I'm sure everyone has had one of these. Unlike others, though, I have no problem with posting my disaster for everyone to see.

*****

I

The year was 1977. I was sixteen years old at the time, 115 pounds soaking wet, hair down to my waist. I had a 1966 Dodge Dart 4-door sedan, white with blue vinyl seats. No air conditioning, no power steering, and no power brakes. I did, however, have a really nifty "barefoot" pedal for my high beams, which at that time, was a button mounted on the floor.

Tuneage was supplied by a factory AM radio. But to deal with this, I mounted a Craig cassette player under the dash, supplied to a pair of Radio Shack 6x9's that I had crammed under the rear deck. Wires ran across the floor from one to the other. Hey, it looked bad but it sounded good.

Dating was an ugly ordeal for me, as it is for all kids I guess. Most of the dates I went on were done more out of pressure than desire. I felt I needed to date, because that's what was expected of me. I didn't want anyone to think I was gay. In Beaumont, Texas in 1977, that could be a really bad thing. So driven by my need to date frequently, I went out with a lot of ugly girls.

But this particular date was far more promising. I still can't remember how I did it, but I had somehow managed to flimflam a date from a particularly attractive girl named Sandy. Sandy was a dishwater blonde of questionable reputation, which was a plus. Another promising thing about Sandy was she was a Junior; well, maybe she was actually a Senior who had been held back a year or two. Either way, one thing was certain: she was an older woman. A woman of experience. Very promising indeed.

My best friend Buck congratulated me on my success, and suggested we double-date with him and a new conquest of his own: a girl of very, very questionable reputation named Shana. She was a bleached-blonde spitfire of a girl (to my recollection, she looked a lot like Pink), who I remember having a severe hang-up about how to pronounce her name. She insisted it was SHAYNA, not SHANNA. Tomatoes, tomAHtoes...all we knew is that she had a killer body and put out, too. A great combination

I agreed to Buck's proposal, and we readied ourselves for the Saturday night double date with much enthusiasm. We actually took showers, and Buck shaved. At sixteen, Buck had more hair on his face than Tom Selleck. I had two. At 43, I now have four, but that's another story. Buck put on his matching velvet bell-bottom slacks/coat combo. He had the physique to pull it off. Me, I chose my Levi Big Bells and my luck Gibson guitar T-shirt.

We gassed up the Dart, and since he looked much older, Buck went in and bought a six-pack of Schlitz tallboys and an eight-pack of Schlitz malt liquor baby bulls. By today's 500 brands of beer in one store standards, our choices may seem rather disgusting, but these two libations were the standard for white trash underage drinking for the day.

We picked Shana up first. She sat in between Buck and I in the front seat. I could tell from the sparks flying between her and Buck that my pal was going to get lucky this evening. A good omen. Maybe this would be the Night of Nights for me, too.

On a testosterone high, we headed over to Sandy's next.

This is where Problem One began. Sandy came out of her parents' house in response to my car horn. She looked enticing in her bell-bottom jeans. I smiled. She smiled back. Buck and Shana got out and went to the back seat to make room for her.

More testosterone flooded my system. Then I noticed another girl coming out behind Sandy. They chatted and pointed at us.

"Does Sandy have a sister?" Buck asked.

"Not that I know of," I responded.

The other girl followed Sandy to the car. Sandy motioned for me to come talk to her. I got out and walked over. To make a long story short, Sandy had thought tonight's double was going to be a blind date for Buck. She assumed she was to bring another girl. The girl standing there was Buck's blind date. She had told the girl that Buck wanted to meet her.

"But...he already..." I stammered, pointing to the back seat.

"Yeah, I see."

Then she gave me a verbal going-over, blaming me for not being specific enough when I spoke to her on the phone. My testosterone level dropped to zero. Sandy demanded that this girl - who was quite pissed in her own right by now - go with us. Now, later on in life I would learn how to deal with this kind of situation, but back then, I saw no choice but to go along with her. I went over and broke the bad news to Buck. Just as I finished, Sandy opened the door and shoved the girl into the back seat, next to Shana. The girl slammed the door shut. Shana raised her hackles. The girl gave her a "ewwww" look. Great.

