# Car 54

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© 2005 / revised 2014
K Pelle

### Chapter 1:
Introduction - Drivers Ed.

Car 54 was a stock car. Actually in those days, it was called a dirt-track stock car and it was owned by three young guys: Tom, George, and me (Chris). The name 'Car 54' started out as a joke. When we first went to the track with the car we weren't even sure we'd even finish the first race and as a group we had a slightly warped sense of humour. We reasoned that if we dropped out of a race we could at least wave signs and banners saying 'Car 54, where are you?' like the punch line from the old TV program, thinking that perhaps we'd give the spectators a chuckle if nothing else. We carried those darn signs to the track every week and had them in the pits all ready to wave each night all season long. However, it wasn't until much later in our racing venture that they even got unfurled ... but I'm getting ahead of myself.

For a start I suppose I should introduce the three of us, but we've been buddies for so long that all of us seem to assume everyone we meet knows who we are, so I wasn't meaning to be rude. We were raised on farms within a mile or two of each other, then we'd gone to the same grade school and the same high school. By the time I graduated from high school it seemed to me that we'd been buddies forever.

Tom was sort of my cousin, but I guess I'd better explain that, even if it involves dragging a skeleton out of the family closet. You see my father and Tom's father were the best of buddies, just like Tom and I grew to be. My dad married Tom's dad's sister, Kate. Kate got pregnant and was carrying my older brother, Wil, but she had problems with the pregnancy and was bed ridden for months. Dad hired a housekeeper, cum nursemaid to make life easier for everyone and she happened to be Kate's second cousin, Liz. When Wil was born, Kate developed problems and she only lived for a little more than year and a half after his birth. Liz is my mother and I was born almost nine months to the day after Kate's funeral. You can do the math for yourself, and no, I am not a bastard! My Dad and Mom had been married for several months by the time I was born.

Anyway back to Tom, since he was my pal from the time we were in diapers. We played together, we learned together and we fought with each other, but we shared almost everything. Lord help the person who wronged one of us; he had two fighting fiends on his hands. We were like brothers, but since we lived on different farms and a mile apart we didn't feel any sibling rivalry. As we grew up Tom began to show a mechanical ability that used to astound me; he could take anything apart and put it back together again – well almost anything, there was one time he goofed.

When I was twelve I got a radio for my birthday and I made the mistake of lending it to him one weekend when my family went to the lake for an overnight camping trip. When we came back Tom didn't come hurrying over to see me, which surprised me a little. I was busy helping to unload the car anyway, but when we were almost done I saw my Aunt Alice coming down our drive carrying a box and calling my name. I was surprised Tom wasn't with her and I wondered what she had in the box. You guessed it. The box held all the bits and pieces of my brand-new radio. Aunt Alice was MAD! She wasn't angry with me, but she was ready to skin her son alive. He'd taken apart my brand-new radio to see how it worked, then hadn't been able to get it back together and make it work again.

Right about then I wasn't too happy with Tom either. You see about that time we had been trying to scratch a living out of our farm while going through a drought that had lasted for three years. I knew that Mom and Dad had scrimped and saved in order to buy me that radio because that was what I particularly wanted for my birthday. Even my older brother, Wil and my little sister, Beth had helped to earn the money to buy that radio. It had been a gift of love from my whole family, just like my brother's new bicycle and my sister's new hair brush and mirror set, which was what they had gotten for their birthday's. I knew the radio couldn't be taken back and I knew that we didn't have the money to get it fixed, but neither did Tom or his folks. I don't remember it, but I imagine I was fighting back tears as I carried that box of bits and pieces inside and set it on my dresser.

I was simply furious at Tom right then. I think it was the angriest that I had ever been. I moped around the house and barns the rest of the day, doing my chores mechanically, but not really having the heart to put any enthusiasm into anything. After supper I was outside trying to get the hang of riding the old bicycle that I'd inherited from my older brother when he had gotten his new one. I happened to see Tom come out of his house and start to come my way, but I really didn't want to talk to him right then. Since I seemed to be getting the hang of riding that old bike I turned it the other direction and rode off down the road, peddling as hard as I was able to manage.

I weaved and I wobbled, but I was determined, so I rode for quite a while before my legs started to hurt from the unaccustomed exercise. When I finally gave up I was about a mile from home, all the way down at the bridge over the creek that ran along the west side of our farm. The farm on the other side of the creek had been owned by an old couple, but the old man had just died recently. We'd heard that his son was going to come live on the farm, only I hadn't met our new neighbours yet. When I stopped on the bridge I was thinking I should turn around and go home. Just then I saw a guy about my age grinning up at me from the bank of the creek below the bridge.

"Hi, I'm George Grant," he called up to me, "Are you Tom or Chris?"

"Unh, I'm Chris, but how did you know my name?"

"Granny told me," he grinned. "We live here now and she said I might be able to chum around with you guys sometimes. I usta live in town, but when Grand-Dad passed away Mom 'n' Dad 'n' I moved out here."

