Lightning Bugs and Spring Storms
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Lightning In A BottleChapter 10: Front Row At The World Series free porn video
September 29, 1980
As the first month of the school year neared its conclusion, I'd settled quite nicely into life as a high school senior. I'd survived being grounded for a week, and moved onward after the fight. I'd maintained old friendships and began a few new ones. I used my hidden advantage – my 44-year-old brain – to gain every edge I could find. My "memory loss" issues had been pretty much eliminated. Everyone now treated me like my regular self. Socially, I was thriving in this new environment.
But academically? That was a whole different story.
My issue was motivation. I was suffering from an exaggerated case of "senioritis", the malady that many seniors suffer from when they have to survive that final year with nothing left to play for. My special circumstances only served to exacerbate the problem. I had basically been thrown into school at the beginning of senior year. I knew I'd done pretty well during my first three years at St. James. I'd already put up a very respectable SAT score. I knew what I wanted to do with my life, where I wanted to go to college, and I couldn't wait to get started. I knew full well that I'd already done enough to ensure my acceptance at Rutgers, even if I crashed and burned during my senior year. I tried to study – I had to make it look good for my parents' sake – but I'd lose interest, and my mind would wander constantly.
As a result, my early first quarter quiz and test results were not good. I was totally bombing out in French class, and having a very hard time with calculus and physics. The exception, of course, was American History. I found that class interesting and stimulating, and was easily able to muster the motivation to do well.
On this Monday afternoon, Mr. Hawkins decided to randomly split the class into groups of four, in order to have small group discussions. There were twenty-four students in the class, so there would be six groups. I wound up in a group with Patti Egan and two others. Evie, who I still had not had a chance to speak with, ended up in another group, the same one as my buddy Joe Myers.
Everyone moved about the classroom to form their respective groups. My group gathered in the desks surrounding Patti's wheelchair. It seemed apparent that I was not acquainted with any of my fellow group members, so I introduced myself. Patti smiled and spoke up.
"Hi, Pat. I'm Pat, too. Great name. From one Pat to another, you're already okay in my book."
I quickly discovered that Patti was okay in my book, too. Her cheery sense of humor kept us entertained as we began to discuss our assigned topic, the role of the British in the French and Indian War. Despite Patti's handicap – I still didn't know her story – she was really quite attractive. She had expressive, dancing blue eyes, long brown hair, and was wearing a cute blue and white sweater and fashionable jeans. I volunteered to take notes, while Patti agreed to verbally summarize our conclusions for the class. Which she did, near the end of the class, and quite eloquently, I might add.
As the bell rang to conclude the period, as well as the school day, Patti asked me, "What did you say your last name was?"
"O'Malley," I replied, curious as to why she was asking.
"Damn, a fellow Irishman, too," she responded, drawing a deep, affected, melodramatic sigh. "Will you marry me?"
I actually blushed. Believe me, it isn't easy to make me blush.
"Egan, you hussy," intoned a female voice from directly behind me, "stop hitting on all the guys. Leave a few for me." The words were spoken in jest, but the voice penetrated me to the core. It was one I'd heard many, many times before. I turned around, and beheld a grinning Evie.
Patti made the introduction. "Evie, this is Pat O'Malley. He's dreamy."
"Nice to meet you, Pat," Evie smiled. "I think I've seen you around, but I don't recall your face being this red."
I didn't reply directly to that. Rather, I raised my right arm, and pretended to sniff my armpit.
"I think I'll keep using this deodorant," I cracked. Both girls giggled.
But neither Evie nor Patti had time to stick around. "Bye, Dreamboat," Patti said with a wink. "See you tomorrow."
"Bye, Hot Stuff," I shot right back at her. "And nice meeting you, Evie." That last phrase sounded strange as hell to utter. But it was the correct thing to say at that point, wasn't it?
