REWIND
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“GIVE ME THE BEAT, BOYS, AND FREE MY SOUL”

JANUARY 5th, 1980

There were, of course, compensations. Kara being number one.

We spent this day, a Saturday, together. She’d be going back to school on Sunday night. As I said, this was going to be the big test of the whole long-distance thing, as I wouldn’t see her again until March, when she had a two-week break. We’d be apart two months.

We were together today, though. We’d gone to the movies, then got something to eat at the mall. Then we headed to her house, which was empty. It was rather amazing how much leeway we’d been given by our parents. They all just seemed to have accepted the fact that we were having sex and figured, better in one of our houses than, say, Braddox Hill. In January. I couldn’t argue with that!

The sex was incredible, as always. The cuddling and chatting afterwards was just as incredible.

Honestly, there were days I thought about telling her. I really did think if there was anyone on earth who could hear my story and not freak out, it would be Kara. But there was no guarantees of that, and I didn’t know how it would affect us. And I didn’t know if I wanted to drop all this crap on someone else’s head. I’d told myself I would never tell anyone, that it was too dangerous. And I’d only broken that vow with someone who was on her deathbed. But it was a burden, knowing the future, it really was.

But Kara was perceptive, and, as we snuggled up to one another, she couldn’t help but notice that I was quiet. “Penny for your thoughts?” she said.

“My thoughts are worth at least a nickle,” I joked.

“Uh-huh,” she grinned. “Anyhow, you just seemed pretty pensive.”

“Well, I often am. Just kind of thinking. Of course, one thing I was thinking of was, I wonder how many other people in the general vicinity are getting laid right now?”

She cracked up. “Oh, you just wait until you get to college. I’m not in college, of course, but I live in a dorm. My roommate and I were talking about that the Saturday before I left, wondering how many people in the dorm were getting laid right at that minute.”

“And bemoaning that neither of you were.”

“Of course,” Kara agreed, grinning. “At least I knew I would be soon. Ellen has no boyfriend at the moment.” She sighed. “And I’m going to be back waiting starting tomorrow. Two months. This is gonna suck.”

“I know, sweetie, but we can do this,” I told her.

“I know we can. Study, study, study, I suppose,” she said with a wry little grin. 

“That’s the ticket. Plus, the Winter Olympics are coming up. I love the Olympics so that will divert me.”

“Let me get this straight. The Olympics will divert you from thinking about sex and me?”

“Well, no, not really, but it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?” We both laughed at that. “It’ll give me something to do, though.”

“You just better not get so involved in the Olympics that you forget to call me.”

“Never.”

JANUARY 19th, 1980

Nine days after my fifteenth birthday. Yahoo. 

Two days before this, on Thursday the 17th, I’d been at lunch with the crowd. Michelle was sitting next to me. “You like Steve Martin?” she asked me, referring to the comedian.

“Love him.”

“Have you seen The Jerk yet?”

“Nope, not yet.” Of course, that wasn’t exactly true, though I hadn’t seen it in this life. It had just been released in December. It was Steve Martin’s first movie.

“Darn. I was hoping you’d be able to tell me if it was any good.”

“It’s Steve Martin, it’s got to be good.”

“Yeah. I want to see it,” she said.

“So, let’s go see it. Saturday.”

She blinked. “You and Kara didn’t break up did you?”

“No,” I said, slightly confused.

“So, you’re just asking if I want to go see the movie as friends?”

I laughed, getting it now. “Yeah, of course.”

“OK. Then, let’s do it.”

“You wouldn’t have gone if it were a date?” I teased.

“I didn’t say that,” she teased back. “Though I would’ve been confused, because of Kara.”

“Nope, Kara and I are still together. I want you as a friend. And someone who will appreciate Steve Martin with me.”

“You can count on that!”

We met at the mall for lunch before we headed over to the movie theater. “So, how is this whole long distance relationship thing?” she asked over our sandwiches.

“It ain’t easy, I’ll tell you that. My phone bill is eating up my paycheck.”

“I’ll bet. You can’t get a break, more salary to pay for the phone, since you work for your dad?”

“Not with my dad,” I laughed. “Nah, that part’s fine, we switch the calling. I do miss her though.”

“Does she know you’re going to a movie with me?”

“Of course,” I said. “I told her Thursday night when we talked. She trusts me. Plus, she knows you’re probably still hung up on Stan.”

“Oh, please, let’s not go there. He’s got Christy.”

“Hopefully, he’ll wake up,” I said. “Look, Christy’s nice and sweet and all, but she drives me crazy. She’s such an airhead.”

Michelle broke up. “Well, I wasn’t gonna say it! But Stan seems to like her.”

“I think she’s getting on his nerves a little.”

“I refuse to get my hopes up. Anyhow, what happened with you and Kelly? You never told me that.”

So, I told her. “Wow,” she said. “Now I know why Kelly doesn’t look so happy lately.”

“She made her own bed,” I said.

“I know, but still, I feel bad. Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”

“Plenty,” I said, “but the mistake wasn’t the problem. Breaking up with me was the problem. It made me ask if she ever really loved me.”