Buck slumped into his window. The chance of him getting laid tonight had fallen through the floor. As Sandy got in and sat clear on the other side of my blue vinyl bench seat, I knew this was my fate as well. I looked at Buck in the rearview mirror as we pulled away; I nodded and he nodded back. I lifted a tall boy and he lifted his. We would just get drunk and make the best of it.

We drove away, toward where, I didn't know. Between the pissed-off sighs from The Girl and the I-wanna-rip-her-lungs-out snorts from Shana, I could hear Buck gulping his tall boy. I took a big one myself. The not-at-all-comfortable silence filled the Dart. I quietly slipped in a cassette. Some mood music.

Boston. Chicks liked Boston.

Conditions up front didn't improve. I could feel the frost drifting over from Sandy as she stared out the window. Even Smokin' wasn't going to thaw this chick out...

II

We drove around in silence for awhile. Beaumont, Texas, being a semi-tropical climate, put its crowning touch on the evening by laying a steady downpour on us. It was January, I think, or some other cold month. I don't know if it was colder out there or colder inside.

In a smallish town, there isn't much to do, especially for teenagers. There weren't any teen clubs in those days. Entertaining girls on a date consisted of either A: going out to eat, and/or B: going to a movie. I can't remember what Buck and I had planned that evening, but whatever our plans were, they had been shot to hell. I guess I was on kind of an autopilot, driving around aimlessly like Buck and I would have been doing if we had been by ourselves. Since none of the girls were talking to us, I guess in a way we were. And on such a night of stag entertainment, our first stop was usually the Dairy Queen. I made a left and headed toward it.

Every small Texas town has one of these, and everyone who is anyone usually cruises through there on Saturday night. I guess my hope was to see some people there that Buck and I knew. Maybe the girls would see someone they knew, too, and would ditch our asses there.

The DQ was hopping that night. The place was full of kids and beat-up cars filled the parking lot. I cruised in and cranked up the tape deck a little as we got in line with the rest of the cars making the circle behind the DQ, then around to the front. We were all peering inside the joint to see if we recognized anyone. Didn't see any familiar places. I rounded the back side and headed back toward the lot. It was then that I heard it: a loud pop followed quickly by the sound of metal striking concrete. The Dart's front end dropped sharply.

I had a blowout.

I turned to Sandy. Murder was in her eyes. I looked into the DQ; everyone inside was staring out at us. The Dart was undulating like the Loch Ness monster. Smiles and finger-pointing from inside. I hobbled into a parking space near the road and stopped. Without saying a word, Buck and I got out. We surveyed the damage: my $6.99 retread had split open like a pair of cheap deck shorts on a fat girl.

"Shit." Buck muttered. I sighed and opened the trunk. I lifted the spare so we could start the tire changing ritual we were both familiar with. We were MEN, after all, and we could do that.

The spare was flatter than the other one.

Buck shook his head. Since it was my car, I had the honors of telling the girls the bad news. I stuck my head inside the car and delivered the news: we wouldn't be going anywhere tonight. I could call my dad and he could come take us all home...

Sandy interrupted.

"Home? I'm not going home. Screw that."

"But..." I stammered.

"Let's go back to my house and get my mom's car," she said, "it's not far from here."

I looked at Buck. He was as surprised as I was. Since the rain had turned into little more than a mist, we said we were game. The girls piled out. Me and Buck grabbed the beer.

Sandy was right; her house was only a few blocks away. She led the way, followed by Buck and me, with the remaining two girls in single file behind us. By the time we got there, Buck and I had consumed a couple of Tall Boys each, depositing the cans in yards as we passed by.

Sandy's house was on a corner. Buck and I followed her up to the porch.

"Where are you going?" Sandy said as she turned back to us.

"Uh, to get your...mom's car?" I said.

"No way; you stay out here."

Okay, fine. We all milled around for a bit out in the street. Funny, but the lights never went on inside the house. I looked at Buck. This was weird. In a few minutes, Sandy crept out a side door, carefully closing the door behind her.

"Hurry!" she whispered as she handed me the keys. "Be quiet or we'll wake the bitch up."

Oh, I get it now; we were STEALING her mom's car.

"You steer while we push," she told me as I got behind the wheel,"And don't start the thing until we get down the block."

Roger Wilco.