"I'm sorry about your Grand-Dad," I said, trying to be polite. Actually I'd always thought he was an old grouch and I had stayed away from this part of the creek because he lived so close by.

"Yeah, he was okay, but for the last while he was awful grumpy. I guess if you hurt all the time though, you get that way."

"I guess," I was quickly deciding I liked this kid. I looked down at the water, feeling thirsty, but knew better than to drink the water from there. George's family had cattle and the barn runoff ran right into the creek. "I'm thirsty, but I guess I shouldn't drink the water from the creek, huh?"

"Naw, it's probably got cow dung in it and might make you sick, but Mom will give you something to drink if we go up to the house," he grinned. "Granny would like to see you anyway, but I bet Mom and Dad would too."

"Do you have a big family?" I asked, looking at their house and thinking it wasn't all that big.

"Naw, just Mom and Dad and me, along with Granny. Lucky too or I wouldn't have a bedroom to myself," he grinned. "I'm supposed to be a spoiled kid, 'cause I'm an 'only child', but Dad would tan my hide if I acted spoiled."

I had to laugh and realised that I was pretty well over my mad by then, besides I already knew I was making a new friend. When we got to the house, I leaned my bike against the porch steps while George pulled off his muddy shoes, then we traipsed inside. George's Mom and his Granny were washing up the supper dishes, but both of them were happy to see me. George's Mom happily poured both George and me a glass of milk.

"Where's Dad? I want him to meet Chris too," George asked, as he wiped the milk moustache from his upper lip and set the glass on the counter by the sink.

"Oh, he's out in his little shop fixing something," his mom smiled. "You go right ahead and take Chris out to meet him. He and Chris's dad used to be good friends."

"Well, aren't they still friends?" George asked, quite guilelessly.

"I imagine they are," his Granny laughed softly, "even if they haven't seen much of each other in several years."

"Oh! I get it," George grinned. "Come on Chris, Dad does neat stuff in his workshop. He fixes all sorts o' stuff for people."

His dad's little shop was small, but it really was packed full of neat stuff. There were clocks, and radios, and toasters and all sorts of other things stacked all over the counters and shelves, even piled on the floor. The only relatively clear spot seemed to be on the bench right in front of the tall, thin guy bending over and working on something.

"Dad?" George said quietly.

"Just a second son, I'm soldering a very fussy bit right now."

"Okay Dad," George turned to me and held his finger to his mouth in a shushing gesture. I noticed the gesture, but wasn't really paying much attention.

I had just realised that his dad was working on what looked like my radio. At least the empty case looked identical to mine. When I looked around for it, sure enough, there was the empty cardboard box that Tom's mother had put it in sitting beside him on the floor. I couldn't help myself; I had to see what he was doing. I moved forward so I could see past him as he soldered first one tiny piece in place and then another. He set the little soldering iron to one side on a special holder and sat back.

"There, that should ... Well, hello. You're not George," he chuckled, finally looking at me.

"Nope, this is Chris," George snickered from behind me.

"And that's my radio, I think," I blurted out.

"It just might be," Mr. Grant laughed softly. "But I bet if we were to put it back in its case and plugged it in, it will work now. Would you like to see?"

"Would you? Please?" I asked, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Well ... it's your radio. Why don't you put it back in the case? I'll show you how it fits, but only if you have trouble."

So with Mr. Grant's help I slipped it back into the case and we plugged it in. It worked, but there was a buzz that hadn't been there before and he said that had to be fixed. Then he asked me if my folks knew where I was. When I told them that they probably didn't, he asked George to go inside and ask his mother to phone mine to tell them where I was. He told him to tell them that he'd give me a ride home a bit later. Then he showed me what to do and guided me while I fixed my own radio. I even got to solder a new part in place and Mr. Grant said I did a good job of it. Oh man, did it ever feel good when we plugged it and turned it on, then it played perfectly!

Later, Mr. Grant helped me put my bike in the back of his pickup truck, then he, his wife and his mother hopped in the cab while George and I rode in the back with the bike and the radio. To be honest I was holding that radio in my hands so it wouldn't bounce around too much. When we got back home my family was sitting in the kitchen, but Tom and his family were there too. After a few minutes as everyone was introduced to the new family, I hung back to be polite, but it wasn't long before I was standing with Tom and George off to one side and away from everyone else.

"Look. I'm real sorry I busted your radio," Tom said sheepishly. "It may take a while, but I'll give you my allowance until you have enough that you can get it fixed or get a new one."

"That's okay. I fixed it, but you owe Mr. Grant for the parts," I snorted, lording it over him because I had finally helped fix something he couldn't repair.

"You fixed it? Does it really work again?" he looked at me with a very surprised look on his face as if there was no way I could fix something that he couldn't.

"Of course it does," George butted in, "probably better than when it was new. My Dad wouldn't have let him take it out of the shop otherwise."

