JEBUS IT HAS BEEN A WHILE
“I was a little too tall, could've used a few pounds
Tight pants points hardly renown
She was a black-haired beauty with big dark eyes
And points all her own sitting way up high
Way up firm and high”
Mr. Bob Seger
I was not a little too tall and I could’ve lost quite a few pounds during my early teens. I was not real popular with the ladies either. I had that perfect teenaged storm that included embarrassingly bad acne, chubbiness that gave me breasts comparable to a fourteen-year-old girl, and the social skills of a rabid poo-throwing chimp. While I can look back and cringe at my teenaged years, the cards I was dealt gave me life skills that I value today. One of the most valuable skills earned during those years, that I use to this day, is that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
Her name was Lori Heathmont and she was the most beautiful girl in the world. Well, the most beautiful girl in MY world. The first time I saw her was in 8th grade in between classes standing outside the science lab talking to a ninth-grade boy. She had long chestnut hair that was feathered past her cheekbones and she would comb her hair with a baby blue large handled comb that she kept in her back pocket of her skintight Jordache jeans. She was also wearing a white baseball jersey style t-shirt with black sleeves. I remember the fizz in my nether regions when I realized that the shirt was tight enough that I could see the outline of her bra straps cupping her tiny breasts. Luckily, I was conscience enough to look beyond her pert boobies and take notice of what was emblazoned on her shirt. She was wearing a silkscreened concert t-shirt for Detroit’s own Bob Seger and The Silver Bullet Band.
I learned everything I could about Mr. Seger, just in case I was given the chance to partake in a random conversation about music with my dream girl. 8th grade ended without that conversation happening and summer quickly evolved into an even more awkward 9th grade. I would go out of my way to catch a glimpse of Lori standing in the hallway in between classes and halfway through the school year I was granted my one single prayer to the powers that be. Lori not only shared my algebra class, she also sat right beside me in the second to last row of desks.
Soon each algebra class began with Lori, wearing an ever-rotating concert t-shirt from her collection, whispering if I had done the algebra homework and if she could copy it. I gladly handed it over and whispered back that I was happy to complete her homework for her. That semester, I completed every page of homework for her and even tried to write it in her own handwriting. I would even let her copy my answers on every quiz and test we had. What is strange is that my final grade for that algebra class only topped out at a meager C+, meaning that my sweet Lori probably only got a C or lower. But Lori was happy with the grade she received and you could say we became friends. Lori even gave me her phone number so I could call her if I couldn’t do her homework. The only time I called her number was after 11pm on a Friday night. I hung up before anyone answered.
The school year ended and I vowed to enter my first year of high school a new and different man. Over the hot summer months, I rode my bicycle everywhere, lost my baby chub man boobs and listened to every Bob Seger song I had tape recorded off of the three rock stations in Metro Detroit.
My first year of high school began with me desperately trying to find my sweet Lori within the huge school campus. I did find her after fourth period, huddled in the rain behind the auto shop class, smoking cigarettes with a couple of senior boys. She was wearing a new Bob Seger t-shirt. She jumped when I walked up behind her and touched her elbow.
I blurted a quivering “Hello”.
She turned and squinted while looking from my feet towards my head. At first, I thought she may not recognize me after my dramatic summer weight loss, but her eyes widened and she uttered a warm “Hey, you. You look different”.
In a brilliant display of cat like reflexes I sang an altered version of Mr. Seger’s Night Moves. “Little too tall, had to lose a few pounds”.
The smoking senior boys laughed first, then Lori quietly joined them. I changed the subject by reminding Lori that I would be happy to help her with any of her homework.
She gave me a “Thanks”, before turning towards the senior boys to get her fresh Newport lit.
A book report on ‘Catcher in The Rye’, Algebra 2 homework sheets, and a pastel drawing of a cat for Lori’s art class were among the first of many assignments I completed and delivered to the concrete patch outside the auto shop class that fall. Fall turned to winter and soon spring bloomed with my 16th birthday. I passed my driver's test on the second try and my parents rewarded me with a $100 silver 1971 Cadillac Sedan De Ville and because I had a part time job scooping ice-cream at Baskins Robbins, I was rewarded with a highly coveted high school parking pass. Even most seniors didn’t even have parking passes. I can still remember Lori’s eyes light up when I said that I had a car and she wouldn’t ever have to ride the bus home again. So, for the next few weeks, when the school day ended and at her request, I drove Lori to the old city park out on Plymouth Road. Every day, before she hopped out of my car and trotted towards several of her friends sitting on the park picnic tables smoking cigarettes, she would lightly pat my right knee and throw me a cheerful “Thanks’”.
“Anytime” I would answer, leaning towards her hoping for a kiss.
A week or so before the school year ended, while on a short break in the back room of Baskins Robbins, I saw the concert schedule for Michigan’s famous Pine Knob outdoor music theater. The second week in August, Mr. Bob Seger and his Silver Bullet band were scheduled to play. The very next day on the concrete patch outside the auto shop class, I asked Lori if she would like to go. She was giddy with excitement and asked several questions that I did not have the answers too.
