Feels Like the First Time (8 page)

Mom’s hospitalization made the last few weeks of January really busy. I tried to keep the house clean and make dinner for my step-dad and me, which meant plenty of sloppy joes and Hamburger Helper. I was still carrying a full load at school and writing my entrance essay to complete my application for the University of Washington.

Looking back at those weeks, I am struck by how flexible I was. One day I was in the hospital waiting to find out if I was still going to have a mom, and the following weekend, I was back with KISS II arguing over what songs we were going to include in our set list for our upcoming show. Emotional amnesia is a handy thing to have.

I could have talked about everything that was going on in my life with Jerry, or Harold, or Dawn, but I didn’t. I was embarrassed at what had happened with my Mom and I thought I was alone in the fact that my life was so messed up, so I never said anything to anyone.

Before Mom came home from her 30-day visit in her ‘quiet place,’ KISS II gave its final concert in Napavine. The weekend of the show, my nephew Tommy came down to be part of the road crew. After I picked him up at the bus station in Chehalis, we drove home, unable to believe how much fun we were going to have.

And it was fun. That final show in Napavine was the culmination of everything good about KISS II. We had our choreography down, and each of us was very comfortable in our own persona. Attending that show had to feel like a mini-KISS concert. Since that’s what we were going for, that was pretty cool.

Jeff Hunter held the whole thing together with spit and duct tape. That is, until about two-thirds of the way through the show. Right after Chip took center stage to sing
Beth
–always a highlight to the teen girls in the crowd–our sound system completely shut down. A real touring band might have had a backup plan. We were not a real touring band.

I don’t know if anyone asked for their money back. I don’t remember getting paid for the gig, so I guess it all came out all right for the Napavine High School Class of ’81. KISS II started with a blaze of flash pots on the Paul Lynde Halloween special and ended in the Napavine gym with the buzz of a blown-out speaker.

It didn’t generate a profit in dollars and cents, but KISS II made a huge difference in my life. I didn’t attract the girls I dreamed about when I first put on the makeup, but I gained enough confidence to finally tell the one girl I cared about how I felt about her.  

Magnet and Steel

Everything that happened during spring break my senior year was unplanned. I was going to stick around Mossyrock and see what trouble I could get into with Chip, Jerry or Harold. Then fate intervened in the form of a string of gorgeous pre-spring days. The week before the break we had blue skies, sunshine, and temperatures in the 60s–very unusual for March in Western Washington. The spectacularly nice weather caused people to do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do that time of year, like leave their houses. That included Chip’s dad, who looked at the first sunny day, checked the weather forecast, and decided it was time to replace the roof on their shop.

I happened to be hanging out at Chip’s house when he reached this decision. He sized up my gangly frame.

“What do you know about roofing?”

“Absolutely nothing,” I said.

“Are you afraid of heights?”

“Nope.”

“Well, then, you’re hired. I’ll pay you five bucks an hour to help us.”

Just like that, I was an apprentice roofer. Considering minimum wage was $2.65 an hour, and gasoline was about sixty cents a gallon, it seemed more than fair for an out-of-work high school senior with no skills or experience.

Of course, our top priority was to find music. We rigged a pulley system to pull the roofing felt and 3-tab shingles onto the roof. Chip had the bright idea to use the same system to haul his family’s stereo up there. This was no small endeavor. The stereo and speakers were the size of a Shetland pony, and the sound reverberated around the whole neighborhood.

Chip and I made quite a sight, stripped to the waists, working on our tans. We threw bundles of shingles to each other while dancing to
Ain’t No Half Steppin’
by Heatwave and
Slippery When Wet
by the Commodores. I’m sure we provided the neighbors with hours of entertainment.

Chip’s dad shook his head when he saw us.

”You’re going to break your damn fool necks up there,” he said. But we worked hard and finished fast. That meant I was unemployed again, but that was okay, because I was unemployed with money in my pocket. After Mr. Lutz paid me the $80 I had earned, I put it together with all my other money and… still had $80. I was used to having nothing but lint in my pockets, so this windfall seemed like a fortune.

Suddenly, spring break stretched out in front of me, beckoning with endless possibilities. I made the snap decision to leave town. It wasn’t that I wanted to be anywhere in particular. I just didn’t want to be within the Mossyrock city limits any more.

The easiest thing would have been to hop in the Vega and trundle back up to see Terri and Tommy in Auburn. I could spend a few days going to movies and bumming around the Sea-Tac Mall. Instead, I wanted to enjoy a taste of newfound freedom and prove I could be out there on my own, without anyone’s help.

As I was getting ready to leave for points unknown, I threw my backpack and sleeping bag into the back of the Vega. The Vega was a hatchback, which meant the backseat folded down to reveal what looked a lot like a bed. When I first drove it home and showed it to Colleen, she dubbed it the “Sin Bin.” She intended this nickname as ironic commentary on my social ineptitude. Although it was intended as a joke, the name stuck. As I was preparing to leave on my epic voyage, Colleen came out to the car and presented me with two small embroidered pillows. One of them said “sin” and the other, of course read “bin.”