"He's right," I said quickly when I saw Tom start to bristle as if George should keep his nose out of 'our' business. "He had it mostly fixed when I got there, but it didn't work quite the way he wanted it to. So he had me take it apart and add a brand-new ... I think he called it a ... a capacitor?"

"That's what it was. I dunno what it does, but I know that's what it's called. I don't really care much either, just so your radio works again," George laughed, then I saw him get a thoughtful look in his eyes. "Although if Tom owes Dad ... maybe I can talk Dad into letting him work off his debt by helping me with some of my chores."

Tom and I grinned at each other, we could understand someone who would think of that sort of thing.

So that was the night the 'treble trouble trio', as my younger sister Beth called us, first got together. Tom was the guy who could fix almost anything mechanical, and was up to his elbows in grease and oil all the time. George was the salesman or politician of the group. He was one of those guys who said the right words to make people feel better, and I suppose he was sort of a jack of all trades. He could do lots of things decently, but he couldn't do anything outstandingly well. Me? I was the bookworm of the bunch, but from the day George's father had me help to repair that little radio I was fascinated with electronics. If I had free time I was either reading a book, or trying to fix an old radio I'd managed to scrounge from somewhere.

The three of us went everywhere we could as a group. Well, at school it was a bit different, I mean we rode the school bus together, but to start with I was a few months older than either of them. Since I'd known my alphabet and could read simple books and stuff at five - going on six, my folks decided to pull some strings. I had started school a year earlier than Tom and George had, which put them one grade back of me to start with. Then early on, I think in grade two or three, I had skipped ahead another year. It wasn't really surprising, I was going to a very small school and they often had two grades being taught in one classroom. The teacher soon caught on to the fact that I was not only doing my grade's work, but keeping up with the other class as well. When she talked to my parents, they thought I should advance if I could keep up. I wish they hadn't though, I think that probably was one of the reasons that I'm shy with women I don't know well, even now.

Think about it. It's not that surprising or hard to understand. Just look at the fall of the year I was mentioning. I was ... twelve right? So if I'd been in the normal class for a kid my age, I'd have been in what ... grade six? Instead I think I was in grade eight that year. At any rate, almost the whole time I was going to school the girls in my class were two or three years older than I was, so to them I was a little kid. Tom and George made friends with girls in their classes, but I never really got a chance to even talk to girls my age, well except when we rode on the school bus or were out in the playground. Since I started out shy to begin with, and soon learned that girls who were two years older didn't want some 'little kid' trying to get their attention, I became something of a loner in my class and eventually at school. I suppose if a psychologist had talked to me then he might have said I had a slight inferiority complex, but there weren't any of those guys around, so everyone just thought I was a bit shy with girls.

Now don't get me wrong; I didn't hate school. School work was easy for me. I read a lot and I seemed to learn things easily, so I got good grades. Since my folks thought my grades were great, I put up with the jibs and the nicknames like 'the little professor' or 'the bookworm' and even 'teacher's pet.' As far as I was concerned being called nicknames just wasn't worth fighting over. In fact, I usually took the supposed insults as a compliment, because they implied I was smarter than the guys who were trying to tease me.

Actually because of the teasing I became even more of a bookworm. Books were safe; they never made you feel like a little kid, or teased you for being younger and smaller than everyone else. The only time I didn't have my nose in a book was when I was working around the farm, fiddling with bits and pieces of old radios, or chumming with Tom, or George, or both of them. When it was warm and if we didn't have any work to do on one the farms we'd go skinny dipping in the creek, or riding our bikes, or playing catch, or just plain goofing off. We didn't know that since we didn't have a TV at home we were supposed to be bored and have 'nothin' to do.' Since we'd never known any different, we made our own fun.

Now just because I read a lot doesn't mean I wasn't a tough little sucker. Shucks, you can't grow up on a farm and help out with farm work without developing a few muscles. You try heaving around bales of hay or using a pitchfork to clean out the barn and see if you don't grow some muscle. In addition, what with the rough and tumble of an older brother and two rambunctious buddies, I learned how to fight. And we fought dirty when we fought, because we fought to win. Several times through school I'd had to stand my ground with some town kid who thought he would impress his buddies by pushing the little farm kid in the class around. After two or three times of getting whupped, most of the bullies got the message that when I fought with them, they got hurt. After that they'd get ridiculed by my older brother Wil, who was only one year ahead of me by then. That probably hurt them worse than the sore nose, or black eye, or whatever other physical injury I might have caused them during the fight.

Besides schoolwork and being a tough little sucker when I got into a fight, there was one other thing I was skilled at – that was riding horses. I'm not sure why, but it seemed that I could second guess which way any bronk would move if it bucked, so I could stay on its back and ride darn near any horse to a standstill. I preferred to train a horse to work calmly, but if one did act up, I was prepared. As a result I became the person Dad counted on to look after the remuda we kept to work the cattle we had. So since we needed a new stud horse the year I turned thirteen, I was given a Quarter Horse stallion for my birthday. That raised a few eyebrows because most thirteen year olds couldn't control a stud and on top of that I was small for my age. Mom and Dad had faith in me though, so I just accepted that horse as a wonderful gift because I loved horses.

