Chapter 21
Dan was right. Joe couldn’t say no to Little Miss Ironside. Beth dealt with Ma and Mrs. K. that morning. Once it was agreed that the three of us were definitely going to Woodstock, Beth marched back into the house where our mothers were finishing their coffees and announced our plans. I think Mrs. Luoto was so used to giving Beth her own way that this request was nothing out of the ordinary. Beth may as well have been asking to go to the movies or to the A and Dub for lunch for all she cared. No big deal. Movies, A and Dub, Woodstock. What’s the difference? As I suspected, Ma caved easier than Mrs. K. who, when I think back on it, actually put up very little resistance given her natural tendency to hover over Harold’s life like a protective shield. Perhaps inspired by Mrs. Luoto being so cool about the whole insane notion, or moved by Beth’s depressing story, or maybe it was the blueberry muffins, that caused our mothers to suspend all reason, common sense and good judgment and grant Harold and I permission to go to Woodstock.
The plan was to travel light: a tent, sleeping bags, Beth’s guitar and camera, and most importantly, lots of junk food, which included six bags of Oreo cookies and gallons of Pepsi. As part of the master plan both Harold and I had to learn to drive Sally. “You have to learn to drive this thing Jo-Jo ’cause once we get going we aren’t stopping until we get to Woodstock,” she said. “We drive in shifts. First me, then Harold then you. So YOU have to learn how to drive. Besides it’s a piece of cake. Speaking of which where’s the cookies?” Everywhere she went she had to have a bag of cookies with her. She was an addict, a sugar fiend, an Oreo junky. It was disgusting.
Harold and I went together to the Motor Vehicle Office and got our Beginners Permits. The test was easy after the grueling cram-session the previous night, Beth grilling us until there wasn’t one question in the handbook we couldn’t answer. Unlike other sixteen-year-olds getting my driver’s license wasn’t something I planned to do right away. I was content to get around on my own speed and as Ma always said “God, gave you two good legs Jo Frances, use them” so I did—biking and walking everywhere I went and until this Woodstock trip I was pretty content with that. Ma never drove and she did okay. I figured I could get through my whole life without sitting behind the wheel of a car just like her. “We aced it man!” Harold gushed as we greeted Beth in the parking lot afterwards. She was sitting in the passenger seat inhaling a bag of Chocolate Puffs. “Passed with flying colors. No problemo!”
“Okay Mr. No Problemo,” she said throwing him the keys.
“You can be the first to drive then. Get in.”
“Right now?” he protested.
“Yes. Right now,” she ordered. “You just aced your test right? Get in or we’re not going anywhere.”
“Yahoo!” I cried as I climbed into the back seat. I guess I was pretty excited about passing the test and was flying high as a kite. Maybe this whole Woodstock thing would happen after all. “But the roof ’s down,” he whined. “I don’t know if I can drive with the roof down.”
“Get in Korkala. We’ll put the roof up ya big baby,” I teased. “Who’s a big baby,” he said as he slid behind the wheel, turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. Sally was a noisy car but for some reason with Harold behind the wheel it sounded worse. “Wow! I’m driving eh!”
“Not yet you’re not,” Beth said. “Put her into gear Hank and back up real slow and easy. Once you’re out of this spot you’re on your own handsome.”
“What?” Harold cried, as he took his hands off the wheel and gave Beth one of his ‘I’m so scared I could die’ looks. “You mean that’s it. That’s the lesson.”
“What more do you need?” she asked, popping another cookie into her mouth. “I’m right beside you. You’ll be cool. Nothing’s going to happen. Come on. Drive,” she ordered. “Now.” Harold gripped the steering wheel so hard his hands were completely drained of color as he backed Sally out of the parking spot and slipped it into drive. Other than a few hiccups he was a real natural behind the wheel. Even I was impressed. We drove all over town, around Boulevard Lake where we almost went in for a closer look but Harold managed to pull us up off the gravel and back onto the pavement without losing his cool. I almost wet my pants but he was okay. So was Beth. She was as cool as a cucumber the whole time—just laid back with her feet up on the dash and tossing back her Chocolate Puffs.
Of course, unlike Harold I did not take naturally to driving. Beth decided it would be better for all of us if she gave me a private lesson, just her, me and Sally so the next morning it was my turn to master the road.
“I can’t do this,” I protested. “Yes you can,” she insisted. “You know everything you need to know to drive this thing. You’ve watched me drive her a million times. Now get in,” she said as she hopped into the passenger side, with a bag of Dad’s Oatmeal Raisin cookies in tow.