I pulled out of my driveway with no idea where I was headed. I just drove and figured eventually I would realize where I was going. Somewhere in the back of my head, I had the idea I might drive down to Baker, Oregon to see my nieces, Amy Jo and Chrissy, who had moved away a few years ago. I was very close to them when they were little and I missed them. I didn’t want to drive directly there, though. I wanted more out of the trip than that.

A series of random turns led me to admit I had subconsciously decided to go to Long Beach, which advertised itself as
The World’s Longest Beach
. It wasn’t surprising I would unconsciously drive there. My family had been vacationing there since before I was born and we usually made it to the beach at least once a year. Because I didn’t get underway until Saturday afternoon, it was already getting dark by the time I pulled into Long Beach. I didn’t have enough money to splurge on a motel room, and the temperature was dropping. My glorious plans of freedom seemed foolish.

I had always wanted to drive down to the beach, pull off on the sand where it was packed down enough that I wouldn’t get stuck, and sleep with the sound of crashing waves in my ears. I turned off the main drag toward the ocean, found the high-tide line with my headlights, and settled in among the dunes for a good night’s sleep.

I folded down the back seat and rolled out my sleeping bag, but I was too keyed up to sleep. I read a few chapters of
The Forever War
by Joe Haldeman with my flashlight. I finally got sleepy and turned off the flashlight and lay in my bag listening to the powerful ocean crash against the sand less than a hundred yards away. I felt content and peaceful, lying in the Vega’s hatchback and enjoying my freedom. Slowly, I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke less than an hour later to a metallic tap-tap-tapping at the glass on the hatchback over my head. I opened my bleary eyes and saw two of Long Beach’s finest, smirking and shining a flashlight at me.

“Excuse me, sir. There’s no camping on the beach.”

I considered explaining the difference between camping and sleeping. For once, I was smart enough to bite my tongue. I nodded and told them I would move on. I reluctantly crawled out of my warm sleeping bag and into the front seat.

As I re-started the Vega and steered away from the ocean toward town, I had no idea where to go next. My plan, meager as it might have been, evaporated with a few taps of an officer’s flashlight on my window. I drove the deserted streets of Long Beach hoping for inspiration.
Eventually, I saw an all-night diner. The pool of light from the window was warm and inviting, and I pulled in without thinking. I grabbed my spiral notebook, went inside, and sat down in a corner booth with a view of the deserted street. I was a pretty wild kid so I ordered a pot of tea. I intended to write my impression of the scrambled beginning of my trip. As soon as I opened my notebook, I discovered I didn’t want to write about that at all.

All I could think about was Dawn.

There was a battle inside me as I sat there. I wasn’t any more self-centered than the average teenager, but this trip was about me. I wanted to find out what it would be like to be on my own, with no one to direct me or look out for me. I wanted to discover what kind of person I was going to be when I was away from everyone I loved and cared about.

And yet, when all the other distractions in my life were removed, I couldn’t think of anything but Dawn. When I let my mind wander, my thoughts gravitated straight to her. When I closed my eyes, she filled my horizon.

In one life-changing moment I made a decision. I couldn’t take not knowing how Dawn felt about me anymore. I would rather know she didn’t care about me at all than continue to live in the dark. It would have been nice if I’d had this epiphany when I wasn’t 100 miles away, but I did the best I could with what I had. I opened my notebook and wrote a letter to Dawn.

Dear Dawn,

I’m sure you’re surprised to get a letter from me while I’m gone, but there are some things I want to tell you. We’ve been friends for a long time now, and I’ve always been more of a big brother to you than anything else. Lately I’ve been
having feelings toward you that aren’t “brotherly.”

As I was sitting here I realized something, and I want to say it to you right out loud. I love you. I suppose I started to love you quite a while ago, but it wasn’t until right now that I realized it completely. I know it’s strange telling you this in a letter, but I couldn’t take another day going by without telling you how I feel.

I don’t have any idea if you feel anything other than friendship toward me. If you don’t, that’s OK. Just throw this letter away and I’ll never mention it again. I’ll be home in a few days and if you want to, we can talk about it then.

Shawn

I left a dollar on the table to cover my tea, folded the letter up, and stuck it in an envelope I found in my glove box. I drove to the deserted post office and mailed it before I could change my mind. I felt pangs of regret as soon as the letter slid down the mail chute.

Why could I not leave well enough alone and let things be?
So many bad things could happen as a result of mailing the letter. If I could have reached in and retrieved it, I would have.

By the time I mailed the letter, it was around 2 AM and I was exhausted. I drove to a rest area a few miles outside of town with a sign that said “please limit your stay to 8 hours.” I figured I could handle that. This time I was asleep before my head hit the pillow, and I slept until the sun woke me up.

After a backwoods tour of rural Washington and Oregon over the next two days, I finally made my way to Baker. I was hoping to see my nieces. My brother Mickey had divorced their mom Sue years before, but I had always gotten along well with her and I knew she’d be glad to let me see the girls.

This turned out to be the first time my penchant for not calling ahead got me in trouble. When I pulled into Baker in the middle of the afternoon, I found a payphone and called the number I had for them, but there was no answer. After driving around and seeing what passed for the sights, I tried again. There was still no answer.

I remembered the girls’ grandmother, Joy, had also moved to Baker to be close to them. I looked up her number in the phone book and dialed. When she answered, I asked her if she knew when Amy Jo and Chrissy would be back.