“She did. Trust me, Eddie, anyone that saw you two together saw that.”

“Then why did she not give it a shot to work itself out?”

“I can’t answer that one for you, Ed,” she said. “Guilt? Shame? Lots of things.”

“I know. Well, it all worked out for me anyway. I’ve got Kara again.”

“True. And you’ve had a rough few months.” She sighed. “I miss Beth. You must really miss her.”

“You bet. At least I’ve got friends to help me out.”

“You sure do,” she said. “That’s one thing I always liked about you two. You were so close, but it wasn’t romantic.”

“Well, yeah, but she was so young when she was diagnosed. I’ll never know what would have happened if she’d been healthy. I doubt we would’ve ever become romantic, but anything’s possible. We truly did love one another, though it was more platonic.”

“I know. I still think it was cool.”

“Well, I will admit, I like the idea of having a close female friend that I’m not interested in that way. I think it’s valuable.”

“Well, good, then I’ll just have to be it,” she laughed.

“Yep!” I agreed.

We finished our lunches and went to the movie. It was great. I hadn’t seen it in quite a long time, so it was easier to pretend I was seeing it for the first time. I loved it, all over again, and Michelle loved it as well.

FEBRUARY 24th, 1980

As January turned into February, I found myself wondering about that question again--what I should do with some of my advance knowledge.

Most specifically, I was wondering if I should be using it for financial gain.

It was different than playing God. But it was cheating, and I knew it. 

What I’m talking about is betting. Wagering on sporting events. Because I knew there was a big one coming in February.

Yes, I had some problems with the ethics of it. But, hell, not too many. Does that make me a hypocrite? Probably.

Who’d lose? Other bettors? They were going to lose anyway. I wasn’t forcing anyone else to lay down a bet. If they bet on the losing side, then they lost money, no matter what I did. So, who was going to lose, really?

Bookies.

Look, I grew up around bookies. My grandfather, before I was born, was a bookie. My Dad hung around with bookies, and even spent some time running numbers for one, when he wasn’t able to work because of his injuries, during my ‘first life.’ So I knew bookies.

And one thing I knew is that the game was rigged in their favor.

I’m not talking about Vegas--legal gambling. I’m talking about illegal gambling, the bookie on the corner. The game’s rigged in Vegas, too--but it’s even more rigged on the street corner. These guys always make money, more than they pay out. It takes them getting completely blindsided to lose money, and it doesn’t happen often.

So, that’s who my foreknowledge would lead me taking money from.

I didn’t have a problem with it.

Rationalization? Oh, sure. But, fuck it. I didn’t bet on every little thing that came down the pike. I couldn’t--I didn’t want Dad to get too suspicious of my ‘premonitions’. Of course, he was going to be suspicious of this one in any case--but I didn’t care. There was serious money to be made.

The US Olympic Hockey Team was going off at 100-1. Heh heh heh.

I grabbed Dad about a week before the games started and I told him I wanted him to make the bet for me. “Are you serious?” he said. “They’re seeded seventh. They’re a hundred to one, there’s no way they’re going to beat the Soviets!”

“Trust me, Dad, I got a hunch,” I told him. “Just place the bet for me.” And I handed him two hundred bucks.

That’s when he realized I was serious. I usually gave him twenty or forty for a bet. Two hundred? He gasped.

“You really are willing to risk this much money?”

“Yep. I got a hunch, I told you.”

“Fine,” he said--then he did what he often did. He put in his own money, more than I had, but said since I was the one doing the picking we’d split the winnings fifty-fifty. This time, he threw in seven hundred bucks. I went and got another hundred, to make it an even thousand. That third hundred would keep me out of candy for three weeks--and I’d probably be late giving Mom the money for all my long-distance phone calls to Kara--but I know I’d be making up for it.

A hundred grand, split in half. Fifty grand for me. I couldn’t wait!

Dad came home from work and sat down to watch the games with me every night. The USA was in a preliminary group of six. The top two would advance to the final group of four. The two favored to advance from the USA’s group were Sweden and Czeckoslovakia. Those were the two teams that the USA would play first.

It happened like it did the first time. A last second goal gave them a 2-2 tie with Sweden. They got down 2-1 to Czeckoslovakia and then went on a rampage, winning 7-3. They beat Norway and Romania, two teams they definitely should have. The last first round game was against West Germany. They got behind 2-0, then came back for a 4-2 victory. It was heart-stopping, the whole thing. They kept coming from behind--the only game they scored first was the Romania game. I, of course, knew what was going to happen but I remember it being heart-stopping the first time around. And poor Dad kept going into apoplexy!

Anyway, that got them into the final four, the medal round--and a date on Friday, Februarly 22nd,  with the indomitable Soviet Union.

I wasn’t a USSR-hater, not when it came to hockey, except for one thing. I’ll get back to that. But the reason I mostly didn’t hate them was because I was a hockey fan, and they knew how to play the game. They played beautiful hockey. It was a pleasure to watch them. They truly were the best team in the world.

