I don't remember if I posted this before, so...
This post prominently features "Debbie," whose introduction I haven't posted yet. From that chapter:
She wore a white
one piece bathing suit and mirrored sunglasses as she relaxed on the lounge
chair on the balcony reading a book. She
had a gorgeous body: huge breasts, perfect legs, and fiery red hair. She was an absolute knockout- I’d never seen
anyone like her in my life. A woman
among girls. And she didn’t notice me-
but why would she? She was reading a
book.
...
A minute later,
she opened the door. She’d wrapped a
white towel around her hips.
Debbie was maybe
five seven. She had a round Irish face
with prominent apple cheeks speckled with freckles. She had almond shaped hazel eyes and a wide
full mouth. Her red hair touched the
bottom of her shoulder blades and framed everything beautifully.
...
Debbie was a criminology
major going into her senior year. She
stayed up for the summer to do an internship for a law firm out on University Drive,
where she was well paid.
Jones
asked her about her boyfriend, and she made a sour face.
“She
dates a football player” he said in a mocking tone.
“Shut
up!” she said as she kicked his chair.
She then turned toward me and smiled.
"Jones" was the guy I was subletting from- a Marine ROTC about to go on his summer obligation. The apartment was in Armenara Plaza, on Beaver Ave.
Armenara Plaza, Summer 1988
***********************************************************
Chapter 2.147: Macaroni and Cheese
Party
Wednesday, June 22, 1988 The region grows parched-with no break in
sight
I
hate macaroni and cheese. No, really- I
fucking HATE macaroni and cheese! My mom
made it all the time while I was growing up because that is what we could
afford, and I ate it because I was hungry.
But I hated it, and now I don’t have to eat it. I’ve held brains in my hand. Want to know what it feels like? Macaroni and cheese.
Whenever
I visited home during a semester, when I came back to school my mom always gave
me a “care package” and it always contained five boxes of macaroni and
cheese. In the dorm at Drexel, or the
apartment or in the house there was always someone who wanted them, so I’d
trade for stuff I found edible.
Problem
was, during that summer I had no one with whom to trade. After a few quick trips, I had more than
thirty fucking boxes of macaroni and cheese lying around and I still was not
desperate enough to eat them.
So
Deb was over at my place typing something on my computer and she heard me
clunking around in the kitchen. I was
reorganizing what little I had and putting all the macaroni and cheese into one
big box. Deb saw me putting the last
blue box in with all the others.
“Macaroni
and cheese! Oh I love that! It’s so good!” Her whole body radiated happiness. Eye contact, Lance.
“Wanna make some?”
she asked.
“Um,
you can if you want. I can’t stand it.”
“Oh
what’s wrong with you? It’s so creamy
and cheesy, especially the Kraft kind you have!
Wow! How many boxes do you have?”
“I
dunno. Maybe thirty?”
“Why
do you have so much if you hate it?”
“My
mom puts it in care packages. Usually I
trade it away, but I haven’t found anyone to trade with since I moved in here.”
“Awww! Isn’t that cute? Mommy makes you care packages!” She said, trying to look sickeningly
sweet. “Still, I’ll trade! Thirty!
That’s enough for a party!”
Party? A bell seemed to go off in both our heads. Penn Staters will use any excuse for a party.
“We
should have a macaroni and cheese party!
Macaroni and cheese and drinks and music! It’ll be awesome!” Deb hopped up and down and clapped.
Fuck
eye contact!
Thursday, June 23, 1988 Phila sweats in high of 100
Deb
made some calls, and by the time I finished work at three, the party was ready.
I supplied the macaroni and cheese as well as my bartending skills, and she
supplied the beer, rum, and the place. I
also negotiated another little perk, but I’ll get to that later.
So
on yet another in a long string of broiling hot summer afternoons, about twenty
of Deb’s friends sat around drinking and eating steaming plates of
yellow-orange goo as they got drunk off their asses. I couldn’t reach George. Oh well.
Me? I had some pizza with my
beer, brought by one of the guests. It
was fun to watch the guys stare more and more at Deb as they got more and more
drunk. Like I wasn’t? Sing it Terence.
Wish me love a wishing well
To kiss and tell
A wishing well of crocodile cheers
The
macaroni and cheese kept going long after the hot sun set and we started in on
the “secret stash” of vodka. With each
batch of cheesy gloppy shit Deb or someone else tried adding stuff like hot
peppers, A-1, any handy spice, eggs, beer, vodka, whatever.
There
were some interesting piles of puke later, I’m sure.
I
suggested adding ground beef and tomatoes, which Deb did. (That’s how my mom always used to make
it.) I used some of the beef, mixed with
A-1 to make a sloppy sandwich. The new
single from INXS came on the radio. I
really liked it- especially after watching Deb bounce around to it for a bit.
Are you ready for a new sensation
A new sensation
Right now
Gonna take you on a new sensation
A new sensation
Eventually,
mercifully, we ran out of boxes. Five
people lay passed out, contentedly snoring with cheese oozing from their mouths. One girl managed to throw up off the balcony,
but no one was on the street below. Just
an orange yellow splatter.
Saturday, June 25, 1988 Court says education is not a right
The
curtains masked the setting sun as I sat in Deb’s apartment at her small
table. She set it with nice dishes and
two white candles. This was the
negotiated payback: Deb cooked me a nice steak dinner for two. I bought the best red wine I could get for
ten bucks.
A
nice dinner- just the two of us. For a
while, I could pretend.
And
it was her idea.
She
served the steaks while I poured the wine.
I held her chair as she sat, and then seated myself. We lifted our glasses to toast.
“To
macaroni and cheese,” she said, smiling, as I looked into her eyes.
