all over the ground, as well as two paramedics standing over a guy and covering him with a sheet.
"Oh, my God," I whispered in disbelief. I knew he was dead, and I'd somehow gotten a good look at his face before they covered him up. It wasn't Gino, but it still shook me up, because he was somebody's brother, cousin, son, or friend.
As I was being loaded into the ambulance, I looked out across the parking lot. There were bodies everywhere. Some were dead, others were dying, and many more were in excruciating pain. Cops, paramedics, and news people were running around like crazy. It looked like something out of Apocalypse Now.
Then I felt it. My left arm. I looked down—which was a real chore, due to the collar on my neck—and saw my arm in a splint. Obviously broken, because I couldn't even feel it. It was like it wasn't even there.
"Where's Gino?" I managed to ask.
"Who?" the woman asked.
"My cousin," I answered, forcing myself not to get hysterical. "He's my cousin. The guy with the Bengals jacket, where is he?"
"He's on his way to the hospital right now."
Yes. Of course he was. He was going to be okay. I mean, he's Gino. He was always okay. That had to be the case, right? Upon hearing that, I could actually relax.
What happened next is still a blur to this day. I don't remember arriving at the hospital, the doctors doing X-rays and putting my arm in a cast, or our parents being called. The next thing I knew, I was lying in a bed in a spotlessly white hospital room with my family standing in front of me, and the first signs of daylight pouring through the window.
"Are you okay, Stevie?" Michael asked after the nurse left the room. I could tell he'd been crying. Jacob and Amanda were asleep on the couch, and Dee Dee was clinging to Mom and sobbing into her coat.
"He's okay," Mom tried to reassure her.
"I think so, little brother," I said. Then I turned to Dad, who was sitting beside the bed, and asked, "What happened?"
Dad took my good hand in both of his and looked me in the eye. "Your mother and I just talked to the doctor," he said. "Your arm is broken, you suffered a mild concussion, and your ribs are bruised, but there's no internal organ damage. When the paramedics found you, they said you were lying on the floor in a fetal position, which saved your life."
"What about Gino?"
I felt a hand on my left shoulder, and looked up to see Aunt Laura. When I saw the look on her face, I knew right away that it wasn't good news.
"He's still unconscious," she whispered.
I think my heart stopped when she said that. I honestly do. He couldn't die now, he just couldn't. He was only eighteen years old, and had the rest of his life ahead of him. He was also a senior in high school, and was just accepted at the University of Cincinnati, where he planned to major in Communications.
"Is he going to be okay?" I asked.
"We don't know yet," my aunt answered. "The doctor says it's still touch-and-go."
I knew Aunt Laura was still talking to me, but I didn't hear a word she said. It was only then that the impact of what had happened finally sank in. Gino was hurt, and hurt bad. If he did make it, he'd be damaged for life. (I later found out that he did live, but would be paralyzed from the chest down.)
A million thoughts went through my head. Besides worrying about my favorite cousin, I was also angry at a lot of people: the security guards for not bothering to open the fucking doors—or at least more of them—to let people in; the concert-goers who trampled people to death just so that they could get the best seats in the arena; the ticket-takers, or lack thereof; and whoever broke my arm and put Gino in the position he was in.
Gino.
"Looks like we're not going to get in, man."
I could hear those words playing over and over in my head like a broken record.
And that was all it took for the guilt to set in, and the knot in my throat to burst.
"I'm sorry!" I managed to gasp out between sobs. "I'm so sorry, everybody! I should've told Gino to just forget it and go home! I just wanted to see the Who, and he's probably going to die because of me! It should've been me!"
I don't know how long I kept rambling and blaming myself for everything, but while I did, Uncle Ken walked up to me, took my head in his hands, and turned my face toward his.
"Stop," he told me. "Steve, STOP. Steve, listen to me. This is not your fault. These things just happen."
"Boy, I've never heard that one before," I managed to say as I wiped my eyes with my good hand. Mom handed me a handkerchief, but I couldn't even hold onto it. I was still a mess.
"Maybe the news is on," Dad suggested, turning on the TV.