Which is the reason I hated them--they shouldn’t have been there.

This was back in the days, remember, that the Olympics were for amateurs. And ‘amateurism’ in the USSR--the whole Soviet Bloc--was a sham. No, they didn’t get money for playing their sport professionally. They got money from some government job. And the job was a fiction, while they trained. Vladislav Tretiak, the great USSR goaltender, was in the Army. Sure he was. And I’m Bobby Orr.

The athletes from the west, on the other hand, either had to work a real job, go pro, or starve. So, in a sport like hockey, the USSR--a team of professionals by any other name--would be challenged by a bunch of college kids. In fact, back in those days, hockey players from the USA and Canada went to the Olympics hoping to be noticed by the NHL. 

That’s what made the ensuing events so special to me. I’ve heard other things--that it ‘gave the nation a boost’ in the wake of Afghanistan, Iran, runaway inflation, etc. Not for me. I’m not a jingoist and, while I root for American teams in international sports, that’s on the same level to me as rooting for the Red Sox. It’s root, root, root for the home team. The USA hockey team was just a hockey team. It had nothing to do with global politics. That was crap parroted by the interlopers, the non-hockey people.

I was not a non-hockey person. I was from Boston. Bobby Orr? I grew up watching Bobby Orr. Boston was a hockey town. So, I didn’t see this as any kind of grand statement thing--that’s not why it was special to me.

I saw it for what it was. This was the equivalent of a high school team playing the Bruins, is what it was.

And they won.

I could almost remember it completely from the first time. The game was at 5 pm eastern time, but it was shown on tape delay at 8. By the time the broadcast was on, the game was over. But Dad diligently avoided any radio reports and I pretended to. (I had the first time around--I didn’t want to know in advance.)

The Soviets scored first, of course. The US tied it. The Soviets went back ahead, but Mark Johnson of the USA tied it in the last second of the first period. 2-2.

In between periods, ABC showed the American skiier Phil Mahre winning a sliver medal in the slalom. I remembered that from the first time. That was somewhat of a surprise, and the great Olympic host Jim McKay, knowing about Mahre and knowing the final outcome of the hockey game, could barely keep it all in!

The Soviet coach must have seen something, because he pulled Tretiak--probably the best goalie in the world--and replaced him with Vladimir Myshkin for the second period. It seemed to have worked. Myshkin shut out the USA in the second period and the Soviets got a goal to go up 3-2.

Something happened in the locker room, though. Somehow, only being down one goal after two periods to the mighty Soviets gave the Americans confidence. They came out flying. Mark Johnson tied the game at 3, 8 minutes into the period. Then, a minute and a half later, the goal every American alive in 1980 remembers.

Mike Eruzione. 30 feet out. Slapshot. 4-3, USA.

It was great. Eruzione was the team captain, and he was one of ours. I don’t just mean American--he was from Winthrop, a suburb of Boston, only about 15 miles from Cabot. Boy from down the street beats the Russians. How cool is that?

As the American team wildly celebrated Eruzione’s goal, Dad turned to me with a wry grin on his face. With 700 bucks on the line and no stranger to irony, Dad said, “Tretiak would’ve had that one.”

Indeed.

The Soviets had ten minutes left, and they spent the whole ten minutes throwing everything including the kitchen sink at Jim Craig, the American goalie (and another Boston guy). Craig stopped everything, even the kitchen sink. And then, as the clock ticked down, the great announcer Al Michaels delivered his most famous line: “Do you believe in miracles? YES!!!”

Dad stared at the screen for a minute, then turned to me and said, “You are psychic!”

“Not yet. One more to go,” I reminded him.

That one more was today, Sunday the 24th, against Finland. Even with the stunning victory over the Soviets, the Americans still had to beat Finland to win the gold medal. As usual, Finland scored first. In fact, they were up 2-1 after two periods. Poor Dad was having apoplexy.

Not to worry. The Comeback Kid Americans scored three goals in the third period. They weren’t going to beat the Soviets and lose to Finland. No way. 4-2, USA, gold medal.

And fifty thousand freakin’ dollars for the time traveler!

MARCH 3rd, 1980

I’d been feeling more and more disconnected.

It started when Beth died. It got worse in January when Kara went back to school. 

I still had friends in school, but I needed more. It seemed like everything I really cared about was either gone permanently--Beth--or temporarily, like Kara. The only thing I had to hold on to was my schoolwork. While that was damn necessary, and I knew it, it wasn’t life-affirming or satisfying or anything like that. It was merely a means to an end.

I needed something besides schoolwork and working out, which I still did, to put my energies into. I needed a distraction.

Michelle, bless her, came up with one.

We were at lunch on this day and were discussing guitar and bass parts, as we often did--me, Michelle, and Stan. That’s when Michelle had the brainstorm, and I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of it.

“You know what we need to do?” she said. “We need to form a band. The three of us, and then we’ll get some other people.”

“You think?” Stan said.

“Definitely,” Michelle replied. “You, Stan, can play lead guitar. Eddie can play rhythm and I’ll play bass. Eddie can sing, and so can I.”

