LYNNE, MY SAUCY SISTER

I believe our friends become like our family at some point; that is, if they stick around long enough to get tagged with the moniker of "family." I have a few long-term friends who are the sisters I never was blessed with having. Some would say I was lucky because I missed having to share my clothes, toys and secrets with someone who could get me in trouble by snitching on me. While a sister might snitch, a true friend has lips so tight nothing can pry them opened. My sisters from another mister or two/partners in crime are Lynne, Margie, Lisa, Theresa, Carol, Joyce and Linda.

We meet many people throughout our lives and some of those people have a profound effect upon our lives and destiny. Some people enter and remain with us always while others enter and exit remaining just long enough to alter the path upon which we walk. Although Lynne faded from my life for a period of time, the footsteps she left has remained with me always. I'm truly grateful to Lynne because she entered my life at a point when I needed to be saved...mostly from myself because I was hell-bent on burning the candle at both ends. My demons had led me down a narrow path of darkened, self-destruction and then I met my savior, Lynne. There are many who would disagree with me by saying Lynne fed my demons, but those people didn't see how I teetered on the edge before she came into the picture. They didn't see how Lynne saved my life by befriending me, by extending her hand to pull me away from the edge, by giving me an alternative to my misery. They didn't see my pain, but she did. She may have never totally understood it, but she saw it and was there for me.

To say I was in awe of Lynne is a severe understatement…everyone was in awe of her! She was the quintessential woman every young teenage girl dreamed of being. I remember the first time I ever saw her. When I opened the kitchen door returning home from gadding about and walked inside my house, I heard voices coming from my brother, Brian's work out room. Ever since he had come back from Vietnam with the title of Heavyweight Champion of the 7th Fleet, he seemed obsessed with the three B’s: boxing, body building and babes. My middle older brother was Mr. Body Beautiful of Bangor, Maine (a fictitious title I gave him.)  Needless to say, he spent a lot of time pumping iron so he’d have a perfect physique. And oh, how he loved the females to admire him and yes, admire him, they did! I opened the door and poked my head inside to let him know I was home and also to be a little nosy. I wanted to see what female he had back there trying to impress with his biceps and other things!

When I opened the door, standing in front of me was a vision of everything I thought I wanted to be. She was a tall, dark-haired beauty with beautiful brown eyes. (Maybe Bob Seger wrote his song Night Moves about Lynne or someone like her.) Her body was perfectly shaped and she stood confident in her hip-hugger bell-bottoms and a shirt unbuttoned just enough to show some tantalizing cleavage. Her blue chambray shirt was tied in a knot around her midriff to show off her abs. No fucking way! Did she work out also? Later, I found out she was a go-go dancer at some local nightclub and that’s how she met my brother.

She smiled at me as she eyed me up and down. I guess I passed inspection or maybe I failed because she immediately took me under her wing. I thought it was only because she was dating my brother, but opportunities like that don’t come often, so I just played it cool and went along for the ride. Whatever the reason she had for befriending me didn’t matter to me. I was just a kid, but the road I walked on with Lynne gave me an education I’ll never forget.

Shortly after meeting Lynne, my brother told her to NEVER give me any drugs. NOT EVER!!! At 14, I was already experimenting with most illegal substances, but the availability seemed to widen immensely as soon as she came into my life. Although she never gave me any hard drugs and didn't do any herself in my presence, being in her inner circle gave me the contacts to get anything I wanted. She and I would occasionally smoke a joint together, but that was more a social thing to do than it was to get high. Smoking dope for me was never really any big deal…it was just something everyone did. Adults had their cocktails as a social lubricant and the younger generation smoked weed. From where I stood, everyone appeared to get lubricated somehow!

When my brother and Lynne broke up, we continued being friends. In fact, by that time we spent most of our time together. I was blinded by Lynne’s aura, but I doubt if I had seen my role in the grand scheme of things it would have changed anything I did. I saw Lynne as my ticket out of Bangor, Maine and so when she suggested leaving, I jumped at the chance. She was older than me and was street savvy. I felt safe with her and as long as I was with her everything seemed to flow in what appeared to be a positive direction.