In response to the term of endearment I'd thrown at Patti, Evie suddenly burst into song. "I want some hot stuff, baby, this evening..." What was funny was that I'd heard her sing that very song, as a part of a band, in the other life! We'd messed around with it during practice once or twice.
I watched Patti roll away in her chair with Evie walking beside her. They made quite a pair. I wanted to say more to Evie, I really did. But I had to keep in mind that from her point of view, she was meeting me for the first time. It was bizarre; I had to perform an acting routine with just about everyone I encountered in school. There were people like Evie, a close friend in the other life, but someone who didn't know me at all in this one. Then, there were the ones like Joe Myers; a friend in this life, but someone I didn't know in the other timeline, essentially rendering him a stranger to me in this one.
It's no wonder that at the end of each school day, my brain was too tired to do homework.
The next day at lunch time, I congregated with the usual group of people: Diana, Dave, Joe, and Andy. The five of us typically had lunch together every day. I was seated next to Diana, with the three guys directly across the table. I happened to glance around, and spotted Evie and Patti together, by themselves, at a nearby table. Without further thought, I acted boldly.
"Mind if I ask a couple of friends to join us?" I asked everyone, making a risky move. With Diana, especially, I was pushing the envelope. Who knew how she'd react to my inviting a couple of girls to sit with us? I was about to find out. But I decided at that moment to go for broke, and fast-track my quest to once again become friends with Evie.
Everyone present answered in the affirmative, even Diana. So, I stood up and waved at Evie and Patti, motioning them to come over. They looked at each other, smiled and nodded, and started to make their way in our direction. Joe recognized them right away from history class, and grinned at me.
"Good move, Pat. They'll definitely liven things up at this table."
Grateful for Joe's endorsement, I stood up and moved the chair next to Diana, creating room for Patti's wheelchair. I wasn't strictly being noble; this was a preemptive move, aimed at helping Diana to feel as comfortable as possible. I wanted to make sure she was situated directly between me and the super-flirtatious Patti.
Evie, meanwhile, instead of sitting next to Patti, came around to the other side of the table, and sat down next to Dave, almost directly across from me.
Perfect! I thought. That could not have worked out any better.
I made the introductions, making it a point to refer to Diana as my girlfriend. The others had seen Patti around, but didn't know her well. Evie, on the other hand, was not acquainted with anyone in our group.
In the beginning, all the attention was focused on Patti, who was truly one of a kind. I was surprised – not to mention impressed – that once she realized that my girlfriend was sitting next to her, she dropped all of the "dreamboat" talk, in deference to Diana. Instead, she flirted shamelessly with the other three males at the table, who she referred to as "the three single guys". That earned her major points with Diana, who actually started to laugh at her antics. Outside of the restrictions of the classroom, Patti's biting, cutting sense of humor became more than a little X-rated. Soon, she had everyone in stitches.
With Patti keeping the others occupied, I turned and began to talk with Evie. It would be corny – and untrue – for me to say that we picked up right where we left off in the other timeline. She was comparatively much younger than I'd ever seen her, and in her mind, she had just met me the previous day. Although she was certainly no shrinking violet, she was reserved, especially in comparison to her effervescent sidekick. But eventually, the conversation did begin to flow, and I began to feel the first traces of the chemistry we'd had the first time around. I knew at that point we'd be good friends again. The dialogue veered toward our musical interests, about how both of us were talented vocalists. She told me about her saxophone skills; I mentioned my ability on the piano.
"What kind of music do you like?" I threw out there, thinking I could predict her answer, word for word.
"You won't believe this," Evie replied, flashing a smile, "but I'm a black rock chick." Yep ... that was exactly the phrase I knew she'd use. I'd heard it many times in the other life. "I'll actually be performing in the school talent show this Thursday evening with a couple of friends of mine."
"Thursday night?" I repeated, aware that I didn't have to work that evening. "Maybe I'll come and watch you."
"We really aren't that good," she said modestly, "but I'll appreciate any moral support I can get."