We eased her mom's '76 Nova four-door down the driveway. It was a bitch to steer without the engine on, but I was used to the Dart's lack of power steering so I managed to get it lined up in the road. The girls and Buck got behind it and pushed me down the road. I kept it in neutral as they piled in, then started the thing up at the end of the block. I went another block before I turned on the lights; a little trick I learned from stealing my own mom's car a time or two.

The joy of thievery had us all in a pretty good mood. Sandy was actually smiling. I looked into the back seat; Buck had positioned himself in between Shana and The Girl this time, and they all looked pretty enthused. Sandy sidled up next to me. Buck broke out the beers and passed me another Tall Boy. I turned on the radio.

"Let's hit 11th Street," Buck said.

The girls all nodded and smiled.

"11th Street it is," I said, opening my Tall Boy.

11th Street was the main street running through the town. Teenagers cruised it at night, and a good time could usually be had if you hooked up with some friends.

What a great idea. I'm glad one of the two of us dudes had a brain.

"Okay," Sandy said, turning to address those in the back seat as well as me, "My ass will be grass if my mom catches me. Be careful as hell not to spill anything in the car, okay?"

"No problem," I said as the Tall Boy slipped from my hand and fell onto my crotch, spilling half of its sixteen ounces of malty goodness onto Sandy's mother's velour seat.

"Holy shit!" she yelled. I rotated my hips and planted my ass right in the middle of the puddle, hoping to absorb as much of it as possible. It was cold, damn cold.

"Sorry," I whispered.

Sandy moved clean to the other side of the bench seat.

The drive to 11th Street was quiet. The smell of cheap beer permeated the car. Sandy was stone.

However, Buck and the girls were laughing it up pretty good. Buck had turned on his charm and had both of them giggling. Great for him. I made a right onto 11th Street and headed toward the Gateway Shopping Center parking lot. I could see a few people driving around, but it was too cold and wet for most of the kids in town.

"Hey!" Buck said, pointing. "There's Carrol."

I saw Carrol's van on a strip mall parking lot. Carrol was a buddy of ours we had met someplace. I can't recall where. I think he may have been brain damaged.

What set Carrol apart from the rest of us, other than the fact that he had a chick name, was that he was about 30 years old and still hung out on 11th Street. He also still sacked groceries at the Market Basket down the street. But Carrol's claim to fame, or rather, the reason we liked him as a buddy was because he had a van. And not just any van. In a time when the little Good Times vans were popular, he didn't have one of these. No, Carrol had the kind of van your grandparents drive. A huge stretch van with a raised ceiling, big windows with curtains, captain's chairs, a refrigerator, and a couch. A party palace on wheels.

I wheeled the Nova into the lot and pulled next to the van.

"You got some weed?" Buck asked me. Carrol might be a buddy and all, but street life protocol said you always brought some kind of goodie to a party, especially if you weren't invited in the first place.

"Yeah, I got some." I said.

Between the brew and the pot, we had it covered. We knocked on the window and Carrol peered out. He flung the door open.

"Dudes!" he yelled, beaming. Smoke poured from inside. A couple of kids said hello and Carrol motioned us all in. "C'mon in, people." He slammed the door behind us and we all found places to sit. Buck gave him a brew and I handed Buck the weed. He could roll better than anyone on the planet, and he went about his work.

We chit chatted a little while and listened to the stereo. We passed around some doobies and drank some more beer. Buck pulled a cassette tape box out of his pocket and asked Carrol if he could put it on. I think it may have been a Rush album, maybe even 2112.

"Sure, give it to me," Carrol said as he got up. Buck flipped the box to him. Carrol crawled over to the tape deck, then suddenly ripped the cassette box in half. He pulled out the tape and stuck it into the deck.

Buck and I looked at each other.

Buck asked as he retrieved his tape box, now in two pieces, "Why did you do that?"

"Uh, so I could uh...get the tape out?" Carrol uttered.

We looked at his face. He wasn't kidding.

Buck carefully put the two pieces together and held it up to Carrol.

"See?" Buck said, opening and closing the box, "HINGES."

A light bulb went off in Carrol's head. He grabbed the box and started opening and closing the little tape holder door thing.

"Whoa...HINGES!"

Buck and I rolled our eyes at each other other. Damn; this guy really was brain-damaged.