Lynne and I developed a strange relationship on the streets after we left Bangor. I could do as I pleased without any questions asked, but she always insisted on knowing where I was. I complied with her request because she took care of me and for that I was grateful. The streets of Boston became my new playground and Lynne became my guardian angel and surrogate mother. I watched how Lynne operated and she did whatever she needed to do with the grace of a cat to support us, but I was on a need-to-know basis so many things just weren't discussed. I complied by not asking too many questions.

Eventually, I started doing stuff intentionally to piss her off because after all I was a snotty teenager. You know how teenagers can be! I pushed her buttons often, but she rarely got angry at me. I certainly deserved a swift kick in the ass, but she never gave me one. One evening while she was "out," I got into a poker game with a group of guys who lived in the same building as us. They liked to party and so did I. When I foolishly lost all my money, I got cocky and used Lynne as a bet. When I lost, I immediately had an “Oh shit!” moment. I couldn’t believe I had done that! I really caught hell on that one, but I deserved it. Lynne graciously paid off my bet and made the winner a very happy man. I never played poker with that group again but was frequently asked to do so. Go figure!

It was a fast crowd and although I was readily accepted into it, there was an unspoken rule that no one was to mess with me in any way. I was COMPLETELY OFF LIMITS! I simply became the one who everyone liked to laugh with, hang out with and get high with. And Lynne was the one they all lusted after. I accepted my role and knew my place. I never tried to actively change it because I knew what I would be going up against. But the day did come when I was noticed first and Lynne was virtually invisible. That day immediately changed everything and my path was permanently altered once again.

I look back on my time with Lynne in those early days with many emotions. It's hard to believe she's gone now. Her Golden Years were filled with some major health problems that eventually led to hospice care and ultimately, her death. The waves of grief that consume me come at odd times and luckily most of them are when I'm by myself so as the flood gates open, I don't have to explain why I'm crying. 

Story to be continued...

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART IX

If the mistakes we all make make and the regrets we all have were made into a game show, I think many people would stand in line waiting to be crowned king and queen. I think a large, shiny trophy to stick on a shelf as a conversation piece and dust collector might be a nice thing to have for all the time and effort we all devote to making mistakes and having regrets. I don't necessarily want to be crowned, but I want a trophy! Damn it! Wait a minute I do have a trophy. In fact, I have a few trophies. 

Once in awhile I stumble into doing the right thing. Although I truly didn't want to go back to Pensacola to give birth,  I did because it was the right thing to do. Changing my mindset to think of the life growing inside me FIRST before anything else didn't take long to accomplish. The remaining months of my pregnancy were spent getting healthy and preparing myself for motherhood. In my spare time, I couldn't help, but reminisce and wonder if all the abuse I put my body through would ultimately affect the child I was about to have. Everything I had experienced in the last few years was still fresh in my memory...sometimes too fresh! 

My mind didn't just linger on past lovers. I thought more often of my friends and the zany times we shared together. I can't help but smile when I think about the time Carol and I burned a cross in Gene's wife's front yard or how Carol would go topless on Panama City Beach like she was sunbathing on the French Riviera instead of on the Redneck Riviera. 

I couldn't help but smile when I thought of how we shamelessly flirted with Larry Gilley and Chip Coatney (one of many Coatneys in that area), but did so not because we wanted either of them. We did it because we could. We did it to give people something to talk about. And I guess we did it because we were bored and they always seemed to be around. One time we pulled them over just to mess with their heads. That act never required too much effort because it was like shooting fish in a barrel. I proceeded to rub myself all over Larry and told him I was getting him ready for Lana Carol (now, there's a great Southern belle's name) and believe it or not her last name was the icing on the cake. Lana Carol Duck lived conveniently directly across from the Cat's Eye and Larry Gilley "belonged" to her and Chip was her younger brother. In those days the  word "cougar" hadn't been coined just yet, but that's exactly what Lana Carol was...a hot mess who was an older blonde hussy with big boobs and a southern accent most Southerners would kill to have. When I used the word "foreplay," Larry looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. Now, tell me how one goes about explaining what foreplay is with a straight face. At that point, the mood was gone and we sent them along their merry way while Carol and I laughed our asses off.

