"After Midnight" Submission #27

I was devious in so many ways back then… 14 or 15 years old… little parental support and certainly no guidance. I looked for ways to push the envelope. I’m not sure if I was just bored or if I was crying out for attention… or help.

My mom and step-dad had a routine on week nights. They would get home from the bar at about ten o’clock and continue their steady intake of hard alcohol as they tried in vain to comprehend what they were watching on a blurry television screen.

Whichever one stayed awake the longest would eventually rouse the other one, who had passed out and they would stumble off to bed. That might be 11 o’clock or it may be two in the morning.

On these summer evenings… when I wasn’t camping out at the Catholic Church, I’d find myself in my upstairs bedroom, lights out, windows open… watching the cars pass by on Madrid’s main drag… 2^nd Avenue… just two blocks east of downtown.

Boredom. Hitting on a cigarette, practicing the blowing of smoke

rings… using an empty pop can as an ash tray. One after another.

On numerous occasions, the desire to break free became overwhelming and I would escape through that window. I’d crawl out and onto the arched roof that covered our front porch. I’d lay on my belly… feet dangling over the edge as I inched downward, my feet feeling for the rail around the porch. Once I had my footing, I’d let go of the roof’s edge and hop to the ground below. Freedom.

Most of these “out the window” adventures were the result of a prearranged rendezvous with a buddy. Sometimes it was Carlo sometimes Steve Ewing or maybe Greg Drake. We would walk around town, lurking in the shadows and ready to scatter if we saw a cop car patrolling nearby. We were killing time and looking for some action.

 

One night, Greg Drake and I were roaming around town in the wee hours of the morning and decided to head to Lori Comstock’s house. Lori and I had been seeing each other briefly. She lived out near Edgewood Park on the southwest part of town.

Her bedroom window was too high to reach and so we began throwing little pebbles at it, bouncing them off the glass. Eventually, I saw the top part of her head slowly come into view as she scanned the darkness, trying to figure out what was going on.

In a loud whisper, I said “Lori! It’s me… Bart… and Lucy!” (Lucy was a nickname I had for Greg… long story… and boring too).

“What are you guys doing? It’s one in the morning!” She whispered through her giggle.

“Let us in!” I suggested… still whispering loudly.

“I can’t, my dad’s still up.”

“Oh… then that won’t work.”

Eventually, she devised a plan to go to her basement by telling her dad that she didn’t feel good and that it was hot in her room. She explained that the cool basement would make her feel better.

Seemed like an odd story... but it apparently worked.

Within a couple minutes, she was opening the small basement window as Greg and I took turns squeezing through it. We sat on her couch… the three of us… awkwardly. We didn’t want to talk because her dad was just up that flight of stairs.

After a few minutes of silence, feeling like a fifth wheel, Greg declared he was leaving and he made his way through the small window and disappeared into the night. Lori looked at me and smiled.

Alone at last. Alone and scared. Alone… without a plan.

So I left too. I tried to catch up with Greg but he was long gone. 

I headed home and walked through  my unlocked front door at about 3 AM. Very few people locked their doors at night in Madrid in the 1970’s. For all I know, they still don't. When I sneaked out of the house through my upstairs window after midnight, I always knew my reentry would be much simpler through the front door.

Carlo and I pulled some similar shenanigans one night as we crept over to Deanna Morning’s house. She lived on the north side of town, just a block west of the Dairy Sweet. Her dad owned the body and fender shop on Highway 17.

Deanna was a very sweet girl and we had been going steady for quite some time. I had a very strong affection for her that lasted long after we broke up.

I don’t remember exactly what time it was but it was near midnight. Deanna’s bedroom window was ground level and behind some bushes. We saw that her light was on and her window was open. As we crept around the bushes, through the screen, we could see Deanna, in her pajamas, sitting on the edge of her bed.

I whispered her name, expecting her to rush to the window… but instead, she bolted from her room… yelling for her mom!

Carlo and I took off at a dead sprint… laughing the whole time.

I think of these mischievous adventures now and laugh… until I think about my kids and if they had tried pulling stuff like this. Then it doesn’t seem nearly as humorous. Of course, my parenting style was/is 180 degrees different than that of my mom and step-dad, so the risk for such behavior was greatly mitigated… thank God and James Dobson.

One weekend that fall, my parents had made plans to drive to Cincinnati, Ohio where my step-dad was going to bowl in a tournament. I came home from school that Friday and was excited to see the Buick Electra was not parked in its normal spot on the east side of the house. They were gone!

Parents gone! No adults! Party time!

I came into the house, screaming Alice Cooper’s “Billion Dollar Babies,” but stopped in my tracks when I saw Grandma Edna sitting on the couch with a smile on her face.

They left a babysitter?

Edna was Jack’s mom and a very sweet lady. I was very fond of her… but her presence was cramping my style and putting a crimp in my plans.

I would just have to get more creative…