“What if we crash? What if we crash and I smash up Sally and kill us both,” I cried, gripping the steering wheel with terror. “I can’t breathe.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re fine. We’re not going to crash. Take one deep breath. Inhale slowly. Okay now exhale. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. Everything’s going to be just fine. In and out. Now turn the key and back up very slowly. Nice and smooth. That’s it,” she said guiding me out of the driveway and on to the street. “You’re trying to hypnotize me aren’t you?” I protested. “Because that’s the last thing we need is me in a trance or something while I’m trying to drive. We’ll crash for sure.” “I don’t believe you. I was just trying to help you calm down. But it obviously isn’t working. Quit being so childish. I bet even Dan-e-o could drive this car. Even with her crutches and one hand tied behind her back. Come on it’s automatic. It practically drives itself. Now go!”
“Oh God, help us,” I prayed and made the sign of the cross for extra protection. And before I knew it we had made our way safely up our street and were at Red River Road. We passed Jimmy’s Snack Bar at the corner, then Corpus Christie Catholic Church and St. Michael’s Anglican Church, passed Pine Street School and Josh’s street. At High Street I made a right hand turn and headed towards Inter-city.
“Turn into the A and Dub,” she said, tossing the empty bag of cookies onto the back seat. “Let’s have lunch. I’m starved.” “You just ate a bag of cookies!” I said, taking a deep breath and blowing the air out through my mouth, all the while maintaining the vice-like grip on the steering wheel. “Besides, I don’t think I could eat right now. I feel like throwing up.” “Forget it! You’ll be okay once you park the car. You’re doing great,” she assured. “No one would ever know this was your first time,” she laughed, pointing to an empty parking spot on the other side of the lot.
“Don’t remind me eh,” I said, irritated. “And if I have even the slightest problem parking this thing you’re taking over. I mean it. I could just barf. Seriously.”
“And I thought I was the drama queen,” she joked. But I wasn’t in the mood for her humor given that I was so tense and all. “Very funny,” I said. “I’m not amused.” “Hey there’s Miles! You remember him Jo-Jo. That really cute guy from the beach. The one I slept with. Order me a Teen Burger, fries and a root beer and order whatever you like. My treat. I’m going to talk to him,” she said flying out of the car before I could even get a word out.
“Oh God,” I whispered under my breath. “You remember Jo-Jo, the really cute one from the beach, the one I slept with. Like I could ever forget.” Sometimes she could be so stupid. I was in a real snotty mood after seeing Miles. I wasn’t impressed with the guy at all, no matter how good looking and popular he was. When the carhop came to take my order, I was still talking to myself out-loud like an escapee from the L.P.H..
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you,” she shouted. “Your music’s too loud.”
“What?”
“I said your music’s too loud,” she screamed, pointing at the car radio. I reached over and flicked the dial, silencing Simon and Garfunkel. She must have had some sort of delayed reaction because she was still shouting when she took my order. Or maybe working there made her deaf. It was a crappy job. The pay was lousy and most of the customers were carloads of kids who were always ripping off root beer mugs and leaving garbage everywhere. It wasn’t too bad during the day but the night shift was brutal, especially on Saturday nights after the dances at The Gardens. “What’ll it be?” she asked, adjusting the three trays of garbage on her hip that she had picked up before coming to the car. She was older than the other carhops, in her early thirties maybe, with dyed blonde hair badly in need of a touch-up that was pulled up into a ponytail at the top of her head like a six-year-old. Her lips were painted orange and she had mascara over-load. I felt sorry for her. She looked like she had carried one too many trays and that she had long stopped caring that eau de onion rings was her signature scent.
“I’ll have a couple of Teens, two large root beers, two large fries,” I said and then hearing Ma’s voice inside my head reminding me of my manners, especially when ordering food, I said “Please.”
“Huh?”
“Two Teens, two large,” I started to repeat my order but was cut off by the carhop who was growing impatient.
“Yeah, yeah. I got that. What did you want the cheese on?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said, all confused. “I didn’t say anything about cheese.”
“Uh huh you did,” she insisted. “Last thing outta your mouth. “No it wasn’t,” I said slowly realizing what was going on. “I said PLEASE, which is something you probably don’t hear too much.”
“Are you kidding?” she laughed. “It might as well be Chinese or something. Kids don’t have no manners no more. So that’s it then?”
“Yeah,” I said, “and thanks.”
“Sure.”
I watched her walk back to the restaurant, picking up trays from car windows as she went. By the time she got there she was juggling three trays on either arm. She was good. She could have been a circus act. The Amazing Carhop!
Beth was in Miles’ car. He had this other guy with him who I didn’t recognize who had moved immediately to the back so Beth could sit next to Miles. Good old Beth was at it again. She had the two of them “wrapped around her little finger” as Joe always said in this disgusted tone about any of his buddies who didn’t show up for a hockey or baseball game because they had to do something with their wives. I watched as they laughed at her stories and jokes, the guy in the back seat was leaning forward so his head was practically on Beth’s shoulder. You would have thought she was Marilyn Monroe.