“And I’ve gotten better,” Stan said with a grin. “I don’t think you’d want me to sing lead, but I’m a baritone and can do low harmony.”

“There you go,” Michelle agreed.

“I’m in,” I agreed. “Definitely. Sounds like fun.”

Stan’s friend Kenny Russell, who had been listening, spoke up then. “You guys want a keyboard player? I’m pretty good.”

“Really?” Stan said. “I didn’t know that. I think we definintely want a keyboard player.”

“Maybe two,” I added. “I wouldn’t mind having a sax player, either. And, of course, a drummer.”

“Well, let’s get the word out, then!” Michelle said. We all agreed enthusiastically.

MARCH 8th, 1980

The night before, Friday the 7th, Kara came home. She had an extended two-week Spring Break. 

On this day, Saturday the 8th, my mother cleared the house out for the afternoon. She had stuff to do and took my brother and sister. Dad was working.

Kara came over shortly before noon and leapt right into my arms at the front door. “Oh, God, I missed you!” she said before kissing the daylights out of me.

This was the thing about long distance relationships. The separations were murder, but the reunions? Just fantastic.

I made lunch for both of us, and then we ended up on the couch in the living room, just cuddling and talking. We had talked often on the phone, but it was much better in person. I told her about the band idea.

“That’s fantastic!” she said. “You’ll be great. Ed Bovilas, rock star. I can see it.”

“Yeah, right,” I laughed. “That’s a stretch.”

“As long as you have fun. How are you doing besides that?”

“OK,” I said. “Grades are great.”

“That’s good. How’s the friends?”

“Good, mostly. Stan, Michelle, those guys are all good. Olivia’s worrying me, though. She’s already on her second boyfriend since Beth died. She doesn’t look good and both of these guys were scum. I worry about her, and she doesn’t really seem to want to talk to me.”

“She’s not your responsibility,” Kara pointed out.

“I told Beth I’d keep an eye on her,” I said quietly.

“I know you did, but you can’t help a person who doesn’t want to be helped.”

“I know,” I sighed.

“Believe me, I’m having the same problem. And I have to do it long distance.”

Hmmm. That meant it wasn’t someone at school with her. “Who?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you,” she sighed. Then, very quietly, she said, “Kelly.”

“I have no idea what’s up with her, she refuses to even talk to me.”

“She won’t talk to me much either. I get updates from Danica. I’ve tried to talk to Kelly but she’s not very receptive. And you trying to talk to her would be completely unproductive--she hates your guts.”

“WHAT?” I said. “Jesus Christ, how did I get to be an asshole?”

“I don’t know. You’re the fault her life’s miserable. Better to blame you than herself, I guess.”

“Jesus,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“She’s completely messed up. Anyhow, enough about Kelly. How about you kissing me instead of talking?” she said with a grin.

“I can do that,” I grinned back. And that’s just what I did.

We ended up in a full-blown makeout session on the couch. When I reached for the buttons on her blouse, she said, “Shouldn’t we go upstairs?”

“Why bother? They won’t be home for hours,” I said. “We can fool around right here.”

“Oooh, how daring,” she laughed. 

“That’s me, Mister Daring,” I joked. By then, I had her shirt off and was working on the bra. That quickly came off and I latched my lips onto her nipple. She moaned deeply and ran her hands through my hair.

While I worked over her boobs, my hands were working on the button of her jeans. Once I had the button undone, I tugged on the waistband. Kara lifted up off the couch and they were quickly off.

Well, what do you think I did? 

It was actually an interesting angle, with her sitting on the couch. I got on my hands and knees and buried my face right into her pussy. She leaned against the back of the couch, outstretching her arms and grabbing the back of the couch with her hands while I licked at her pussy. While I was doing this, it occured to me that this might be a fun position for fucking.

So, after Kara came--with a nice groan--I straightened up. I quickly yanked my pants off and got back into a kneeling position between Kara’s legs. Before she even knew what was happening, I was entering her.

It was actually a fun position, kneeling on the floor in front of her as she sat on the couch. For one thing, I didn’t have to hold myself up with my hands so I could use them to roam all over her body. The other thing is that it put us directly face to face. 

She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and held on as I moved into her. I leaned in and kissed her, my tongue plunging into her mouth as my dick moved in and out of her pussy. It didn’t take long before she was crying out into my mouth and stiffening on the couch. I came shortly afterwards.

Cuddling afterwards, she said, “I think I like this couch thing!”

MARCH 15th, 1980

Kara was still home, but she spent the day with her family, we’d be getting together later. Her family insisted on some attention while she was home, reasonably--and I had another engagement.

We’d gathered in Stan’s garage. His parents were very supportive of the whole band thing, and he had a large garage that wasn’t ever used for much. So, it became a handy place for band practice. On this day, it was for auditions.

We found a drummer very quickly. A guy named Dave Peterson, who I hadn’t known in the first life. He was funny, seemed real easy to get along with, and was a fine drummer. We listened to a couple of other guys, but Dave was all of our first choice.