“How many tickets?”, “Can I bring Jenny and her sister?”, and “Where are we sitting” where all answered with the fact that I didn't have any tickets yet but I might be able to get them. I promised her that I would get them and call her when I did, then I handed her that week’s homework that I had done for her.
I prayed that night that I would be able to get tickets to Mr. Bob Seger, but not before asking my dad for a little help. My dad was a kinda high up guy for a major mid-western grocery chain and many times found himself bringing home ‘gifts’ like Indy 500 Pepsi Cola box seat tickets, front row KISS tickets for my brothers, and an impressive collection of food company sponsored electronic toys. One night after he had come home late from work drunk, I planted my request with him while he sat at the kitchen table imbibing a little ‘hair of the dog’. Several weeks passed and my heart sank a little bit every day I did not see an envelope of concert tickets on my bed. I dared not ask my father a second time for fear of him turning me down out of spite. Three days before Bob Seger’s scheduled performance and after a hard night shift of scooping ice cream, I found an envelope containing four tickets for Pine Knob’s lawn section to attend Bob Seger and his Silver Bullet band. I hugged my dad for the first time in my life that night, then I called Lori.
“Is Lori there?” I asked after four rings and a woman who I assumed was her mother answered.
“LORI, PHONE!” her mother yelled.
Five minutes of audible shuffling and Lori yelled back “OK, I GOT IT HANG UP MOM”.
“Hello Lori, this is Topher” I could hear breathing on the line when Lori yelled “MOM HANG UP THE FUCKING PHONE”. The breathing stopped followed by a click.
“I got the Bob Seger tickets” I told her.
“HOW MANY?” Lori squealed.
She was very excited. I told her I got four tickets for the lawn section and a parking pass.
“Is lawn the only tickets you could get?” she asked with a sad note.
I told Lori I did my best and would be happy to drive her and her friends to the show, bring all the blankets to sit on and pack a cooler of pop and sandwiches. Lori told me to pick everyone up for the show at Jenny’s house and gave me a time and directions.
The day before the concert I asked my boss at Baskin Robbins for the day of the concert off. Mr. Samuel, the owner, told me that the work schedule had been up for an entire month and that I could not have the day off. I told him that I could not work at all on Friday and I absolutely needed the day off. Mr. Samuel then told me that if I don’t show up on Friday, don’t bother showing up on Monday. While at first, I was excited about having a four-day weekend, I quickly realized that I was being fired. I finished my shift that night and turned in my ice cream scoop for the last time knowing that it was for the best. I used my last paycheck to fill the thirty-gallon tank of my Cadillac.
The day of the concert I awoke, washed and ironed my favorite jeans and my only Bob Seger jersey t-shirt, packed two quilts my grandmother made for my mother, prepared several sandwiches and loaded a Styrofoam cooler with the sandwiches, a cold twelve pack of Doctor Pepper soda pop and ice. I then drove to Lori’s friend Jenny’s house, parked around the corner at a Shell gas station and waited three hours for the pickup time.
Lori’s friend Jenny lived out on the north part of town on a dirt road. Jenny’s family were Catholics and she had several older and younger brothers and sisters that I had never met. Five o'clock came, I parked in the street and was just about to get out of my Caddy to make the walk up to Jenny’s front door when the screen door sprang open and Lori, Jenny and her sister Bridget flew towards my car. Bridget turned and yelled, presumably to her parents, “We’ll be fucking home when we get home!”.
Ten minutes into the hour drive to the Pine Knob music theater I heard the frosty pop of beer cans being opened and smelled an odor that I had never smelled before in my life. Even with all four windows down and at highway speeds, the skunk weed smoke filled the Caddy. My three passengers giggled and spoke about boys they knew but never offered me a ‘toke’ or a sip of beer, not that I would have accepted, getting to the concert on time took every sober brain cell I had. The trip to Pine Knob was completed in six beers and two pot cigarettes and after flashing my red parking pass, we entered the preferred parking lot next to the ticket gates. Everyone tumbled out of my Caddy and Lori said one word “Tickets?”.
“OH, Sorry. Here you go” I paused unloading the cooler and the two quilts from the Caddy’s trunk and handed each girl a single ticket.
“If you give me a minute, we can all go in” I reminded them while wrestling with the quilts and cooler.
“We’ll see you in there” Bridget cackled as the three turned toward the gates and disappeared within the growing crowd. After a few adjustments, I was able to balance a quilt on each shoulder and hug the cooler with both arms while holding my ticket in my right hand. The ticket guy opened my cooler, ripped the stub off my ticked and ushered me in. A long walk later I found myself at the top of the outdoor lawn seating section and found a spot on its rapidly filling green grass. I laid out both of my grandmother’s quilts, sat my cooler filled with drinks and snacks between them, perched myself in the center and began to wait for Lori to find me.
After about an hour and a half, and several attempts by my concert going neighbors to rob me of my two quilt acreage, I saw Lori climbing up the hill with Jenny. Standing by my cooler and waving my arms above my head as if I were trying to take flight, I was able to get Lori’s attention.