Suddenly the urge to vomit riveted through my body like a flash of lightening. I tore out of the car and made my way to the washroom, a horrible bitter taste filled my mouth like poison as I threw open the stall door and puked into the toilet. There were a couple of other girls in front of the mirror playing with their hair and putting on lipstick, but neither of us gave a hoot that I was hurling all over the place. Vomiting in the A and Dub washroom was such an every day event that it had a permanent puke odor. I kept my head over the toilet a few minutes until I was sure there was nothing else left to come out and then I got up and stumbled toward the sink. The two girls had left so I had the place to myself. I ran the cold water and splashed it on my face. It was the first time I had taken a really good look at myself in ages.
The face in the mirror looked the same, yet not. Something had changed. Or maybe it was just my imagination. Or was it possible that it had been so long since I looked at myself that I had actually forgotten what I looked like? Could that happen to someone? Did I have one of those weird amnesia things? I pulled my hair up and piled it on top of my head. It was wet with vomit. I examined my neck, turned to the side and looked at my profile. My nose was nice but not great. I wished it turned up more on the end. My lips were too small but my eyes were good, large and sort of hazel colored. They seemed to be fading. When did they turn hazel? I used to have brown eyes but in the yellow light of the A and Dub washroom they were definitely hazel.
Hazel. I mouthed the word into the mirror. What an odd word. Hazel. Hazel, I repeated. The more I said it the more strange it sounded inside my head. Then I tried it out loud. “Hazel,” I said to the mirror, “Haaaazel. Hazzzel. Hazellll.” No matter how I said it, Hazel sounded weird. I was in mid-Hazel when Beth walked through the door.
“Are you alright?” she asked, giving me this strange Hazel kind of look.
“I’m fine,” I said, embarrassed by the puke smell and for being caught talking to myself like a crazy person. “I was just a little hot from the sun I guess. My nerves are on edge from all that driving eh.” “You stink! Did you barf ?” she asked, grabbing my hair and sniffing it like a bloodhound. Her voice stung my ears as it bounced off the walls that were really just concrete blocks painted orange and brown. It was like an echo chamber and I was starting to get a headache. I wanted to run but my legs were so weak I could barely stand.
“Get out!” I shouted, pulling my hair out of her lousy nose. “I told you my nerves are on edge. Don’t you get it? I puked a little. God, I’m hot! Will this heat ever let up? This has got to be some kind of record. I’ve never been so hot in my life!” I was ranting like a crazed lunatic when I opened the door to another blast of heat and humidity. “God, I wish it would rain.”
“They don’t expect anything until mid-September,” Beth said sounding just like the weather reporter on CKCK. “Yeah, and then it’ll be snow,” I snarled as I climbed back into Sally. The leather seats were so hot they were practically on fire. “Ouch! Jeez! Crap!”
“You’re in a good mood,” she said sarcastically. “Keen observation Sherlock,” I replied equally sarcastic. “Evidently Mr. Watson,” she said and then we both started to laugh out loud, so loud you could probably hear us in New York. We laughed until we cried. We were still laughing when our carhop arrived with our order. Beth paid her and gave her a five-dollar tip. You would have thought she had won the Irish Sweepstakes or something.
“You sure?” she asked, holding up the five dollar bill and waving it like the flag.
“Mmm,” Beth said, her mouth full of burger. “I’m feeling generous today.”
“Thanks,” she said and walked away picking up trays like dirty laundry as she made her way back to the restaurant.
“What’s up with Romeo?” I asked, stuffing fries into my mouth.
“He’s cool Jo-Jo,” Beth replied.
“I know that. Everyone knows Miles is cool. Too cool to breath the same air as me and Harold.”
“That’s not true. He likes you guys. Give him half a chance.” “Give me half a chance,” I said, “and besides why should I?” “Suit yourself,” she said sounding just like Harold and gulping down her food without even chewing.
“Good God, you’re gross. I can see everything you’re eating.” “What? Like this?” she asked, opening her mouth real wide so I could see her mashed up burger and fries.
“You are so gross,” I said, taking a huge bite of my burger and opening my mouth as wide as I could and “giving her a taste of her own medicine” as Joe always said.
Beth tossed a fry at me, hitting me in the middle of the forehead. I retrieved it and tossed it back. It landed on top of her head. Leaving it there, she grabbed another fry and tossed it at me. Thus began Fry Wars. Fries flew back and forth between us like darts. By the time it was all over the front seat of car was covered in fries and ketchup. I had fries stuck in my hair, to my chest, my tee shirt and between my legs. Beth’s face was stained with ketchup and grease. The first fry was still attached to the top of her head with ketchup. We were laughing so hard we could hardly breathe.
“I’m going out with him tonight,” she said as I eased Sally out of the parking space and headed down Memorial Ave.
“With Miles?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s so cute,” she said, “and sometimes a girl’s just gotta go out with a sinfully cute boy. Especially when we’re in the middle of a tropical heat wave. Why waste it?” “Suit yourself,” I groaned sounding just like Harold. Thus ended my first driving lesson.