We also found a girl who could play second keyboards or saxophone. She could also play percussion if we didn’t need keys or sax. Her name was Karen Goldberg, and she was another one from West Cabot that I hadn’t known in the first life. She was pretty, quiet, and could play.

We figured that would complete the band, but we had one other person to audition, another sax player. We were pretty agreed on Karen, but it didn’t hurt to see everyone that wanted to audition. So, we waited for the last person.

And I think we all gasped when she walked in. Debbie Romelski was, I think, the last person any of us expected to see trying out for the band.

I hadn’t known Debbie either in the first life, but I knew who she was in this one. Everyone at Cabot High did. You see, Debbie was the girl at Cabot High with the ‘reputation’. You know what I mean. There were enough “Debbie Does Cabot” jokes around to stock a jokebook. We all looked at each other, and at her.

“Well,” she snorted, “do you want to hear me play, or what?” She’d brought both tenor and baritone saxophones, and, it looked like, a guitar. We got over our surprise and told her to play.

And we got surprised all over again. She could play. She blew Karen away on tenor sax, was just as good at baritone. And she whipped out her guitar, plugged in, and blew us away again. She was a better guitarist than I was and almost as good as Stan. She kicked ass on every percussion instrument we gave her--she could even play drums in a pinch. As an added bonus, she was a fine singer, especially in harmonies--and she was a soprano, which we didn’t have, Michelle being an alto. 

After she left, we found ourselves in a discussion. 

We still wanted Karen--Debbie couldn’t play keyboards and we figured we needed the second keyboardist. Did we want Debbie, too? She was the best sax player we’d heard and a third guitarist was a luxury but a nice one to have. The questions were, did we want seven people in the band, and a situation where Karen and Debbie both might have songs where they didn’t have much to do? The other question was, as Stan inelegantly put it, “Do we want the school slut in the band?” 

“I don’t know if that’s at all relevant,” I told him. “At least it isn’t to me.”

“Not to me, either, really,” Stan agreed. “However, she’s got a rep, we can’t deny it. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but it’s out there. Will that affect the band? More to the point, I’m thinking about Michelle and Karen. Will having someone with that rep in the band affect the other two girls in the band?”

“It doesn’t matter to me at all,” Michelle interjected. “Look, if anyone thinks anything about me because of mere rumors about somebody else that happens to be in the same band as me--well, they can stick it. That’s ridiculous.”

“OK. It’s fine with me, then,” Stan said, “as long as Karen agrees.”

We talked to Karen and she said the same thing that Michelle had said. So, we told Debbie she was in. She seemed really happy about it. So, now we had a band. I was really looking forward to it.

MARCH 29th, 1980

Kara had gone back to school the previous Sunday, which was depressing. The band hadn’t started going yet. I was back to concentrating on just schoolwork.

So, this day, a Saturday, I ended up hanging out up the street at the Neelands’ house.

We played some hoops, then ended up inside around the kitchen table. I remembered a whole lot of my adolescence the first time being spend around that kitchen table, or the picnic table in the backyard. If there was a party, that’s where it was. 

I missed these people in the first life. You know how it is, you can lose touch with childhood friends. I’d see the Neeland trio in late 2004, but it was at a horrible occasion--Mrs. Neeland’s wake. She’d died of cancer, and she was only 58. Mrs. Neeland was like my second mother growing up.

Mrs. Neeland was a smoker. The thing is, I couldn’t even bug her about that--she didn’t die of lung cancer or anything like that; she died of myeloma, which is a cancer of the blood. It was like Beth--you couldn’t do anything to prevent leukemia, either, since leukemia was also a cancer of the blood. 

My friends seem to have bad luck with blood. 

Anyway, knowing this, I decided to take advantage of the time I’d have with her. On this day, we ended up around the kitchen table, drinking cokes and eating cookies. She’d baked. That was just like her.

“So, Ed, Dee’s been trying to tell me about your love life, but I don’t think I can keep up,” Mrs. Neeland said with a laugh.

I cracked up. “Well, you knew about Kelly.”

“But she broke up with you.”

“Right. So I got back together with Kara.”

“Who goes to school an hour away,” Dee said with a snort.

“Hey, where’s your boyfriend?” I teased. “Anyhow, we’ll have to see what happens. I’m not going to lie, long-distance relationships suck. But Kara and I really do love one another.”

“How did you guys get back together?” Mrs. Neeland asked.

“She came home and was there for me after Beth died,” I said softly. 

“Ah,” she said.

“How are you doing with that?” Dee asked.

“How does anyone do with something like that?” I asked. “OK, all things considering.” I changed the subject. “Did I tell you guys that we formed a band?”

“Really?” Mrs. Neeland asked.

“Yeah, me and my friends Michelle and Stan. We found some other people, so now we’re going to start practicing.”

“You need the practice,” Lynne, the younger Neeland sister, butt in.

“Ah, whadda you know? You’ve never heard me play.”

“I’ve heard you sing.”