We all sat glued to the TV as we listened to the report of what happened at the concert. The one thing that stuck out in my mind was seeing the pictures and names of those eleven people who didn't make it, all between the ages of fifteen and twenty-seven. I could only imagine the looks on their families' faces, and I felt even sorrier for the oldest victim. The report said she was a mother of two, and was at the concert with her husband. That was bad enough, but worst of all, her kids would grow up never remembering her. (By the way, I'm happy to say that the girl who'd grabbed me by the wrist was not among them.)
I know you probably think that nothing good can come out of all this, but somehow, something actually did. Besides the ban on festival seating, the families of those eleven fans—not to mention the dozens of others who were injured, including us—were awarded money, thanks to them suing the city, the promoter, the owners of the Riverfront, and the Who themselves. Personally, I don't think the Who should've been blamed, because they probably didn't know what had happened until after the show. Otherwise, there was no way they would've gone through with it. But they were still held responsible, and after what seemed like forever, all those lawsuits were finally paid off.
That wasn't going to bring those people back, of course. Nothing would. But if anything, at least the people in charge would do everything they possibly could to make sure something like this never happened again, even if they had to learn it the hard way.
Summer, 1984
My family and I were returning from my high school graduation. Dee Dee was now fifteen; Michael, eleven; Amanda, nine; and Jacob, six. Since our trip to Cincinnati, we've added the last two members to our family, twins Paula and Patrick—or Pat, as we call him—who will be four in November. Pat has Down's syndrome, and some things are a little harder for him. But other than that, he's still the sweetest kid ever.
"Boy, what a day, huh?" Mom commented as we got in the door.
"I'll say," Dad agreed. "And just think, Rose. We only have to go through this five more times."
Upon hearing that, Mom made a weird noise that sounded like a cross between a groan and a sigh. I could tell she was visualizing having to sit through all that.
Just then, Paula let out a huge yawn. I knew what that meant. She and Pat had quite a long day, and it was time for the Sandman to do his duty.
"All right, bedtime, you two," Dad told them.
"Bedtime," Pat agreed. That's Pat for you. Whenever any adult tells him to do something, he always repeats what they say before doing it.
"Say, Mom, if you want, I can give the twins their bath," I said.
"I thought it was Dee Dee's turn," Mom said as she hung my cap and gown in the closet under the stairs.
"Mom, remember?" Dee Dee reminded her. "I'm spending the night at Heather's."
"Oh, that's right," Mom remembered. "Well, have fun."
"Thanks, Mom," Dee Dee smiled as she ran to the room she shared with Amanda to get her backpack. (Oh, that reminds me. When Mom found out that she was expecting the twins, we hired some construction workers to add a room to the back of the house. Michael and Jacob moved into that one, I moved into the attic, and the twins moved into my old room.)
"Don't stay up too late," Dad added as Dee Dee headed to the front door.
"We won't," Dee Dee promised. After giving Mom, Dad, and me hugs, she was out the door.
A few minutes later, after changing out of my graduation clothes, I was kneeling beside the tub and bathing the twins. "Are you really leaving tomorrow, Stevie?" Paula asked as I finished rinsing the soap suds off her shoulders and back. Pat, meanwhile, was busy playing the little plastic Smurf boat, so he wasn't paying any attention to us.
"Yup," I answered. "I'm going there with some of my friends from school, kind of like celebrating being all done with school and getting together one last time before college."
"What's college?"
"It's kind of like a bigger school. Remember when Mommy and Daddy told you about when they went to one?"
"Oh, yeah," Paula remembered. "Is that where Mommy was a cash-er?"
"That's cash-ier," I corrected her. "And yes, that's what she did."
"When can I go to college?"
"When you're all grown up," I answered. "Okay, we're all done here."
"Want to pull the plug, Pattie?" Paula asked. I didn't think he'd hear her at all, as preoccupied as he was with that boat, but to my surprise, he nodded, handed it to me, and pulled the plug. The one thing you can always count on when bathing the twins is for them to keep watching the water going down the drain. And no, they never once thought they could get sucked down the drain in the process.
After drying them off and helping them into their Underoos—Princess Leia for Paula and Superman for Pat—the three of us went into the living room. "Good night, Mommy; good night, Daddy," Paula said, giving each of them a kiss.
"Story, Mommy?" Pat asked.
