Riding Shotgun

Danny's father was the king of real estate in Juneau, until the business was sold in later years. Although I didn't feel it in my bones, I was a poor boy. All the classic symptoms existed for that logical conclusion--trailer park, plastic utensils, Top Ramen and Kraft Macaroni and Cheese dinners, depleted and moth eaten wardrobe, one-sided world view, family-bred distrust of anyone not like us--but I knew I would some day rise above it. Problem was, nobody knew it but me.

Despite his privileged home life, Danny was a bit of a recluse, a survivalist of sorts. He became known for his red beret, and once walked into the high school shower after gym wearing his new hiking boots. Why? They won't mold to your feet unless you get them wet. He was so proud of his new crossbow that he stepped onto the bus holding it at his side, pointed to the sky, like Chuck Norris--and yes, he was wearing the red beret and camouflage pants. And he sat next to me.

I had a crush on a girl in my Geometry class, one of the few classes besides computer programming that I actually understood and did well in. Her name was Kathy. As far as I know, she didn't even know my name. She was a basketball player and had an athletic build. I made the mistake of telling Chris Clarke.

Danny's father bought him a monster pick up truck that you had to literally climb to get into. He took Chris and me for a cruise at lunch time. Danny drove, Chris rode shotgun, so that left me to ride "bitch." We pulled out of the school parking lot and hadn't gone far when we all spotted Kathy walking toward us on the sidewalk. She didn't see us until Chris unrolled the window and yelled, "Hey Kathy!" Then he ducked under the dashboard, out of sight.

Then she looked right at me, sitting snugged up next to Danny, and nobody on my other side.