At that moment, we both shifted our attention to the discussion among the other members of our little group. Patti was beginning to talk about her disability. I listened intently.
"It was an auto accident," she began, "during the summer before tenth grade. My mom was driving, and I was in the passenger seat. We were coming home from the mall at ten o'clock on a Saturday night. Yes, I was wearing a seat belt. We were hit broadside by a drunk driver. He ran a red light at 50 miles per hour. Believe it or not, thankfully, my mom wasn't hurt at all, except for a few scratches. As for me ... I was seated directly at the point of impact."
Everyone gasped. I imagined they'd probably heard this sad tale in some form before, but hearing Patti describe it in this manner was unsettling. I stole a glance at Dave, wanting in particular to gauge his reaction. There was a message in this story that he needed to hear.
Patti continued, "I suffered a broken right arm, a broken right femur, and had cuts all over my face and arms from flying glass. But the worst injuries, and the reason I'm still in this metal contraption, were two fractured lumbar vertebrae and what they described to me as an incomplete spinal cord injury." She stopped and let that sink in.
"I was hospitalized for a couple of months. All of the injuries except the spinal one healed up nicely. I've been through intensive physical therapy ever since. I still go two or three times a week. I do have some use of my legs. I can stand up, although I'm a little wobbly. Sometimes, I can even take a step or two."
It was Dave who finally spoke up. "Have you been improving over time? Do they think you'll continue to get better?"
"To answer your first question," she replied, "yes, I've shown slow but steady improvement. I had almost no feeling in my legs at first. It's been hard work – harder than you can imagine – but like I said, I'm now able to stand. As for the second question, no one, not even the doctors, can say for sure. It's uncommon for paralysis victims to show much improvement after about nine months, but I've beaten the odds a little in that respect. I've actually amazed the doctors. Will it continue? The best answer I can give you is ... who knows?"
I then weighed in, "How much school did you miss?"
"I missed the first three months of tenth grade. I was out till December. I had a in-home tutor for a while. Once I was feeling a little better, I hit the books and made up what I missed."
I didn't want to embarrass her by pointing this out, but she'd been through all that ... and still managed to be ranked number one in the senior class? Talk about extraordinary!
The bell rang to end the lunch period. Patti and Evie would continue to join us every day at lunch; the Gang of Five became the Gang of Seven. As everyone left for class, I pulled Dave aside.
"What are you doing on Thursday night?" I asked him, then informed him of my plans.
"Nothing at all," he said with a grin. "Sounds good. I'm there."
October 2, 1980
I'd arrived home from school (by way of Diana's place) a few minutes ago. I was in the basement of our house, gazing at my electronic keyboard, doing a little daydreaming. I was starting to visualize the re-creation of our band in this life.
Sitting against the wall, not far from the keyboard, was an acoustic guitar which appeared to be in good condition. I wondered where it came from; I never owned one in the other timeline. It stood to reason that it must belong to one of my siblings, right? Or maybe not.
I decided to ask Eileen. Guitar in hand, I marched upstairs to her room. The door was open a crack; she was busy with her homework. I politely knocked on the door; the actual teenage version of me would probably have barged right in.
"Come in," she yelled.
I opened the door and stepped inside. My sister was prone on her bed, her legs pointing up in the air, a pencil in her hand, and her face buried in a book.
"Oh, it's you,"she said, a little startled. "I thought it was Mom or Dad."
"Nope, it's just me. Got a question for ya. Whose guitar is this? Is it yours?" I pointed at my head, reminding her that I still had a touch of amnesia.
"It's mine," she confirmed, "but I've hardly ever used it. Mom and Dad gave it to me for Christmas a couple of years ago. But with voice and piano lessons, plus school, I just don't have time to learn the guitar."
"Mind if I borrow it?"
"You're going to learn how to play the guitar?" She looked at me quizzically.
"Maybe," I grinned. "I've thought about it."
Eileen got up and reached under her bed. She pulled out a couple of books. Introductory guitar books!