By the time I was fifteen I'd put on a growth spurt, so I was no longer the littlest guy in the classes I was taking at school and horses took a lesser place in my life for a while. I'd reached the point where puberty had kicked in, and it was driving me nuts. There I was, yearning to do something with girls, but so shy that I was too uncomfortable to even talk to them. Just being around Tom's sister or sometimes even my own sister made me uncomfortable, so I spent very little time around the house, other than when I was in my room. Instead I worked and I exercised, or I tried to dream up some way to make enough money to get a car. Having a car when I turned sixteen became the main objective in my life that year.

Actually as a result of that burning desire, I made a deal with Dad that summer that changed my life far more than I could ever have foreseen. There were a couple of old Model A Ford's rusting away behind some of our old farm sheds and I was sure they could be repaired. Somehow I got Dad to agree that if I did the chores and milked both cows morning and night for two months, I could have those old cars and the use of one of the old sheds as a place to work on them. Since I was doing the essential chores around the farm, Dad and Wil were able to work eight hours each day for the county, clearing back the underbrush that grew along some of the less travelled country roads. We'd pulled through those years of drought I'd mentioned, but the farm wasn't really back on a sound financial footing yet, so the money they earned really helped Wil's education fund for agricultural school. I didn't tell Tom and George about my deal right away, but what I did do was get them to help me clean up that old shed whenever we had some free time. Then the day after my two months were up and Dad made it official that the old cars were mine, I told my buddies that I had not one, but two old cars. You should have seen their faces.

For the next few months they were over in my shed every chance they could get, helping me build up one running car out of those two old wrecks. We tore both cars pretty well to pieces and rebuilt one of them. Of course there were parts that were worn out and parts that were missing, so we did have a variety of problems. However that year we learned how to scrounge things and how to modify something we could get our hands on, then use it to replace the original part that was broken. I learned that Tom really was an excellent mechanic and I also learned that George could sweet talk the crotchetiest old grump out of a prized keepsake that we needed to fix my car, and he'd get it for a pittance. My two friends helped so much that my main expense to get that car running was for tires and before the snow fell we were driving that old clunker around the farm trails. That's when I found out I could make a car do things the other guys wouldn't even dream was possible.

We fiddled with that old car the rest of the fall and most of the winter, but in the spring of my final year in school I turned sixteen and got my license. After that I drove to school almost every day with Tom or George taking turns riding shotgun while the other guy rode in the back seat. Of course the kids at school laughed and hooted about my old clunker, calling it a hunk of junk and trying to give me a rough time about it.

Well, they did tease me for a while – at least until the day that the Ford dealer in town saw that old car and followed us to school. There in front of the usual crowd of jeering teenagers, Mr. Dolens took the wind out of their sails by offering a straight trade right then and there for the car he was driving – a twelve-year-old Ford sedan that looked as if it was brand-new. I darn near took him up on it right then, but George caught my eye and gave his head an almost imperceptible shake. Somehow I managed to hold my tongue while I thought about what to say.

"Sorry, but I'd have to ask Dad first," was all I could think of saying right at the moment.

Tom nodded solemnly, "Yep, I think that's a good idea," he added firmly. "Dad was just saying the other day that you should advertise it in the city. That way you might be able to sell it as an antique."

"You get your dad to call me about that Chris," Mr. Dolens said, loud enough that almost all the kids heard him. "I'll match just about any offer for that car. I'm sure it's one of the very first cars my father sold when he first got the Ford dealership and I'd like to own it."

I think at that moment I was suddenly having the best morning of my life, at least up to that point, so it was with our heads held darn high that Tom, George and I walked into school that day. The rest of the day I didn't mind hearing the whispers in the halls as I passed and even the girls in my class seemed to look at me somewhat differently. It was as if a switch had been thrown and I'd become 'someone' rather than just the 'kid' of the class.

Almost any time anything interesting happened locally, rumours went through our school like wildfire, but that day I think the rumour about what Mr. Dolens had said to me had wings and walked through walls. The kids that had heard what Mr. Dolens had said repeated it, but like most rumour mongers they must have made it sound 'just a little bit better' when they told the next person. Of course the next gossip did the same thing. When I got home from school that day I realised that the rumours had travelled a lot further though. Mom and Dad were sitting at the kitchen table, having a cup of coffee and waiting for me when I walked through the door.

"Well, it sounded like the old Model A when you drove up, but what wild scheme have you managed to cook up now?" Dad looked at me with a grin.

"Yeah, it was the Model A," I managed to say, unable to hold back my own grin

"Aww, and I was looking forward to going to town in a new Lincoln," Mom chuckled.

"WHAT?" I broke into laughter.