Two of my favorite Chip Coatney memories involved me playing strip poker with him and a group of people. Chip designated himself as being dealer and thought he was slick by cheating. I knew what he was up to, but kept my mouth shut. I just played along then told him I knew he had been cheating when I was sitting there as naked as a jay bird (how naked do jay birds get?). I earned his respect for doing that, but that respect was short-lived. Not long after Mr. Cardshark saw me without my clothes, he decided he'd annoy me one evening at the Cat's Eye. He kept razzing me until I had my fill. As we were told to take it outside by Leon Anderson, the owner of The Cat's Eye, Chip decided that calling me a "lanky-legged Yankee bitch" was a smart thing to do. It might have been a great strategic move for most people, but Chip wasn't a

fighter. Chip was a hemophiliac, and when I tackled him and we started rolling around on the ground in the parking lot outside, I told him I was going to make him bleed if he didn't apologize. Guess what? The thought of profusely bleeding and not being able to make it stop, made him apologize quickly. When in Rome, do as the Romans do! Be fierce! Be a gladiator! And never give up!

My list of doing stupid stuff included a trip to the woods one night to be shown an actual KKK meeting place. It was a small church stuck in the middle of nowhere and the inside was set up like a courtroom. The thought of white-hooded racists possibly showing up made it a quick trip. Being inside that place really did give me the heebie jeebies. Add going for a leisurely trip down the snake and alligator infested swamp (the local creek) with the sole purpose of shooting down hornet nests that were hanging from the cascading branches. The hornets were only part of my concern...what about the HUGE spiders, the water moccasins and the rather hungry looking alligators? All the rocket scientists I was with assured me that the swarm of hornets would fly the opposite way and not towards us, but to this day I don't know how certain they really were of that. To me that's called wishful thinking while being willfully ignorant. The odds were 50/50 at best and I guess that makes me a dumb ass for going along for the ride.

Do you know how you know know when you're truly fried? It's when you make a 14 year old drive a stick shift about 20 miles because no one else was able to do it. That same 14 year old tagged along most places with us because he was the younger brother of my current boy toy, Kenny Rowe. One night when all of us had our fill of Vincent, we made him go sit in the closet in my bedroom with the door closed. Everyone was surprised he stayed there and we all assumed he had fallen asleep. When Theresa came home, she went into my room to change her clothes. Let's just say Vincent feasted his eyes on seeing his first living breathing naked female and Theresa wanted to poke his eyes out for sitting in the closet with the door cracked open just enough to get a good look at her.  

Let's not forget the time Theresa thought drinking homemade moonshine was a great idea. What wasn't so great was how it took four grown men to get her out of the car. Moonshine will make you CRAZY and when you're already crazy to begin with, moonshine makes your inner redneck shine brightly.  Those four brave men (bless their hearts) got the shit kicked out of them and Theresa never remembered it the next day, but they did.

I remembered the toilet paper we would steal from the wayside park at the creek because when you're on a tight budget you have to cut corners somewhere. Sometimes it was either buy toilet paper or buy food (bologna.) Hmmm! It's not too difficult to figure out what we bought and what we ripped off. It was all good until we actually had to use the "free" toilet paper. Isn't it said that in life "you get what you pay for?" I kid you not that state of Florida spares no expense when supplying toilet paper for its public restrooms. Only the best for for our rumps. Let's just say the toilet paper was like wiping your backside with a course piece of sandpaper that had wood splinters attached to it, but thank goodness all of us became very skilled at removing sphincter splinters.

