Free Love's Illusions: A Novel by Jolene Cazzola Page A

stoned; his mother had an alcohol buzz going, and his sister, Candice or Candy for short… well I’m not sure what his sister was doing, but she was feeling no pain.
    We had a great day eating all the traditional American Thanksgiving foods. I had my first Perogies – stuffed dumplings, absolutely delicious served with butter, onions, sour cream and bacon; my first Piernik – a type of Polish honey cake stuffed with layers of raspberry jam and covered in chocolate; and my first Rum Baba – another fantastic dessert of yellow cake and pudding topped with pecans and a rum glaze. Mary Beth became the focus of attention as several of Michael’s friends took turns trying to pick her up; she played the game perfectly drawing them in and then shooting them down one by one.
    We spent the day eating, smoking, drinking, watching TV, and listening to Michael, Tom and some other guys from the neighborhood play their guitars, keyboard and drums. They all joked about their one and only gig when they briefly had dreams of becoming a famous rock n’ roll band – evidently their drummer was so wasted he tripped over something coming on stage, and went head first through the bass drum knocking the rest of them over, and effectively ending the gig before it started. The stories went on and on, and generally began with “Mike, do you remember when …?” Good-naturedly taunting each other about all the stupid things they had done over the years – most of the truly dumb or dangerous stuff were stunts led by Keith. Sometimes I wanted to know more about Keith, meet him myself, but most of the time, I was apprehensive about what things would be like if he were here. So for the moment, I was content with hearing the old stories.
    Mary Beth and I listened to all this in amazement – our high school experience had been a whole lot more subdued than theirs that was for sure. We didn’t have gangs or fist fights at school. And our extra-curricular activities only extended to occasionally smoking pot on Boston Common, or going into the city to watch a band playing at The Tea Party, a hippie club in Boston, even telling about Janis Joplin falling off the stage drunk or how the room was spinning when Hendrix played, or the mellow sounds of Joni Mitchell at some little hole-in-the-wall joint in Cambridge, didn’t put us in the same league. These guys had something totally different going on.
    “Hey Jackie, has Mike ever told you about when we ‘ borrowed ’ the Boreckis’ car and wrapped it around that telephone pole? It was a gas!” his best friend Jeff asked grinning from ear to ear.
    “No! I didn’t know you guys were into ‘ borrowing’ cars,” I replied, eyeing Michael, and returning Jeff’s playful grin. “I thought you just fixed them.”
    Michael was shaking his head, “Yeah, well we were only 16 at the time and Jeff here was trying to nail at least one of these twins he’d met out in Schaumburg…”
    “Me?” Jeff interrupted. “You’re the one who told me they were stone cold foxes man, and wanted to take one of them off my hands!”
    “Just trying to help ya’ out man; if you’re going to tell her the story, at least tell it all – admit you really wanted to keep them both for yourself.” Turning to me winking he added, “He’s greedy.” Then turning back to Jeff, “And tell her it was you who drove off the road when they both rejected you… What were those girl’s names Jeff? Don’t you have them tattooed on your ass, one name on each cheek?” Michael taunted.
    “Hell no,” Jeff slammed back, “I thought you tattooed the taller one’s name on yours!”
    “Well then, since I’m very familiar with Michael’s ass, and I know there aren’t any tattoos,” I said beaming at my momentary ability to say something salacious without turning ten shades of red, “I’m gonna have to believe his side of this story – sorry Jeff.” They all jeered and laughed as Michael pulled me over to him planting a