“Barry,. I guess you know Sue and Melissa, they go to Harley with me.”
“Yeah, sure, are you all in eighth grade?”
“Yes, and thanks to your little newspaper, we know all about you,” Sue said, with implications.
“I doubt you know all about me, but everything in the paper was true, or people were lying to me.”
“Maybe it was,” Sue went on, as if she had been waiting for a chance to get after me about a newspaper that only appeared five times, and at that, over a year earlier, “but a lot of people got into big trouble over what you wrote. Is that why you switched from Harley to Allendale?”
“Wow, the Inquisition, brought back form 400 years ago to this very spot in time. Well, what makes you the judge of right and wrong? I admit I had a blast writing that stuff, but I did not mean to hurt anyone, and apologize if I did.”
“You’re asking me what make me the judge of right and wrong!? You started it.”
“I tried not to be judgmental, was I saying there was anything wrong with dating or smoking pot? I don’t think so. And besides, my Dad liked the stories, which is why he took my typing down to his office and ran off the copies. How was I to know it would get me “not asked back,” to Harley after seventh grade. I mean Harley is a pretty wide open place. You’re right, it was surely the newspaper that got me ‘not asked back.’ That was last year, and you’ve been waiting a long time to get this off your chest, so what else is on your mind sue?”
“My sister, who is a senior now, started dating one of those boys you listed as a pot smoker. Now she gets high all the time,” Sue explained.
“Well did she date him because she loved him or because she wanted to try pot?”
“That’s not the point, she countered.
“It’s not?” quirried I.
“No it’s not, you stinking drama queen!”
I didn’t realize it then, but by stirring up trouble the year before, and having it re-stirred right then, I felt the tingle of excitement, only a child brought up in a largely dysfunctional, massively sado-masochistic household could ever get a kick out of. Took all these years to work through the fact that pissing people of was my modus operandi for one, two, three decades or so.
(Now back to the action at hand)
“Well I believe that was her choice, and if not for me, maybe she’d have found a pot head that was not Harley material, if you follow me,” I quipped. “So have you smoked any yet yourself? On the other hand…”
“OK you two,” Melissa jumped in, “why not change the subject?”
Was she worried I’d pull out a joint (I had never used the stuff) or just a peacekeeper?
“Yeah,” Lisa said, “here’s a subject: what was my mom thinking in sending you boys down here anyway?”