Meanwhile back in 1989
Jul. 24th, 2005 07:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonThe cop sirens were flashing. Bill pulled over. An electronic voice ordered everyone to step outside. Bill stepped. Skinhead Dave came next shotgun. One at a time, emerging into the midday sun with smirks and giggles, Tim, Brad & Dirty Mike stepped out from the back seat. The three hobos arrested after the JFK assasination;the three assassins of Hiram tatooed like Mauri tribesmen. The back door pops open on the Datsun Hatchback 120. I hop out right in front of the cop car. Aaron & Matt step cautiously out, like castaways touching down for land for the first time in ages. Finally Dumpster Dave springs out, the final joker jack-in-the-boxing out of a punk rock clown car. Bill smiles like there is'nt a worry in the world:
"What seems to be the problem officers?"
Our Principle pulls up in a golf cart driven by Buffalo, our highschool security officer. They spot Bill & I. School is just getting out, fleets of yellow juggernauts cruise by, a row of shocked and laughing faces pressed against the window. "The Freaks were at it again!" It was easy to forget that all this was because Bill promised Steve to show up at this big fight with some 'friends'. He gathered up the 'Guys' and stuffed them into the one working ride available (all other cars having been requistioned by the authority of the various girlfriends paying for their rent). We got caught in one of the many drug stings the police set up around our school. Stranahan High was a 'No-Go' zone. It was the living incarnation of an old 80's highschool romance movie that was slowly turning into an old 80's post-apopyltic gang movie. There was "Zulu Nation", "The Latin Kings" & "The Davie Boys". In the cracks and along the fringes of this shopping mall version of tribal warfare were the Freaks: Punks, Skins, Goths, Stoners,Metal Heads, the usual suspects. In short the disenfranchised.
I didn't have to say shit to the police. My principle had that one squared away.
"This one wants to join the Navy!" He told the officer joting details of me into a notepad.
"Him? Pfff"
"Want's to be a ... tell him what you want to be"
"A SEAL!" I mutter
"A Navy SEAL!" The cop barks a laugh in my face.
"Their clear" another officer says joining in. The bluff held. Fake names had been invoked to pass clear the Tower & The Two Dogs. A fake memorized social security number memorized and recited to grant them invisibility. Bill had dropped out of Stranahan about two months prior. Got himself a place, a car & a job and that was all he needed. The rest came naturally. That left me. The sole(soul?) suspect, they could hold me there, call my parents...
Buffalo nods over at me to the principle
"What about Mos-Cow over here?"
"Who the Navy SEAL?" He looks me up and down and shakes his head in fatigued disgust.
"Let 'em go!"
The police let us off with a warning. Said only five people in that vehicle tops. Four of us would have to schlep the two miles to the apartment behind the gaybar off 95. The sun was hot. The cop cars dispersed to find bigger fish to fry, the golf cart was remounted and driven off. The buses were gone. Bill fired up the Datsun and gave me a look to hop in.
"I'll meet you guys there."
The big fight called on the count of rain. That was fine by me. I was'nt really a member of anything. I was embedded. I was a quiet witness and had seen enough. We made our way back. Combat boots, mohawks & all.
"What seems to be the problem officers?"
Our Principle pulls up in a golf cart driven by Buffalo, our highschool security officer. They spot Bill & I. School is just getting out, fleets of yellow juggernauts cruise by, a row of shocked and laughing faces pressed against the window. "The Freaks were at it again!" It was easy to forget that all this was because Bill promised Steve to show up at this big fight with some 'friends'. He gathered up the 'Guys' and stuffed them into the one working ride available (all other cars having been requistioned by the authority of the various girlfriends paying for their rent). We got caught in one of the many drug stings the police set up around our school. Stranahan High was a 'No-Go' zone. It was the living incarnation of an old 80's highschool romance movie that was slowly turning into an old 80's post-apopyltic gang movie. There was "Zulu Nation", "The Latin Kings" & "The Davie Boys". In the cracks and along the fringes of this shopping mall version of tribal warfare were the Freaks: Punks, Skins, Goths, Stoners,Metal Heads, the usual suspects. In short the disenfranchised.
I didn't have to say shit to the police. My principle had that one squared away.
"This one wants to join the Navy!" He told the officer joting details of me into a notepad.
"Him? Pfff"
"Want's to be a ... tell him what you want to be"
"A SEAL!" I mutter
"A Navy SEAL!" The cop barks a laugh in my face.
"Their clear" another officer says joining in. The bluff held. Fake names had been invoked to pass clear the Tower & The Two Dogs. A fake memorized social security number memorized and recited to grant them invisibility. Bill had dropped out of Stranahan about two months prior. Got himself a place, a car & a job and that was all he needed. The rest came naturally. That left me. The sole(soul?) suspect, they could hold me there, call my parents...
Buffalo nods over at me to the principle
"What about Mos-Cow over here?"
"Who the Navy SEAL?" He looks me up and down and shakes his head in fatigued disgust.
"Let 'em go!"
The police let us off with a warning. Said only five people in that vehicle tops. Four of us would have to schlep the two miles to the apartment behind the gaybar off 95. The sun was hot. The cop cars dispersed to find bigger fish to fry, the golf cart was remounted and driven off. The buses were gone. Bill fired up the Datsun and gave me a look to hop in.
"I'll meet you guys there."
The big fight called on the count of rain. That was fine by me. I was'nt really a member of anything. I was embedded. I was a quiet witness and had seen enough. We made our way back. Combat boots, mohawks & all.