1984 TO 1990, 6 DRY YEARS
After the Nantasket Beach fight against Hannah during my sophomore year at Bridgewater State, I began the awkward transition from childhood to young adulthood. Today, in 2018, with Millenials spending their elongated childhoods living with their parents (sometimes in their actual childhood bedrooms, not even bothering to move to the basement anymore), playing XBox or Playstation, binge watching TV series or all 15 episodes of Star Wars, that statement of how I spent my years between 20 and 26 probably doesn't mean much. Heck, in 2018, you can stay on your parents' health insurance until you're 26.
But I was 20 to 26 in the 1980s. If you hadn't cut ties with your parents by age 22 back then, you were a loser. And even worse, a loser who was shunned by your peers, which in turn made it even harder to cut ties with your parents, your last source of human connection in a time before you could log in to Facebook or Snapchat.
Things started unraveling in the spring of 1985. April came, the 6-week window of graduated high school senior out late at night looking for parties, trouble and girlfights. Maureen and I drove around Braintree and Brockton, making our presence, and our willingness to take any 18- or 19- year old who so desired down a peg if she wanted, known.
There were no takers. My reputation as someone who had knocked Wendy out of the Brockton public school system, and who had made Hannah cum under me in front of 8 girls at Nantasket Beach, was too fearsome. No one wanted a piece of that action. Fighting just about anyone else carried less risk.
So that 6 weeks in 1985 came and went for Maureen and I without me finding any fights.
And that six weeks in 1986.
And that six weeks in 1987, my final year at Bridgewater State. By which point, the Spelman and Williams girls didn't hang out much anyways at Braintree Mall or even Nantasket Beach--they were living even further away from Brockton and Braintree, even further than Weymouth, in places like Scituate and Duxbury and Hanover. They hung out in suburban homes where both parents were absent, just like Brockton. Except in Brockton the parents were absent due to divorce, and in the new towns the parents were absent due to busy jobs or exotic travel destinations.
Maureen felt very awkward at the parties. Saying we were from Brockton triggered nervous giggles from the girls. We stopped attending in 1988.
And Maureen had a falling out with my stepmom, I assume over money. She moved out, and didn't keep up her friendship with me.
By the end of 1988, even when I wanted to go out, I had nobody to go out WITH.
My step mom was sad and lonely as well, her youthful looks fading. She had been with Maureen so long, I think she had forgotten how to flirt with men.
I got a job on Route 128 doing coding for a customer service tech company. My choice of English as a major probably wasn't the greatest career choice, but the Massachsetts Miracle had one last gasp to go in it (it didn't come crashing down until 1990-91), so I rode the wave, burying myself in my career for all of 1989, enjoying my first real paycheck and getting 401(k) statements. Maybe I vould impress the Spelman-Williams rich bitches this way.
In the spring of 1990, my mother and I started walking at night around our old neighborhood. We started walking by Wendy's house. We knew Wendy's daughter was school age by now, so the daughter probably wasn't living in the house--the Brockton primary school system had continued to deteriorate, so sending a 7-year old to Brockton public schools was not an option to be considered in sny but the most desperate circumstances. No, Wendy and her daughter likely lived with a relative in a surrounding suburb.
But someone was definitely living in Wendy's old house, the yard still as junked up as the October 1981 afternoon when Wendy and I had our catfight in the leaves. It appeared to be a single man in his 30s, probably Wendy's brother, the same person now grown up who had answered the door when I walked over to fight Wendy after she called me a slut at the Homecoming Pep Rally all those years before.
We asked some neighbors to the old house what was up there, and where Wendy was at. My mom seemed as interested as me. It gave a sense of purpose and anticipation to our evening walks.
> Remember the week you and Wendy got into three catfight? Three catfights in one week!!
My stepmom seems to relish using the word catfight twice.
> Well, it was partly your fault, Mom. You broke up the first fight before it was over.
> I know, but, Baby, you didn't understand what two girls csn do to each other in a fight.
> Hate to break it to you, Mom, but I did. She and I had fought a month earlier. Alone. At home.
> You what? .... you did? .... Lisa, that's .... but ..... for how long.
> Maybe 20 minutes. She choked me out. It was my first fight.
> Lisa, that's ..... horrible. .... why didn't you tell me??
> Lots of reasons ..... shame that I lost, mostly. Why didn't YOU tell ME about your catfights?
> Touche.
> So, any questions?
> Do you want to fight Wendy again?
> More than anything.
to be continued.....