"Sure," Mom answered. "I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Okay," Pat agreed, and I took the twins to their room. On the way, I passed Jacob and Michael as they were coming out of theirs. Jacob was wearing his Knight Rider Underoos, and Michael was wearing blue pajama pans with the Yankees name and logo down each leg.
"Don't forget, the trials are coming on TV," Jacob reminded me.
"Be right with you," I said as Amanda ran past in her Barbie nightgown. He nodded and dashed into the living room as Michael went to the kitchen for a Pepsi.
While Mom was with the twins, the rest of us were in the living room watching the Olympic trials on TV. The Winter Games, which had been in Sarajevo, were over, and the upcoming Summer Games would be in L.A. Dad even promised to keep me updated on how our athletes were doing while I was gone.
"You know, son, it'll feel a little different not having you watching TV with us," Dad commented as he popped open a can of Coors Light.
"Yeah, I know what you mean," I agreed. "I felt the same way when Annie passed away."
Remember Annie, the Siamese cat from when I was a kid? Well, the one thing she loved doing was sitting with us in the living room, especially when we were watching TV. She was still a kitten when my parents got her from the animal shelter after I was born, so she and I basically grew up together. I still remember coming home from school one day last spring to find her dead in the backyard, and burying her all by myself. That was hard enough, but breaking the news to the rest of the family was pure torture. And to this day, Michael still won't talk about it.
"We're really going to miss you, Steve," Amanda said solemnly as she curled up on my lap and rested her head on my shoulder.
"I'll miss you guys, too. But don't worry, I'll write as often as I can."
"Are you going alone?" Michael asked as he turned toward me. He and Jacob were sprawled out on the floor, just like Dee Dee always did when she was little. I guess you could call this an Everett family TV tradition: Dad in his La-Z-Boy, Mom and the older kid—or kids—on the couch, and the youngest ones on the floor. That's how Dad told me it's been since he and his family got their first TV the summer before he started high school. Nowadays, we've added two beanbag chairs to the mix, and they have the twins' names on them.
"No," I answered. "Jon Stevenson and a couple of our other friends are going with us."
Michael thought for a minute. "Oh, yeah," he remembered. "He's Rachel Goldberg's boyfriend, right?"
"That's right," I said. I thought about Rachel for a minute. We'd dated on and off in junior high and during our freshman year of high school, then during our sophomore year, we were lab partners in Biology class. She'd already met Jon by then, and by our senior year, they were officially an item. And a few weeks ago, we'd played opposite each other in our school's production of Carousel. I know you probably think I should've been jealous, but I wasn't. Jon's a great guy: friendly, hard-working, and funny as hell. (In fact, he was voted as the class clown this year.) If anyone deserved to have him for a boyfriend, it's Rachel.
"You know, I've known her dad all my life," Dad recalled. "He and his family lived next door to your grandparents."
"Jon-ny and Ra-chel sit-tin' in a tree..." Jacob started to sing, but when he saw the look on Dad's face, which clearly said, Boy, you'd better shut the hell up right now if you know what's good for you, he was quiet in a second.
"So, where are you guys going?" Amanda asked.
"Toronto. You know, where Gamma and Grandfather Paul told us they'd gone on their honeymoon."
"Really? Maybe you'll see them while you're there."
"I doubt it, Mandy," I laughed gently. "But if I do, I'll tell them you said hi."
"Deal," Amanda grinned as she touched the side of my hand with her toes—which, of course, led me to tickle them.
You know what? Whoever invented the saying "can't complain" must have had this moment with my family in mind, because I sure as hell couldn't complain.
It was an overcast day in the Canadian countryside: breezy, low-to-mid-70s, perfect for backpacking. My friends and I were in the back of a faded red pick-up truck that was being driven by a middle-aged woman with light brown graying hair and round gold-rimmed glasses, and I was riding shotgun. I could tell she worked in a factory or had some kind of blue-collar job, because her hands were covered with scabs and calluses. She also had a half-inch scar on her wrist. Sure, she was really nice and all, but I still hated to be the poor bastard who got on her bad side.
After a bumpy hour-and-a-half ride, we came to a fork in the road. "Well, here's where I let you off, boys," she said in her heavy French-Canadian accent as she opened the window behind her.
"Thanks, ma'am," Jon said as we got out.