What story would be complete without it including someone who shoots any insects that find their way inside their house? Yes, you read that correctly. When it comes to oak roaches and if you live somewhere that oak roaches thrive, you know no matter who you are or where you live they will find their way inside. I think they like air conditioning! When it's 90+ degrees outside and almost 100% humidity, every living creature likes air conditioning. Now, you can cut down on the number of the little bastards that find their way inside by having an exterminator

service spray around the outside of your house, but things in Nub City aren't done that way. While visiting some people one night, we all were sitting around the kitchen table when an oak roach rudely made an uninvited appearance on the kitchen wall. The next thing I know, the resident gunslinger pulled out a handgun and blew a hole in the wall. I think the proper terminology for doing that is the word "overkill." 

Last, but not least, what story is complete without revealing a truly bitchy moment that doesn't paint me in a very favorable light? Yes, I know most of my stories don't paint me as Miss Pristine Princess. One day while we were "in town" we saw Gary Harris and Judy Wood just about fell over and most of the female in those parts chased after him. Yes, he was fine looking, but there was something about him that just didn't appeal to me. Maybe it was because he knew he looked good. The day before he had stopped me while I was taking a walk and asked me to ride with him out to Lucas Pond. His thinking was that the police wouldn't harass him between point A and point B if he had a girl in the car with him. He had a whole trunk load of weed to deliver, so in I got and away we went to Lucas Pond. I could tell Royce was surprised to see me with Gary even though I wasn't really "with" him. 

When Carol and I saw Gary the next day, Judy couldn't wait to invite him to the party we were going to have that night. I guess she thought by inviting him, it would give her exclusive rights to him and what I thought was that she needed a lesson in rules of the meat market. First come! First serve! When Gary showed up that night, I never gave Judy a chance to claim her prize. As he and I slid past her, I whispered to her, "Sorry, Judy. He's mine tonight." I really didn't want him, but for some reason I didn't want Judy to have him and he seemed more than eager to get me alone. What can I say? I was just smoother than she was and maybe she learned a lesson not to assume anything when it came to the meat market. Gary never spoke to Judy at all that night

    

and the next day she decided to go back to Orlando where she lived. Another one bites the dust! I hate when that happens!

For all of you who have made it this far...Part Ten is the last segment of this glorious year long tale of woe. At this rate,  it'll take me the rest of my life and then some to write my entire life story so my descendants can see the gene pool from which they come. 

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART VII

The remnants of a broken heart linger for a long time. To cope with all those ugly feelings I felt I made myself believe I didn't want someone tagging along after me like a puppy in search of yummies. Just fuck me hard and go your ass home or wherever, but remember your way back just in case my itch needs to be scratched again. That's how I came off, but it wasn't really how I felt. Like anyone else, I wanted to be loved by a special someone...my special someone, but I was quite clueless when it came to making that happen so instead I threw up my wall and acted like an alley cat in heat. That was easier than admitting what I really wanted. I had myself convinced I didn't deserve to have a normal life with someone who loved me. It was definitely a dangerous slippery sloop! Yes, it was easier to be a saucy tart...it was familiar territory and I was good at it. The other option scared the hell out of me and I was clueless. REALLY CLUELESS!

With the holidays fast approaching I set up my monthly doctor appointments to fall so I could spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with my family. That meant I'd be eating actual food instead of bologna sandwiches. My mother was a fantastic cook and I was really looking forward to all the goodies I knew she'd make. So off to Pensacola I went with an insatiable appetite and a bag full of dirty laundry. 

I was keeping my fingers crossed that my "Christmas" follow-up appointment would be my last since the pain in my abdomen was finally getting better. My mother chauffeured me to the base and patiently waited for me outside the examination room.  The doctor I saw wasn't who I had been seeing, but that was normal for the military way of life.  Patients got stuck with whatever doctor was available at the time. Rotations sucked and I hated it because no one was ever given the luxury of having their doctor get to know them. Patients were merely a number and a name and nothing more. I had been fortunate to have seen the same doctor for my last few appointments, but that had abruptly ended. Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!