I was still laughing a moment or two later when my little sister Beth, came running in through the front door. "Chris? Where's your new car?" she was shouting at the top of her lungs. "I heard all about it at school and on the bus today and ... well, what's so funny?"

"What kind of car ... did you hear ... I got?" I gasped, through my belly laughs.

"Well, Dickie said he was there when Mr. Dolens offered you the keys to almost any car he had on his used car lot in trade for your old car. Didn't you take him up on the deal?"

"Dickie ... was the closest ... to the truth ... of all the rumours ... I've heard so far," I almost sobbed, now laughing so hard that my belly hurt.

"We figured the truth was a lot tamer than the phone calls we were getting," Dad chuckled. "So what did he offer you?"

"Well he did offer to trade for a used car," I told them, "but I put him off by saying I had to talk to you first. He said he wanted you to call him before I made a deal to sell it to someone else."

"I see," Dad smiled, and something about that smile made me stand up taller. "What do Tom and George think? After all, they've put a lot of work into that car too."

"I thought of that, so I asked them about it," I smiled. "Both of them agree that it's my car, and while they'd like a newer car to run around in they think it should be my decision what happens with it, but that I should listen to your advice. It's kinda nuts, but we've had so much fun getting that old car to run right that in a way, I hate the idea of parting with it."

I paused then and I suppose I frowned a bit as I tried to recall George's exact words about that. "George sort of summed up what he and Tom feel when he said I made the deal to get the cars and I paid for all the parts we bought, then all of us invested time into it. As he put it we'd have spent the time together anyway, so what we did was mostly just fun. I don't quite see it the same way though. I mean, sure it was fun and we all learned a bunch, but it feels like I'm taking advantage of their friendship. I definitely want them to be involved if I do make a deal with Mr. Dolens, but even then I'm not sure that's enough."

Dad just smiled. That night he had me call up Tom, George and both of their dads, then invite them over for a coffee. I told everyone that I felt the guys should get something out of any deal we made and Dad agreed with me. It was great because everyone was able to voice their opinion. In the end we decided that Dad and I would see if we could talk Mr. Dolens into a deal where we would get one relatively decent used car for me and an older, but not quite as well maintained car for all three of us to work on or use as spare parts. Uncle Tom pointed out that we still had most of another Model A and a lot of spare parts back in 'my' shed as well, so we could use that as a bargaining tool. We talked for a couple of hours and when everyone went home, Dad and I stood on the front porch and wished them 'Good Night.'

As we turned to go inside, Dad put his hand across my shoulders and gave me a squeeze of approval; that mini-hug brought tears to my eyes and I went to bed feeling like a prince.

That Saturday, Dad and the three of us, Tom, George, and I, went in to talk to Mr. Dolens. Remind me never to try to make a deal without Dad and George being involved. We left there not only driving the car that Mr. Dolens had originally offered me, but with Dad driving another not so well maintained car and behind that, Mr. Dolens' son, Jerry, driving his tow truck and pulling another old clunker that we could use as parts. At the farm we helped him load up what was left of the other old Model A to take back to his Dad. We heard later that Mr. Dolens was ecstatic about the whole deal, because he had managed to get his hands on two of the first cars that his dad had sold years ago. That surprised me until I talked to Dad about it. He explained that a good deal should always give some form of benefit to both sides of the transaction. Now that idea really made me think and I realized it made sense.

Anyway after we got our new cars home, Tom, George, and I worked on my new car for the rest of that Saturday and for almost all day on Sunday. When we drove to school on Monday morning the car was cleaned and polished until it shone. Besides that it had been tuned up and we'd installed a better muffler, so it ran very quietly, which meant we could listen to the radio as we drove to school. Actually one guy told me he'd been one of the many students who'd watched us drive in and park, but he said all he'd heard was the radio and we didn't even think we had that on very loud. Let's just say that we got a lot of attention when we arrived at school that morning, so much attention that it actually made me feel uncomfortable. I suppose all those gawkers wanted to find out if the rumour they'd heard was true and that we really did trade off the Model A for a newer car.

In the next few days I learned something about being the only guy who has something everyone else wanted. The thing about having a car was that others seemed to automatically think that they should be able to convince you into giving them rides to various places. Now don't get me wrong, it's not that I minded the idea, it's just that giving others rides took gas and it took time. After a brief flurry of giving rides to guys and girls after the school, it got so that Tom, George and I tried to avoid promising anyone rides if we could, but we had a darn good reason. We were all strong, healthy, young guys and our parents counted on us to work on the farm. We had chores that had to be done and if you've ever seen a cow that was used to being milked at five in the afternoon, she doesn't care one hoot that you are an hour late because you gave a pretty girl a ride home. That cow will have a full udder, which will make her feel uncomfortable, so she'll let the whole world know about it, and her complaints will be made very loudly! Tom, George and I soon found out that our dad's didn't care to have that happen, so we tended to rush out of school on the run, jump into the car and hurry home.