"No problem," she answered. "Just take the road on your right until you reach the Shell station about two and a half kilometers from here. There's an inn directly across from it, and a McDonald's in the same vicinity."
"Thanks a lot," I called as she rolled up the window and drove off.
After putting on our backpacks, the four of us headed in that direction: Jon, me, and two other guys we'd known since kindergarten, Brian Curtis and Julio Martinez.
"That was nice of her to give us a ride," I commented.
"I'll say," Jon agreed. "Not too many drivers would be that nice."
"I hope she didn't think we were drifters or escaped convicts," Jon said as he noticed a flock of geese flying overhead.
"Are you wiggin', man?" Brian laughed. "If she did, there's no way she would've picked us up."
"True," Jon said after a moment. "Well, that, and she didn't have a tire iron where she could get at it."
"Hey, who needs a tire iron with hands like that, ese?" Julio cut in. "How much you want to bet she and He-Man go to the same gym?"
I couldn't help smiling and shaking my head. Knowing Jon as well as I do, every time he and Julio have a conversation, it starts off very innocently, and the next thing you know, they're trying to out-joke each other. Dad once told me that Great-Uncle Jacopo and Great-Aunt Jessica were like that, too.
"I doubt it, 'cause if She-Ra ever saw them together, it'd be hard to tell whose ass she'd kick first," Jon said, obviously trying to be serious, but we all knew that serious is not the right word to describe him.
"Before or after Lion-O finds out what he's been up to?" Julio smiled.
"'Ridiculously Homoerotic Action Figures Caught In Love Triangles' on the next Donahue," Jon announced. And I'm not too sure how long it took us to stop laughing, but it sure took a hell of a long time. In fact, we had to stop walking just so we could get it out of our systems.
"Okay, guys, so what's the plan?" Brian asked as soon as we'd calmed down and continued on our way.
"Well, it's almost 6:30," I said, checking my watch, "and we should be getting into town soon, whatever it's called, so I say we grab a bite to eat and check into that inn that lady told us about."
"Sure," Brian agreed. "But I meant, what's the plan for the trip in general?"
"Oh, that. Toronto first, then Montreal, and Calgary last."
"Wicked," Brian grinned as we high-fived.
Before we knew it, we were on the edge of town. I don't know whose idea it was, but we all started singing a really off-key rendition of "Alouette". Imagine a bunch of forks stuck in a garbage disposal. That's how bad we sounded. (By the way, none of us are really bad singers. If I was, I never would've gotten the male lead in Carousel. We were just so stoked to be on this trip that we figured, why not?)
"A—alou-ett-e, gen-tille a—alou-ett-e; a—alou-ett-e, je te plu-me-rai," we bellow-ed as we skipped arm-in-arm down the road, using the worst-sounding French accents this side of Pepe le Pew. We must have been quite a sight to the locals: four American high school graduates skipping down the road like a bunch of drunks who couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. I'm surprised that no one beat us up or had us thrown in the slammer for disturbing the peace, now that I think about it.
The sun had already set by the time we'd made it into town. "There's the McDonald's," Brian pointed as we approached the edge of town. And as luck would have it, it was catty-cornered from the inn. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm in the mood for a Big Mac."
"Sure, why not?" I said. About ten minutes later, we were sitting at one of the big tables by the bay window with our dinner: a Big Mac and medium Coke for Brian, a Filet-O-Fish and medium Sprite for Jon, a double cheeseburger and medium Hi-C for Julio, and a chicken sandwich and Dr. Pepper for me.
By the way, there are some differences between American and Canadian McDonald's, besides the menus being in both French and English. Not only did the guy who took our order shout them back toward the kitchen in French, but if there are four or more people in your group, they give you a large basket of fries to share. And at this particular location, they had a PA system that played "It's A Good Time For The Great Taste" every ten or fifteen minutes. As if "You Deserve A Break Today" wasn't bad enough!
While we were setting our trays down, I happened to look toward the front of the restaurant, and saw two of the most gorgeous-looking girls I'd ever seen in my life. One was tall with brown hair and glasses, and the other was shorter with strawberry-blond hair and a figure that wouldn't quit. Both of them had gray eyes, and dressed really sharp, like the girls in the Benetton catalogues.