Now with my feet up in the stirrups and the white sheet strategically draped across my legs, the doctor readied me for a pelvic exam. I knew the drill, but liked it about as well as any woman liked being poked and prodded without any foreplay or a few kind words. This doctor took a little longer examining me than the last one had. When he was finished, he stood up and casually asked me if I knew that I was 4 months pregnant. What? Did I know what? I told him that I had been being treated for an ovarian cyst. The last doctor told me it was quite normal not to have a period, so I never got too concerned about it. As reality set in, I felt the color drain from my face and I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. What in hell was I going to do with a baby? Babies can't survive on bologna sandwiches and mushroom tea. When I left the room I was totally dazed and confused.  My mother took one look at me and said, "You're pregnant, aren't you?" No lecture followed. No sermon. No interrogation. No bright lights and rubber hoses. Whatever followed would be entirely my decision to make...alone.

So what do you get when you have a lot of unprotected sex? BINGO! The previous idiot doctor had been treating me for an ovarian cyst. Did he get his medical degree from the University of Hard Knocks? Guess what, Einstein? My cyst grew arms, legs and a head and was eventually named Christina and nothing quite slows your roll like facing an unplanned pregnancy. 

Those days seem like so long ago, yet when I get together with any old friend from those days it all seems like yesterday. All our lives have changed immensely over the years, but I think the more things change the more they ultimately remain the same. So in remembrance of those good old days and the people who imprinted themselves upon my life, I inhale slowly…deeply until my smile glows from within and the memories warm my chilly heart.

THE ROAD TO NOWHERE - PART VI

Shortly after my early September birthday, I developed a dull persistent pain in my lower left abdomen. At first, I ignored it hoping it'd go away because I was 19 and invincible. Around the same time several bursts of reality snuck into my brouhaha life. Jesus, I hate when that happens!  Nothing kills a good buzz like quite like reality.

First, if I wanted to eat on a regular basis and have a roof over my head I was going to have to get a job. My first attempt at doing just that was a complete wash out. I went to work at Christo's, a small five and dime store in Chipley and almost as soon as I was hired, I was fired. The reason? Are you sitting down? I wasn't wearing a bra. Hell, I didn't even own a bra, but it wasn't like I was flopping all over the place and wearing revealing clothing. Unless you really looked hard, my firm breasts pretty much stayed where they were supposed to stay. Of course, Carol and I had a good laugh over my plight. Other than putting me back at square one, it really wasn't a big deal.

Around that time, Carol and I opened our small circle to a third person. Theresa was a local girl, but we deemed her acceptable anyway. Our two became three and now, we were three unemployed females in dire need of employment. We heard Evergreen Construction Company in Chipley was hiring laborers so the three of us went to fill out applications and all three of us got hired.  No bras required! Thank goodness! Interstate 10 still had large gaps of unfinished road between Defuniak Springs and Tallahassee in which Evergreen was contracted to help remedy. Our primary function was to lay sod on the embankments to prevent erosion as the overpasses were built. The job was a real no-brainer, but it was a job and it had its perks and disadvantages like most jobs. But what do all construction companies have in abundance? Men! Men with great tans and hard bodies! Oh boy! This was going to be fun!

I almost believed that the pallets of sod that were delivered to us were purposely full of fire ants just for our male coworkers entertainment. Yes, fire ants bite men, but when swarmed by a colony of pissed off fire ants, men could peel off their clothes without much commotion involved. With us women, as the ants swarmed and bit us, it involved being yelled at to strip down quickly in front of a cheering audience. If you ever encountered fire ants, you know that they dictate how you react and the speed in which you react. If you aren't familiar with them, trust me you you're better off staying that way.

Now, for a brief lesson on fire ants... If nothing else, always remember fire ants are called that for a reason!

This leg is just a tad bit hairy to be mine.

Fire ants can turn a blissful afternoon outside into an itchy, burning stream of misery. Recent testing of fire ant venom suggests that the venom contains poison that affects the nervous system. This may explain why some fire ant sting victims report hallucinations (and here I thought it was the mushrooms) and other similar symptoms, particularly after getting a large number of stings. A fire ant sting often begins with an intense pinching or burning pain immediately after the sting. This pain is relatively

short-lived, lasting anywhere from a few seconds to a few minutes. Next comes itching or burning that may be mild or intense. Itching tends to get stronger over the next few days. Fire ant stings produce a mark that sets them apart from other insect stings. The wounds are pus-filled blisters that are round and may look like pimples. Oh boy! Fire ant "acne" sounds like fun, doesn't it?

