+ confessions of a red-headed stepchild: sweet seventeen

Monday, June 06, 2005

sweet seventeen

It sounds so young now. But at the time you couldn't tell us that. We had our own apartments, we worked, paid bills and owned our own cars. We had fake ids and did whatever the fuck we wanted to do. The summer of 1994 was the most memorable of my life.

I lived in an apartment with Katrina, the kind that has cockroaches and yellow walls from cigarette smoke. We didn't have any furniture other than our beds, a couch, and a stereo that sat on the living room floor adjacent a faux rock wall. Upstairs from us lived Maria and her brother.

Maria and I bonded at the Lincoln Estates. We ate psychedelic mushrooms and rode bicycles barefoot in the warm summer night. We sucked on blue raspberry lollipops and shared secrets on my couch. We cried as we sat on opposing ends with our blue tongues and big teenage hearts.

I can't believe I could shout to Maria from my bedroom and she could hear me. I would give my left pinky to have her that close again.

What is with the good ol' days always being over by the time they become good?