I didn't mind having to hurry home, but the guys were a little less enthusiastic about it, because it meant less time with their friends, especially the girls. So to please them I agreed to drive them places on the weekends, but if they each got a date, they'd find someone who would come along to 'keep me company.' So effectively, I had a series of blind dates that spring, and I wasn't exactly sure I enjoyed what was happening. Of course as far as I was concerned Tom and George had much different taste in girls than I did. Look, I wasn't expecting them to pick gals who were geniuses or anything, but I'd have liked to go out with someone who could talk about something besides hair, or fashion, or the latest movie to come to town. So of course my 'dates' were stilted affairs, in fact I think we went out on ten or twelve 'dates' that spring, in that time I got a hug or a tiny peck on the cheek perhaps five or six times.

Actually during that time, I only had one real kiss on the lips and that was on the night of my graduation, but that was probably because she was the only girl I'd asked to go out. Debbie Yarowski was cute and smart, but almost as shy as I was. In fact it was several minutes after I'd picked her up before either of us spoke about anything other than complimenting each other on our nice clothing. Then I said something about my new car being better for a date than the Model A would have been and she giggled, then the floodgates opened. Of course once we got past that hurdle we could at least have an intelligent conversation. Even that wasn't an ideal situation though, since her parents insisted that she had to be home by mdnight, which was only half hour after the last dance at the grad ceremonies. She must have enjoyed the date though, since I was on the receiving end of a kiss that almost curled my toes just before she slipped into the house. Of course after that came the let-down. I was a high school grad with my own car, only my date had to be home before midnight, so I was all alone on grad night with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

Actually, my being alone and driving slowly down the main street of my hometown on my graduation night was probably led to another watershed moment in my life, at least a decision I made that night did.

But perhaps I should mention once more that while all the rest of the guys in my graduating class were eighteen or nineteen years old, I was only sixteen, so I really didn't fit in with them too well. You see to those guys I was still just a little kid and it didn't matter to them that I had the highest grades in the class and my own car. However to my surprise as I was driving slowly through town on my way home, a carload of the other grads and their dates flagged me down and invited me to a house party. What I didn't know was that they were planning on getting me drunk, then making a fool of me in front of everyone else.

Now, Dad had told me I had the next day off. George and Tom had even stayed home and were going to do my morning chores for me. That meant I wasn't really under any pressure to rush home and I'd been having a bloody awful night. Lets face it, the Principal had made certain to tell everyone that I was the youngest person to graduate from our school and he'd made sure he bragged about my GPA, in other words he'd embarrassed me. After that when it came time to dance, I was sure my dancing talents sucked and I felt like a fool when I was out on the floor with a partner. Then my date had to be home before midnight and to top it off, I hadn't been invited to any of the 'after grad' parties. So when one of the guys who was also graduating said he wanted to invite me to a party and buy me a drink, I was suddenly in the mood.

I just grinned and quoted the bard; "Lay on McDuff; And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'"

That drew stares and shaking heads, but they did get the idea that I was willing, so they had me follow them to the party. Now I wasn't totally gullible. I knew that I wasn't their best buddy or anything and I knew I was probably going to get teased, but in typical teenage fashion I felt I was smart enough to counter anything they could throw at me. You've got to know that most of those kids weren't really mad at me, they just felt that I didn't fit in, something like a white crow in a flock of black ones. Actually most of those kids have spoken to me since we've grown up and said they had a begrudging respect for me, but they didn't show that at the time. To them I was the kid who beat them for grades and talked a grown man into trading a good car for a piece of junk that I'd hauled out of the dump. It certainly wasn't that they wanted to injure me or anything. Perhaps they felt that I had managed to make them feel embarrassed by beating them at something or other and they wanted to pay me back a bit. At least that would explain how the majority of them felt, but what I didn't realise is that there were one or two guys there who had stronger feelings of revenge.

Once we were at the party I was in such a hurry to get involved that I hopped out of my car, slammed the door behind me and didn't even realise that I'd locked my keys inside. That was probably the smartest thing I did all night, only I can't even claim any credit for that since it was an accident.

I knew everyone that was at the party and I was out to enjoy myself. Meanwhile wine flowed like water and beer was even more readily available. Of course, that really didn't mean much to me, I had an older brother and so did Tom, which meant I was used to drinking wine and beer. On top of that I had spent quite a lot of time with Grampa Bender.

Oh, haven't I mentioned Grampa Bender before?

Grampa Bender was my mother's elderly uncle and he lived up in the foothills, several miles from town. For several years Tom and I had ridden horses up there at least once a month and after we got the Model A running, it became our job to take his groceries up to him every week or two. Now to Grampa Bender we were 'growed up enuf' that whenever we shown up at his cabin for the last two or three years, we had to sit down and chat a while. Then 'just to be neighbourly,' we had have a little snort of his 'home squeezins' to 'ease our parched throats' while we gossiped about the neighbours or the family. We soon learned to pace our drinking and take it easy. Every time we left he would always make sure we had a pint or two to carry along, 'Jes ta hep ya get home.' That meant we used to have some 'booze' to share with George - which we did, just so we could watch him get 'happy' and even more garrulous than normal.