"Hey, Brian," I whispered as I nudged him. "Brian, look over there."
Brian turned his head to where I was pointing, and as soon as he saw those girls, his fries slipped out of his hand and landed right on his sandwich. "Hel-loooo," he marveled, running a hand through his Jheri-curl. "Call now to make a date with destiny."
"$1.25 per minute," I added. "Must be eighteen or older."
"But if you're not, don't worry; we'll just send the bill to your parents, and watch them smack the living crap out of you."
Well, needless to say, Jon and Julio heard every word we said, and they practically shit themselves from laughing. Julio even managed to spit his Hi-C across the table.
"And I thought Jon and I had dirty minds!" he gasped.
"But seriously, if you guys are so interested, why don't you go over there and talk to them?" Jon suggested.
"Let's wait'll they sit down," I said. "They're ordering."
"Oh, no, you don't, Everett, you know the drill," Julio grinned. "You see her, you make your move."
"And what if we don't?" Brian challenged him.
"Then I guess we'll have to tell them about your little sales-pitch when they sit down," Jon said, shaking his head.
"Jerks," I laughed, doing the same, as I got up from the table. We looked at each other like, Okay, let's do it, and walked up to the counter.
"Are you sure you have enough money?" I heard the brunette asking.
"I'm positive," the strawberry-blond answered. "You know I always make sure I have enough."
"Watch this," I whispered to Brian as I fished a couple of bucks out of my wallet.
"Hi, there," I said, and they looked up. I was trying to act cool, sophisticated, and really put together, but when I saw the shorter girl, I just froze. They were both pretty girls, and the brunette was kind of cute, but the blonde was a knockout. I guess she felt the same way, because she just stared at me with her mouth hanging open and her eyes as big as an owl's. Yes, folks, there really is such a thing as love at first sight.
"Steve? Hey, Steve, you awake?" Brian asked, nudging me from behind. That was all it took for me to snap out of it.
"Oh, yeah," I remembered. Then I said to the girls, "I couldn't help overhearing you, so I thought I'd help you out." And I handed the blonde the money.
"Thanks," she managed to say, then handed it to the brunette, still staring at me the whole time. "So, uh—do you live around here?"
"New York," Brian answered. I could tell he was really checking the brunette out. "Long Island, to be exact."
"Wow," the brunette said. "We've never been there before, not even Niagara Falls. Well, not the American side, anyway."
"I have. I went there with my family the summer I was eleven. I even put my little sister near the mist, and she enjoyed it, even though my parents didn't think it was a good idea. Anyway, Superman II was filmed there. My baby brother loves Supergirl, and he recently told me that was the girl he wanted to marry."
"And he's how old?"
"He'll be four in November. And at that age, he thinks he's got his life all figured out."
Hey, are you going to introduce yourself? I thought. That's my biggest flaw: when I meet a girl for the first time, I ramble on worse than my priest before introducing myself.
"Oh, I'm Steve Everett, and this is Brian Curtis. Our friends over there—" I pointed in the direction of our table "—are Jon Stevenson and Julio Martinez."
I looked over at our table, and sure enough, Jon and Julio were grinning and waving at us like we were in sixth grade again.
"I'm Marie Ross, and this is my sister, Jacqui," the blonde said. And what a righteous smile she had, too. It kind of made me wonder if she used a mini-sandblaster on her teeth to get them that shade of white. "How long are you in town for?"
"A few weeks, at the most," I answered.
"Toronto first, then Montreal, and Calgary last," Brian added, then went up to the counter to try to get to know Jacqui. Not surprisingly, they hit it off right away, and as they were talking, he flashed me a look that said, Hundred bucks says I get this chick's phone number and a night in the sack with her before the trip's over. Get out your wallets, guys.
"Oh. Well, if you're looking for a place to spend the night, our dad owns the inn across the street from here," Marie said. "I can talk to him, if you'd like."
"Okay," I agreed. "Sounds great."
Was this my lucky day or what?
A few minutes later, the six of us were sitting together—my friends and I at our table, and the girls at the table for two next to us—talking about the things that every high school grad in the '80s talked about: cars, movies, sports, and maybe a word or two about college.
I'm not too sure about the other guys, but so far, I really, really liked Canada.