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back on the monster. I’ll need to
sleep before Sunday. Can’t go
to church and stand up in front
of everyone bleary-eyed and
trembling, let alone take a chance
on passing out completely. Oh, yeah.
That would be one for the Good Newsletter!
I Pull into Our Driveway
Park off to one side, where my dusty
LTD won’t be in Mom’s or Scott’s way.
I sit a few minutes, absorbing rock
and roll rhythms, trying to slow
the race of my pulse, the hammering
of my heart. Truth be told, I’m wasted.
Finally I gather the nerve to go on
inside, and when I do, Mom hands
me a couple of large envelopes.
Birthday loot, I’m guessing, she says.
I open the first—fifty dollars from
Aunt Lou, who lives in Gainesville.
The second holds a hundred from
Scott’s dad, my very cool Grandpa
Bill. The card reads: Don’t spend
it all in one place. Okay, you can!
I’d hate to tell him it’s already spent,
and I sure couldn’t tell him what on.
Which reminds me of my promise
to myself to return the hundred to
Hunter’s piggy bank. I will do that,
won’t I? Yes, of course I will. Someday