I'm quite sure our parents knew about what went on when we visited him. I mean twice a year dad used to haul Grampa Bender a load of corn or barley for Grampa's 'brood sow' and I'm sure he came back with a few jugs. I do know he used to come back acting quite 'happy' about his visit.

Anyway back to the party, unbeknownst to me several of the girls were in on this 'joke' as well as the guys and even though I knew enough to pace myself, when a seventeen or eighteen-year-old dish wants to share a drink with you, what would you do? I admit it, I got hammered, but the funny thing was the more hammered I got, the more stubborn and less cooperative I was to their suggestions.

Now there were two sisters, the Coulter twins who were exceptionally pretty, but we used to call them the 'refrigerator' twins or the 'Ice Cubes' because people said they had frozen out more guys than a bad winter blizzard at the North Pole. The party happened to be at their house because their parents were away, and I found out later that they were in on the 'joke' as well. By four o'clock in the morning I think they were getting impatient with me, not only had I drunk several bottles of beer and half a jug of wine, but I'd also put a good dent in a bottle of their dad's strongest whisky. They told me afterward that as far as they could see I was still the soberest person at the party. I'm not sure if that was the reason, but I do remember them suddenly being on either side of me and both of them being very friendly.

I also remember thinking that the party was starting to look a little bit like a war zone. There were kids passed out on the floor, one guy woofing in the can, another was outside the house, leaning over the edge of the porch and kissing a bush, or at least resting his head in it. The sisters convinced me that they wanted to talk to me 'in private' and that we should get away from the 'animals'. As they lead me past their bedrooms they checked the doors, but both of their rooms seemed to be locked from the inside. The only place left in the house that wasn't loaded with kids too drunk to function, too wasted to care, or too busy 'getting busy' was their folk's bedroom. I remember them sitting down with me on their folk's bed and I remember seeing a camera sitting on the dresser. I'm not sure, but I think I remember starting some sort of drinking game with them. I'm not positive about that part though.

The next thing I really do remember for certain is waking up between them in the morning. I was dressed in my undershorts and nothing else, but both of them were draped over me and totally nude. Now remember at that time I was exceptionally shy, only there I was waking up in bed with two of the most gorgeous and desirable women that I knew of at that time; two gorgeous women that no one else had ever gotten close to seeing nude, at least if the rumours were right.

These were the virgin princesses, the gals whose father had supposedly said he would castrate any guy who so much as touched either one. They were nude, they were drapped on top of me, and one had her nipple tickling one of my ears. The other one was sort of nuzzling me on the other side, and each of my hands was resting between a set of round soft buns, their legs were spread, and my fingers felt sticky. I took a really deep breath, then I began to slowly and carefully ease my way out from under them. Darn if they didn't both whimper as if they were complaining, but somehow I made it out from between them, then watched as they snuggled against each other instead of me. I hurriedly found my clothes and got dressed, then snuck out of the bedroom as quickly and quietly as I could.

When I walked out of that bedroom, I found myself walking into the most GOD AWFUL STENCH I have ever smelled. Remember now, I was hung over so my stomach wasn't exactly stable, but that house reeked. It stank of beer, and wine, and whisky, and vomit, and sex, and cigarette smoke, and God only knows what else. I don't even want to hazard a guess at what other smells were mixed into that miasma of fetid odours. I just held my breath and bailed out. I ran straight outside to my car and found the doors were locked ... then I checked my pockets and discovered that I didn't have my keys.

Oh no! Had someone taken my keys last night so I wouldn't drive? Then I glanced in the window of the car. There they were - still in the ignition. I didn't even pause to think, off came my shoe. BANG, the heel went through the left-side, rear window and I was unlocking my door.

I got home at ten minutes after noon on Saturday, getting met at the door by my little sister who announced; "My GAWD, you reek. Have a shower or something, before you make me ill."

I showered, then went to bed and passed out until Sunday morning. Even then I had a hangover. Thinking about what had happened as I did my chores, I was feeling rather stupid about breaking the window in my own car and I realised that I had panicked, which didn't make me feel any better about myself. On the way back to breakfast I stopped by my car to see what I'd have to do to fix it. What I found was that either George or Tom, or perhaps both of them had fixed the window by replacing it with one from our old wreck and had even cleaned up the broken glass in the back seat. Dang! I owed the guys another favour.

I walked into the house to see my Mom, my Dad, and my little sister, Beth, sitting at the table waiting for me to join them for breakfast. While I was washing up, my little sister came to the bathroom door and peeked inside.

"You must be Sir Galahad or something," she giggled, "but I'll be darned if I can see the shining armour."

"What?" I groused, wiping my face and shoulders with a towel as I spoke.

"Well, all the ladies seem to love you," she threw over her shoulder as she headed back for breakfast.