“Yeah, and I’m good,” I teased. “Michelle and I are going to split the singing,” I told the rest of them, “and Michelle is terrific.”

“She’ll have to be,” Lynne kept it up.

“Ah, shaddap.”

“Now, now, kids,” Mrs. Neeland said with a grin. “How’s school, Ed?”

“Fine,” I said.

“I can’t believe you didn’t go to the Prep,” George said with a snort.

“Ah, well,” I said.

“I’m gonna go to the Prep,” he asserted. He probably would--he did in the first life.

“Well, George, two things. First of all, you’re an aspiring athlete. If you keep it up, you might be able to play baseball and basketball in high school, and the Prep’s a great place for sports. However, I have to tell you, when you discover girls--you might change your mind.” Lynne and Dee both giggled at that.

“Ah, girls are stupid,” George asserted. Lynne and Dee laughed harder.

“You’re what, almost nine? You’ll change your mind,” I told him. 

“Nah,” he insisted. Yeah, right!

“Is that why you didn’t go to the Prep? Girls?” Dee asked. “And here you are dating some girl that goes to a private schoo!”

“Well, true,” I admitted, “but it wasn’t just dating. I’m just not crazy about an all-male atmosphere. I mean, think about it--Michelle’s one of my dearest friends. It doesn’t matter that we’re not dating and never will. It’s just a better atmosphere with her around, and other girls. I mean, look at us. The neighborhood group. It’s much better that it’s co-ed.”

“True,” Dee admitted.

“Plus, there’s no guarantee that Kara and I will continue.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Dee grinned.

“The distance is a problem, I won’t deny it.”

“Ah.”

“We’ll see what happens.”

APRIL 13th, 1980

It was our first band practice. We gathered in Stan’s garage and set up.

After staring at one another for a couple minutes, Stan said, “Well, what do we know?” Mumbling followed. “Does everyone know Day Tripper?” Stan followed.

“You know I do,” I laughed.

Michelle nodded, as did Debbie. “You want me to play the riff or the rhythm?” Debbie asked. 

Stan looked at me and I nodded. “The rhythm. Stan and I can double the riff. Hey, it’s one of the few riffs I can play.” Everyone laughed at that, then Stan counted us in and he and I hit the riff. Michelle came in with the riff on bass in the second pass, then Debbie hit the rhythm. Karen shook a tambourine, Dave hit the drum fill, and off we went. I sang it, and Stan took the low harmony. Michelle went up top on the choruses.

It sounded great. I mean, for a first song by a new band of teenagers, it sounded downright dynamite. One thing was apparent from the get-go: our rhythm section of Michelle and Dave was as solid as a rock, and that was a very valuable thing for a band to have. I knew Stan could play, I’d played with him. 

We knew from the first song: this was gonna fly. No doubt about it.

We ended that song with wide grins. “The only problem was Kenny didn’t have anything to do on that one,” Stan said with a laugh.

“That’s OK, we can fix that,” Kenny said. “I know at least half this band is Springsteen fans. How about this one?” And he hit the opening piano notes to Prove It All Night. 

Stan, Michelle and I smiled at one another, and picked it up on the third measure of the intro. Dave hit his cymbals at the appropriate place, and then we were into the song proper.

Karen only knew it part-way, so the organ part was a bit lacking. But the rest of us knew it cold, and Stan was yelling out the chord changes to Karen, who picked up on it. There were a few organ flourishes she’d have to learn, but that wouldn’t be hard. Michelle picked up on Little Steven’s vocal harmony part--sound appropriately gritty, which surprised me--and I sang the lead, Springsteen being someone I could always sing, in either life. 

As we pounded through the verses, I noticed Debbie putting down her guitar and reaching for her tenor sax. I was wondering if she knew the song--specifically, the sax solo. I didn’t have to wonder. She nailed the thing. I mean, note-perfect. Clarence “Big Man” Clemons couldn’t have done better. Stan followed that with a nice screaming guitar solo, then we hit the third verse and on to the end.

When we were done, we couldn’t stop grinning. “Wow,” Michelle finally said.

“You’re telling me. Ten minutes, two songs,” Dave laughed.

“Now we only need another fifty or so for a set list,” Debbie said with a giggle.

“Don’t burst our bubble,” I teased.

“Yeah, before we learn the other fifty, I have to learn that one,” Karen pointed out. “I know it a little, I mean I’ve heard it and all, but I’ve never been much of a Springsteen fan.”

“We’ll have to change that, considering Springsteen has lots of juicy organ parts,” I told her.

“Yep. This one’s not too tough, either,” Kenny said. He walked over to where Karen had her stuff set up, and sat down at her organ. “Eddie? Give me some rhythm. It’s just little fills,” he told Karen. He looked at me and said, “From the top of the verse. One-two-three...” I played the chords and he did the little organ bits. Karen immediately picked up on it. After a run-through, Karen sat behind the organ and did some of the fills. 

“Let’s try it again,” Stan suggested. We all agreed, and blasted through it. And I heard the organ, loud and clear, sounding damn good. Karen was a quick study--that was good.