Lori and Jenny passed me to take a seat on the quilts and I caught the smell of pot and cheap beer on them. They began giggling and talking about boys when I thought it may be smart to get some food in them. I opened the cooler and offered Lori and Jenny a wet peanut butter and jelly sandwich. They waved me off and began laughing and singing ‘Peanut Butter’ over and over. The sun began to set and you could hear the tuning of instruments on the darkened stage.
Lori and Jenny were talking about boys and giggling when Bridget appeared standing above us and announced, “I found them”. Lori and Jenny leapt to their feet as I asked, “Found who?”. I don’t think they heard me.
But, as they walked towards the covered seating area, Lori turned and yelled “Thanks for the tickets, Topher”. All three girls vanished in the dimming light.
There was no opening band and soon Bob Seger began his set with ‘American Storm’ and followed with ‘Makin’ Thunderbirds’. It was during ‘Mainstreet’ that cool drops of rain began to fall upon the open-air lawn section of the Pine Knob Music Theater. With every guitar riff the rain began to fall in greater quantities. By the time ‘Like A Rock’ filled the air, sheets of rain surrounded all who remained on the muddy lawn. As hard as I tried to stop fellow concert goers from stepping on my grandmother’s two quilts, it began to become impossible to prevent the increasing herd of people from ignoring my whimpering request to walk around the quilts.
Mr. Seger’s rendition of ‘Night Moves’ was beautiful and the pouring rain hid my tears. That song spoke to me that night like no other piece of music. ‘Hollywood Nights’ ended the set and after a half hour of applause, the outdoor theater lights were turned on and flooded the entire outdoor venue. In the cool August evening rain, I waited for Lori and her friends to find me for the ride home.
Two hours later it had stopped raining and I had the idea that Lori may be waiting for me at my Caddy in the parking lot. I rolled up the two wet quilts as best I could, left empty the Styrofoam cooler, and headed for my car. The lights of the almost empty parking lot illuminated my Caddy in a sickly yellow hue and in the yellow light, I deduced two facts, my guests were not waiting for me and, in my haste to hand out tickets, I forgot to roll up all four windows of my Caddy.
I placed the two tons of muddy wet handmade quilts in the trunk, scooped out four inches of standing rainwater from the floor of my car and waited another two hours for Lori and her guests to find me as I began to shiver uncontrollably.
The drive home was very cold and lonely.
The next morning began the worst day of my life. I awoke at 9 a.m. and called Lori’s house to see if she made it home from the concert safe. Lori’s mom didn’t know what I was talking about and told me Lori said she was spending the night at Jenny’s. She also asked, “What the fuck is going on?”. I hung up.
An hour after the phone call, I made my mother cry. She had found the wet muddy wad of homemade quilts, that her mother had made, in the garage where I had left them the night before. They were ruined and it was my fault.
With my mother crying behind him, my father then asked me “It’s Saturday, shouldn’t you be at work?”.
I told my father that I had been fired on Thursday.
“Fucking idiot”, my father mumbled as he turned to console my mother.
Two weeks later, on September third, 11th grade began. That first day, during lunch, I walked out to the concrete patch behind the auto shop class to find that it had been fenced off and now was the home of used tires and rusted engines. I didn’t see Lori for another week after school getting into a senior guy’s 1975 Mustang II. She had dyed her hair blonde and was wearing an Ozzy Osborne concert shirt. I gave a halfhearted wave from the sidewalk, but she didn’t see me. That semester, I heard through the grapevine that the student smoking area had moved from the behind the auto shop to behind the football field concession stand. Too far for me to visit and be on-time for any of my classes. Lori would have to do her own homework that year, I figured.
I saw Lori a few more times that semester, hanging out in the lunchroom with the senior boys and the owner of that Mustang II, but something prevented me from saying “hello”. It may have been the fear that I had gotten her in trouble with her mom the morning after the concert. Or, it may have been the disappointment in myself for not being as cool as the guy that owned that Mustang II. Regardless of the reason, I grew up a little bit that school year and taught myself not to always reach indiscriminately for the first dream that pops into your head.
Since then, I have let go of quite a few dreams because a steady patch of paved straight road is far safer than an unmarked trail. This personal belief has allowed me to bypass what could have been sure failures in music, art and love and also has afforded me a fantastic middle management position with nice benefits. I have trained myself to never reach for the highest apple on the tree, when sometimes the ones on the ground are sweet enough.
My senior year of high school I heard that Lori had dropped out because she got pregnant. She didn’t marry the guy with the Mustang II, but she did marry a guy who sells mortgage insurance and, with their four kids, they make a pretty good living (according to her Facebook and Tik-Tok page).
My silver 1971 Cadillac Sedan De Ville threw a rod on a frigid February morning driving to school. I had it towed to a junkyard and got $25 for it. Working two jobs, I was able to buy a 1975 Cadillac Coupe De Ville just in time for the first day of my senior year. I then sold that car so I could attend the art school I would eventually drop out of.