More people started piling into the van. We didn't know any of them. But the girls were having fun, Buck and I were having fun, and the night tripped on in a seemingly endless barrage of beer and weed and rock and roll. The van got so full, we couldn't move. I nodded to Buck that it was time to split. He wrangled up the girls and we pushed and shoved our way to the sliding door. He pulled it open and we spilled out onto the pavement. Some more kids piled in.

We picked ourselves up, laughing all the way. I helped Sandy up, and she put her arms around me. Shana and The Girl likewise grabbed Chuck. We piled into the Nova.

"Hey, the lights are on at Gary's," Buck noted. Across the street, a little auto parts store in another strip mall was lit up like Christmas. Gary was a pal of Buck's and we sometimes went in there after closing to visit.

"I'm there," I said, firing up the Nova and peeling across the street. We came to a stop. Buck got out and knocked on the door. Gary came to it and let us all in. We sat around inside and drank the rest of the beer, smoked the rest of the weed, and looked at all the headers and stuff on display. Gary finally told us he was tired and turned us all out again. We said our goodbyes and he locked up and went home.

By now, none of us were feeling much pain. Sandy put her arms around me again as we walked to her mom's car. She even put her hand in my back pocket.

Damn. Things were getting interesting. We got in and Sandy slid all the way over to me. I looked into the back; Buck and the girls were damn near at the verge of exploding in a vortex of hormonal excitement. Sandy picked up on it and was on me like a hobo on a ham sandwich.

Now THIS was a date.

"Let's head out to the cemetery," Buck suggested.

Yeah. The Cemetery by the river. A place we went to make out with girls. Nice and dark and secluded.

"I'm game," Sandy said, giving me a come-hither look.

I jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. Nothing happened.

The car was as dead as a doorknob.

The joy bled from the car like the air from my flat tire.

"Hold on," I said, quite drunk by this time, "Let me take a look under the hood."

Sandy nodded and I popped the hood release. Buck stayed in the car, making goo-goo eyes at his dates. I stepped out: Mr. Goodwrench to the rescue.

I knew a thing or two about cars. Hell, when you drove a clunker like my Dart, you had to.

I opened the hood and peered inside. Yep, it was an engine all right. I thought for a moment. From the lack of sound when I turned the key, I reasoned it must be the battery. I felt the clamps and they were on tight enough. Then I figured that it must be the water in the battery; back then, an often cause of battery death. You had to keep the battery topped off with water or it would lose its charge.

"Silly girls," I said to myself, "they never put water in the battery."

I peered at the battery and then pulled the fill plug off. I leaned in to look inside, but I couldn't see anything.

The situation called for a little light. I whipped out my trusty Zippo and fired it up. Completely ignoring the sign on the battery that read:

DANGER: EXPLOSIVE GAS

DO NOT EXPOSE TO SPARK OR OPEN FLAME

I put the Zippo up to the fill hole.

I don't remember a whole lot after that. All I recall is a very loud BANG, a blinding flash, and a resounding thunk as my body hit the parking lot. I couldn't see or hear anything, but I could sense that people were all around me. The first thing I could make out was Buck's face staring into mine as he slapped me a few times. I could see his mouth moving and could barely make out his "Are you okay?" I also heard a kid say that I'd been shot.

By then, I knew what had happened. I also knew that about a hundred kids were standing around looking at the biggest dumbass since Carrol. And I also knew that this was the absolute last straw for our three dates.

I grabbed Buck's collar and pulled him to me.

"Get me the hell out of here," I whispered.

The next thing I recall was Buck and I on a lonely, dark, unfamiliar street in the middle of the night. We were somewhere along the five-mile walk back to my house. It was raining.

"Where did they go?" I asked.

"Shana disappeared. But I saw Sandy and the chick leave with Carrol before the cops got there."

"Oh." I muttered.

We walked for a bit.

"Do I still have eyebrows?" I asked.

Buck looked at my face. "Yeah, you still got 'em. Your face is all black, though. Your hair is singed a little. Can you see okay now?"

I looked down the road.

"Yeah, I think so."

We walked along for awhile.

"Sorry, dude," I offered.

Buck shrugged. "No big deal."

"Yeah."

*****

No big deal. Everyone lived. I still have eyebrows. I even have something to write about twenty-five years later. All in all, the night wasn't a total loss.

Copyright 2005 - David L. Kilpatrick

All Rights Reserved.

No duplication or use without express written consent of the author.