It wasn't long after we started working there that the foreman took a liking to me. First, let me tell you that it wasn't a mutual admiration. He wasn't ugly, but how he handled himself turned me off completely. He thought offering me an opportunity to learn how to operate heavy equipment would get him in my pants. What it got him instead was being told to go fuck himself instead. In hindsight, knowing how much heavy equipment operators make, I probably should have fucked him deaf, dumb and blind. Oh well, live and learn!

A couple of our fellow crew members immediately became our friends. Willie Van Lanningham (a typical, long-haired, country boy hippie) paired off with Theresa. The set up was supposed to be with me, but I passed because I was busy stirring things up with the oldest son of one of Washington County's finest. Kenny Rowe was a year younger than me, but with the thrill factor added in he more than made up for what he lacked in experience. Kenny's father was a deputy sherriff and it was oh, so fun helping to corrupt his first born. My unlikely pairing with Kenny started one night when a bunch of us were hanging out and Kenny and I went inside the store at the same time to get a Coke. The cashier commented on us being a cute couple because we both were wearing jean jackets. I guess we looked like the Bobbsey twins to her.  We looked at each other and said WTF? Neither one of us had anything better to do at the time, so why not do nothing together? We left the store arm in arm and stayed that way for awhile.

Carol paired off with Gene. And yes, Gene was a married man who whined all the time about his marital discord so Carol took pity on him and told him he could come live with us.  I often wondered if Carol had a death wish. At the time we first met Gene and Willie, Carol and I lived in a mobile home way out in the boondocks. The area was referred to as The Sand Hills.  Paved roads only existed in town. Everything out in the Sand Hills stayed dusty all the time except when it rained and then driving on those dirt roads was fun. Carol drove like a seasoned stock car driver. No terrain seemed to slow her down very much. She loved doing donuts on those slick roads and scaring the bejesus out of me.

One the advantages of living out in the middle of nowhere is that you could hear a car approaching for miles. One evening, as we listened to a car approaching we wondered who was coming to pay us a visit. We had already chased off all the regulars and was just about ready to call it a night. Had one of them forgotten something? When the car pulled in the driveway, I said, "OMG! It's Janice Arrant!" Carol flew to her bedroom with instructions that she wasn't home. That left Theresa and I to deal with Janice. Thanks a lot, Carol!

As the anticipated knock came on the door, Theresa and I just looked at each other. Neither one of us wanted to deal with Janice's nonsense, but I opened the door only to be greeted by a smiling Janice Arrant who was all by herself. Wait a minute! Wasn't Janice Arrant Psycho Bitch #2? Curiosity got the better of me, so I invited her inside. Janice was on her way to Panama City Beach for some serious partying and wanted to know if we wanted to come along. Just for a second, my brain seemed to short-circuit. What? She wanted us to do what? Why would we want to ever do anything like that with her?

I quickly regained my composure and thanked her for the invitation, but told her that we worked and had to get up around 4am each day to get to work on time. That explanation seemed to satisfy her and she left as happily as she arrived. Or as the old Southern saying goes, "She got glad in the same pants she once got mad in..." When Janice was no longer in site, Carol reappeared and the three of us speculated as to what she was up to and decided she had wanted to take us off somewhere and splatter our brains all over the countryside because we all knew she didn't really want to bury any hatchet unless it was to bury it in the back of our heads. The likelihood of one or all of us going off to "party" with Janice Arrant on a scale of 1 to 10 was about a minus 30.