We spent all afternoon in that garage, trying stuff. Some we knew, some we didn’t, and the day ended with lots of promises of tape-swapping. But we had a blast.

As I was leaving, Debbie sidled up to me.

“Eddie? I just want to thank you guys. You know, for taking a chance on me.”

“Wasn’t much of a chance,” I said, though I knew what she was talking about. “You blew us all away at the audition.”

“Thanks,” she said with a grin, “but, well, you know what I’m talking about. I know what my reputation is.”

“Ah, who cares? Besides which, there are worse things.”

“Worse than being the school slut?” she said disgustedly.

“Sure. Try being the school nerd,” I said, laughing.

“You are not.”

“Yes, actually, I am.”

“No, you’re not,” she insisted.

We got in front of Stan’s house, and I sat on the wall at the front of his yard. I motioned for her to sit next to me. We were both waiting for our rides.

“Debbie. You do know I’m ranked second in the class, right?”

“No way.”

“Yep. Michelle’s fourth, by the way. You joined the nerd band,” I teased.

“Nah. Michelle’s too pretty to be a nerd, even if she is smart. And somebody told me that you have a girlfriend who’s a knockout.”

“Kara’s pretty, sure, but you know where she goes to school? Andrews Academy. Hell, you have to be a nerd just to get into that place!”

Debbie just shook her head, bemused. “All right, all right, so you’re a nerd.”

“Thank you,” I grinned.

Her voiced dropped. “At least you can live with what you are. Eddie, you see, I am a slut. That’s the problem.”

I looked at her. “Can I ask you a couple personal questions?”

“Why?”

“Curiosity. Plus...well, let me ask you. You’ll understand afterwards. I promise, this is not stuff I’m asking to use against you or anything. Promise.” She nodded her head. “When did you lose your virginity?”

“About a year and a half ago. Beginning of ninth grade.”

“So, you were how old?”

“Fourteen. My birthday is in July, so I was a few months past fourteen.”

“And how many guys have you slept with?”

She looked down. “Five.”

“All right,” I said. “I do not talk about this, because I don’t think that’s right, but I think you need to hear it. First of all, as for numbers, you only have me beat by one. I’ve been to bed with four girls. I will not tell you who, except I’m sure that you can figure out that my current girlfriend, Kara, is one of them. I won’t say who the other three are. But there’s been four.”

Her eyes bugged out of her head. “Furthermore, in terms of time, I beat you by a few months. It was May of eighth grade for me. Oh, and I started school a year early, and my birthday’s in January. You’ll be sixteen in July?” She nodded. “I won’t be sixteen until next January. So, I was only 13 my first time.”

“But that’s different. You’re a guy,” she said. “That’s the way it works. You’re a hero, I’m a slut.”

“True. But that’s society talking. That shouldn’t be your problem.”

“But it is, you know?”

“Of course I know. Look, I wised up a bit starting in eighth grade, but before that? I really was the school nerd, and I got the beatings to prove it. I changed a few of the outer things about me, so I get hassled a bit less. But I’m still a nerd. If other people have a problem with that, that’s their problem.

“So. You and I have rather similar sex lives. It’s other people that would brand you a slut and me a stud, or whatever. I, personally, don’t see any difference. Unless you’re going to bed with people for the wrong reasons, but that’s another issue entirely.”

“Two. I had two one-night stands in there that I’m not proud of,” she admitted. “And, wouldn’t you know, that’s the two who started the talk. The other three were boyfriends, though one of them talked too.” She looked at me. “You don’t talk?”

“Nope. It became common knowledge that I slept with Kara, but that’s because Kara told. I mean, she told everyone--at a party we were all at. I was being Mister Discreet, and she blabbed. I think I turned twelve shades of red. I’d told exactly one person that I knew was completely trustworthy.”

“Ah. Someone who you told everything to.”

“Right.”

She sighed. “Must be nice to have someone like that.”

“It was.”

Debbie picked right up on that. “Was?”

“She died in November.”

“That girl that went to school with us?”

“That’s her. Beth Trovini. She was my best friend.”

“Man, that sucks,” Debbie said. “That young. Makes me think maybe I really don’t have any problems.”

“Everyone has problems,” I replied. “Even Beth would’ve said that. She was always willing to listen to mine, even after she got sick.”

“She had cancer or something, right?”

“Leukemia. And she had it for two and a half years before she died, and she knew she was dying. And she would still listen to my blathering.”

“You miss her a lot.”

It wasn’t a question, but I said, “Yeah. I sure do.”

She looked down, and then said, softly, “You can tell me shit, if you need to. I’m a good listener. And I know enough not to blab, believe me.”

“I do believe you,” I said, smiling. “And I just might. Thanks. And same goes.”

She smiled, and then said, “There is one thing I’ve got to ask you.”

“Shoot.”

“How does a guy who calls himself a nerd nail four different girls?”

I cracked up laughing, then recycled a riff from Revenge of the Nerds--which hadn’t been released yet! “You see, Debbie, we nerds don’t concern ourselved with all that macho bullshit like sports and cars and stuff. So we have more time to think about girls. And since we’re all smart, we know the anatomy better. So.....”