"If you'd like, you can have these. They were also a Christmas gift. I've never even looked at them."
"Thanks, Eileen," I replied sincerely. "I'll let you get back to your studying."
Of course, I had a plan. I was a natural musician. I was confident I could easily teach myself to play the guitar. And if I could become even a mediocre guitarist, it would be a giant plus for this future band that right now, existed only in my mind. Yes, the keyboard would always be number one with me. But versatility among band members opens a lot of doors.
After dinner, I asked Mom if she would give me a ride back to school.
"There's a talent show I want to watch," I explained. "A friend of mine is in it."
And so, she dropped me off a short while later. Dave was already there. Inside the auditorium, we sat as close to the front as we could. The event got underway. At times, calling it a "talent show" was a stretch. There was a juggling act, a marginally funny comic performance, and a particularly hideous attempt at a vaudeville routine. There were dance acts of all kinds, ranging in quality from excellent to atrocious. Music acts were interspersed in between, from soloists to groups, an eclectic mix of styles. Finally, Evie's act took the stage, and was introduced.
"Two Guys and a Girl?" Dave cracked upon hearing the name of their group. "What the hell kind of name is that? I hope Evie isn't the one who thought it up."
Their act consisted of a male vocalist, a male pianist, and Evie on the saxophone. They performed Billy Joel's "Just The Way You Are". The pianist might charitably have been described as middling. The vocalist was even worse. He was all over the place, pitch-wise. But Evie's sax work carried them through. She brought the performance to a conclusion with a riveting solo that was subdued yet heartfelt.
"She's damn good," Dave remarked with admiration, as we both applauded heartily. "I could listen to her play all night."
"Me too," I concurred, familiar with Evie's talent. Even at this young age, it was quite evident.
"I can't say as much for her two friends," Dave chuckled, "but it was worth coming here tonight, if only to watch Evie."
We waited for her in the lobby after the show. She spotted us before we saw her, and greeted us with a surprised smile.
"You guys showed up after all. Thanks for the support."
"You were incredible," I told her earnestly. "The star of the evening, as far as I'm concerned."
"Hear, hear," concurred Dave.
Evie's smile grew wider as she took in the praise. Then a serious look came over her face.
"What did you think of my two friends?"
Dave and I looked at each other, not sure how to answer that one. Dave responded first in a non-verbal manner. He made a zipping motion across his mouth. I laughed and did the same.
"Aww, come on, you guys, be nice," Evie said with a half-smile. "They try hard."
I looked at Dave, and then Dave looked at Evie, and then she looked at me. In unison, all three of us burst out laughing. In a few seconds, we were in hysterics. When the laughter died down, I said what was on my mind.
"You know, if you combine the talents of the three of us, we're one lead guitarist and one bass player away from being able to form a pretty decent band."
Both Dave and Evie nodded enthusiastically, but I said no more on the subject. It was far too soon. I just wanted to plant a seed.
October 3, 1980
The next evening, a Friday, was Homecoming. It was a cool early autumn night. Accompanied by Diana, Dave, Andy and Joe, I watched the St. James football team emerge victorious by a two-touchdown margin. Afterward, Diana and I went by ourselves to the Homecoming dance. Our three male partners in crime, none of whom had girlfriends at present, blew the scene, most likely in search of libation-related entertainment.
As the dance wound down, Diana and I left with a few of her friends, Tony Coletti and Sarah Livingston among them. We walked about a half mile to a secluded wooded area. There was a keg party in progress, and the beer was flowing freely in copious amounts. Diana and I proceeded to get trashed. I mean rip-roaring, shitfaced drunk, every bit as obliterated as Dave and Gina had been that evening at the beach. And the scary part was, the next day, neither one of us could even remember how we got home. It was quite likely we'd been driven by someone in a similar state of intoxication. You'd think we both would have known better, after hearing Patti's story just the other day, and after being so self-righteous with Dave about his drinking.
Becky
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