One of the many bursts of reality we encountered on our way to official adulthood was that because we were employed and had our own place, everyone thought our place was party central 24/7. The problem was that our job really did require us to get up before the crack of dawn. Now, if you party until 1 or 2 o'clock in the morning that only leaves time enough to shut your eyes before your have to open them again. We learned quickly that working out in the heat all day required some TLC afterhours. We decided to tell everyone that our place was off limits during the work week, but let's just say that went over like a fart in church. Everyone just looked at us like we were speaking some foreign language and that we smelled foul. From that point on when we got ready to go to bed, we'd go regardless of who was sitting in our livingroom. We thought moving to Chipley to be closer to work might help, but the party and the party animals followed us. By the time we moved, Gene was living with us and Willie was there most of the time when we weren't at work even though he didn't officially live with us. 

The year was 1974. I remember eating a lot of plain bologna sandwiches and actually liking them. Often those bologna sandwiches were washed down with psilocybin mushroom tea from the mushrooms Gene and I had freshly picked earlier in the day. Gene knew all the best mushroom picking cow pastures and we always had fun goofing off. I guess when you’re young and stay perpetually high, eating anything tastes great even when what you eat is washed down with putrid-tasting mushroom tea cut with kool-aid in attempt to hide its horrid "earthy" taste.

So we moved from the desolate Sand Hills to a small 2 bedroom house on Highway 90 in Chipley, Florida (population: approximately 3,000).  That small move was like moving from back hills of West Virginia to New York City. My bedroom had these weird peacock curtains. Looking back, I really think those curtains were symbolic of my life and times…loud, proud and wowed. We would fell asleep each night listening to Lynard Skynard and would awake to Bad Company singing good morning to us. And in between there was sex, sex, sex…lots of drugs and a few bologna sandwiches to keep our strength up for all those midnight rodeos.

By the time, we made the move to Chipley the pain in my abdomen had gotten worse. I was beginning to get concerned and realized I wasn't invincible after all. I finally broke down and hitchhiked to Pensacola to see a doctor at the Navy Hospital. I was still considered a military dependent until I turned 21 unless I got married before then and the chance of that happening was even less than the chance of me going off partying with Janice Arrant. The Navy doctor examined me and told me I had an ovarian cyst and that it most likely would go away on its own without having to be drained. He put me on medication and wanted to see me again in a month. I wasn't

supposed to do anything considered too strenuous in that time period. I guess that meant I wouldn't be pushing Carol's car off as she put it in second gear and popped the clutch until further notice. I don't know if that contributed to the pain I was feeling, but I was ready to follow the doctor's orders and get back to my normal running speed.  All I knew at this point was that pain is bummer and I wanted it to go away!

THE HOUSE WITH PEACOCK CURTAINS

The year was 1974. I remember eating a lot of bologna sandwiches and actually liking them. Sometimes those bologna sandwiches were washed down with mushroom tea. I guess when you’re young and perpetually high, eating anything tastes great even the putrid tasting mushroom tea cut with kool-aid in attempt to hide the horrid "earthy" taste.

We lived in a small 2 bedroom house on Highway 90 in Chipley, Florida (population: approximately 3,000). My bedroom had peacock curtains. Looking back, I really think those curtains were symbolic of my life and times…loud, proud and wowed. We would fell asleep each night listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd and Pink Floyd then awake to Bad Company. And in between there was sex, sex, sex…lots of drugs and a few bologna sandwiches to keep our strength up for those midnight rodeos.

We were 3 females, Carol, Theresa and I who lived together, worked together at Evergreen Construction Company and played hard together. Of the three of us, I was the only one who stupidly got pregnant during that era. I had a beautiful baby girl, but my life was meant for anything, but traveling down some conventional avenue. I was on the fringe teetering gracefully on the edge and there I have remained doing my own thing whatever and wherever that thing has been over the years. Carol married and became a teacher. Theresa remained single and I have escaped finding a love as colorful as those peacock curtains. 

Those days seem like so long ago, yet when I get together with Theresa or any old friend it all seems like just yesterday. Our lives have changed immensely over the years, but I think the more things change the more they ultimately remain the same. So in remembrance of those good old days and the people who imprinted themselves upon my life, I flick my Bic and inhale slowly…deeply until my smile glows from within and the memories warm my chilly heart. Here's to you, the peacock curtains and the love I've yet to find!