Catholic School Kids
It's a big finished basement. The pool table dominates the room. A few of the guys are playing a game. I'm with Daphne. We've been friends since we were four years old. We both moved out of Frog Hollow when we were nine. My family stayed in Hartford, moved to a neighborhood right on the West Hartford/Newington town line. Her family moved to West Hartford. Her high school life includes dating the captain of the football team and a plethora of well-to-do friends. I date the burn outs until they drop out of school and join the service.
I'm sitting on the couch with my bi-level haircut, my favorite blue, Forenza V-neck sweater, black tank top, two-toned Gasoline jeans and my low-heeled, pink leather pumps. The rest of the kids have their jeans tucked into their slouchy socks and white leather high tops. Their crisp buttoned-down shirts have the collars turned up. As usual, I don't fit in.
Suddenly, there's talk of an eight ball, and I know they aren't talking about billiards anymore. A permanently flushed-cheeked boy leaves the house for a bit. When he returns, the room tilts and flocks towards him. Lines are cut and the snorting begins. On the stereo is UTFO's, Roxanne, Roxanne. The city life I am trying so hard to escape from drowns me; my swimming pool of irony. At least I have a straw.
No comments:
Post a Comment