"She's gone nuts!" I thought, shaking my head.

When I got to the table my whole family sat there grinning at me, and I thought it was getting to be a bit much to put up with.

"Okay, so I got stupid and drank a bit too much the other night. At least I didn't drink and drive," I admitted. "I couldn't have if I'd wanted to. I accidentally locked my keys in the car before I went inside, then I fell asleep at the party. Then yesterday morning I had to break the window in order to get into my car. Am I going to be tarred and feathered for having some sense about driving drunk, or what?"

"Oh piffle," Beth waved her hand as if dismissing inconsequential details. "I want to know what you did to the 'Refrigerator Twins?' I took a call for you last night from Corinna and she raved about what a true gentleman you were, and how she was sorry she had misjudged you, and were you busy next Saturday?"

"Well, he sure must have done something. Her sister Carissa called and I took that one," Mom grinned. "She was almost crying, trying to apologise for not being as much of a lady as you were a nice guy, and it was only because no guy had ever treated her that well or made her feel so good. Then she wanted to know, did I think maybe you could come around and see her sometime before final exams start?"

"I think I took the topper of the phone calls though," Dad was laughing by now. "It was from Big Ed Yarowski, you know, Debbie's father, your date the other night? He said anyone who was that nice and that punctual about bringing his daughter home must be a pretty good guy, and would you like to have supper with them tonight?"

I had been hungry when I sat down, but all of a sudden I had no appetite at all. Girls were calling me? Girls were calling me and asking me out? Girls who were almost two years older than me were asking out the kid in the class? They had teased and tantalized and embarrassed me for years, but now they wanted a date with me?

"Aww, come on guys," I said finally, "A joke is a joke, but this is kinda cruel."

"Honest to God, Chris, cross my heart and hope to die. I wrote the message down because I couldn't believe it," Beth raved. "My God, what did you do? Is there a Lothario in there that we can't see? I mean, I've heard of smooth guys, but three women in one night, and all of them weeping and crying, panting for more?"

"I didn't do anything. I went to the grad dance, then took Debbie straight home because she has a curfew. I was driving back here afterward, driving slow and careful too, when some of the other guys from my class flagged me down and invited me to a party. I guess I thought I deserved to let off some steam, so I went. We had a few drinks, but most of the people who were there aren't used to drinking and the party was petering out. Then the 'Ice Cube' twins took me aside and we had a couple more drinks, but I guess all of us were tired, or had just drunk too much and we fell asleep. When I got up to leave the house in the morning my stomach was a bit queasy and that house stank something horrible. It was so bad I almost barfed from the stench and I ran outside to get some fresh air. There I was feeling queasy, hungover and locked out of my car, but my keys were right there in the ignition. So I broke the side window to get into the car, then drove home. That's it, that's all that happened, and it's the pure, simple, honest, unvarnished truth."

'Well, mostly the truth, just slightly edited.' I admitted to myself

"Aww hell!" Beth smacked her hand on the table. "Here I was hoping my brother had scored with both of those bitches. Dammit to hell, if I ever find out you had the chance and you were too much of a gentleman, I swear I'll ... I'll ... aw shit, I don't know what I'll do."

"Beth, that is quite enough!" Mom snapped. "Your attitude shocks me."

"I'm sorry Mom, but those two frigging 'Ice Cubes' have lorded it over the whole damn school for the last three or four years. Guys spend tons of money trying to get into their pants, but every one of them ends up broke and frozen out," Beth sighed deeply. "And this sounded so real, as if Chris had broken through their frost barrier."

"Sorry sis, I'm not an ice breaker, remember me, 'Mr. Shy Guy?'" I grinned at her as we both stood to leave the table. "You're about the closest thing to a girl that I can talk to."

"Oh Fuck You too!" she snapped. "When is anyone in this family going to realise that I'm almost fifteen, one day ..."

There's only one way to get Beth to shut up when she gets into her "I'm a grownup, Dammit!" mood. First you hug her hard and then you roll her in your arms, turn her butt up and smack her bottom once or twice, maybe three times, but not too energetically. Only when you set her down you'd better make sure you have a clear path and a long run in front of you. She gets angry and when she gets angry, wow can that girl run. Of course after she's run both you and herself into exhaustion she gets the giggles, then forgives you until next time and wants another hug.

At least having had something to eat, then some forced exercise did a relatively good job of clearing away the last of my hangover. In fact I was feeling well enough to phone the Yarowskis to beg off on going there for Sunday dinner, then I wandered over to Tom's house to thank him for fixing my car window. Since George was there as well, the two of them wanted to know all about the party, but I stuck to the same line I'd given the folks. Both of them just shook their heads, then teased me about being so shy, so that situation was normal too.

By the time I went to bed that night I was relatively certain that I'd survived grad weekend unscathed and unchanged. But somewhere in the back of my mind a small niggling worry persisted; would the true story come out and bite me in the butt?

### Chapter 2