She just looked at me before she burst out laughing. “So, you’re trying to tell me you’re good?”

“I’m very good.”

“Hmmm,” she said, looking at me. “Well, hmmm.”

“I’m also very taken.”

“Yeah, the good ones always are,” she said, chuckling. “See, I think that might be the difference. I’ll bet all four of yours have been girlfriends. No one-night stands for you, right?”

“One.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Oh, it gets better. She’s from California. And she’s my second cousin.”

“No way!”

“Yeah.”

“How’d that happen?”

“Since she’s in Cali, you’ll never meet her so I’ll tell you,” I said. “First I have to explain the Kara thing. We’ve actually gone out two separate times.” I explained that.

“OK,” she said after I’d gone through the Kara bit.

“I first met Annabelle that first summer, after eighth grade, that I was going out with Kara. I think Belle liked me right away, and I would’ve liked her too--but I don’t cheat.”

“Good boy,” she smiled.

“Thank you. Anyhow, Belle met Kara. And Kara didn’t actually tell Belle we were sleeping together, but she hinted. And she hinted in a very self-satisfied way.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, she did. Anyhow, Belle went back to Cali. Kara and I broke up, I had two other girlfriends during ninth grade, but was single in August when Belle came back for a return trip. And Belle told me she’d lost her virginity to her boyfriend over the past year, but it wasn’t anything special.”

“Oh, I get it--since Kara had been doing the wink-wink nudge-nudge smirk, Belle figured you’d be something special.”

“Exactly.”

“So, were you?”

“Of course.”

She reached over and playfully punched me on the shoulder. “You really got to do something about that ego problem.”

“Hey, when you’re good, you’re good.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, really. You see, I appreciate it more.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like I told you, I’m a nerd. I never thought I’d get girls. Furthermore, I mooned over Kara for two years and couldn’t get her to give me the time of day.”

“What happened?”

“I realized I was being an idiot, so I stopped.” Which was true, though it took me thirty years! “Started talking to Kara like a human being and not a lovesick idiot. And when I asked her out and she said  yes, I was cool and calm and collected about it. It was all an act, mind you, but it worked.”

“That’s good,” she laughed, “but why would that have anything to do with how good you think you are?”

“Let me put it this way--you’ve been with five guys. Any difference? I mean, did some ‘get you there’ better than others?”

“Oh, yeah. My second boyfriend. I still wish he hadn’t broken up with me. He was fantastic, and he wasn’t one of the ones that talked either. A couple others were ok, a couple others were a disaster.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Well, he--the good one--took his time. He was slow and worked me up, you know? Plus....man, it’s not easy to talk to a guy about this stuff!”

“Sure it is,” I told her. “Remember one thing, Debbie--I am not judging you, and I never will, not about that.”

“Thanks. Anyhow, he was slow and took his time. Plus, he was the only one that was interested in other things. You know, besides just sticking it in.”

“Ah. Fingers or tongue?”

She looked at me, completely startled. Then, grinning and blushing, she said, “Tongue. Only one that ever did that.”

“That’d be my specialty,” I told her.

She grinned at me, and said, “OK, I get it now. By the way, if you and Kara ever break up....”

“You’ll be the first to know!”

She sat for a moment, and then said, “In all seriousness, and all sex aside--I think I’m going to like you, Ed Bovilas.”

“Same goes.”

“It really doesn’t matter to you, does it?”

“It really doesn’t matter to me.”

“Thanks.”

APRIL 21st, 1980

This was the first Sunday of April Vacation. And I’d gone away for the weekend.

To Andrews Academy.

Kara wasn’t off this week, she’d had her break in March. So, she came up with a brilliant idea--for me to come up for the weekend. I got driven up late Friday afternoon, and Mom came and picked me up Sunday afternoon.

Of course, I wouldn’t be able to stay with Kara--this was high school, after all. But she had a couple of male friends who let me throw a sleeping bag on their floor. Kara knew me well, and set me up with a couple of guys she knew I’d get along with.

And I did, they were cool. I also liked Kara’s roommate, Ellen, quite a bit. 

So, Ellen--and Mike and Patrick, the two guys I stayed with--I instantly liked. 

It was a whole hell of a lot of the rest of Kara’s friends that I wasn’t too taken with.

Look, I wasn’t shocked. This was Andrews Academy. Let’s face it, there are three types of people at a place like Andrews. The first were people like Kara and Ellen and the two guys I stayed with--good students. Smart, hard-working kids that went to Andrews for the education.

But Andrews wasn’t just a good school, it was an expensive good school, one with a long history. That meant money, and legacies, and ‘connections’ and whatnot. And all that meant snobs.

God, there were snobs there. One girl named Catherine, whom Kara introduced me to that Friday night--well, I swear that Catherine was completely convinced her shit didn’t stink. It was ridiculous.

The third type at a place like Andrews? Same circumstances as the snobs--money, family connections, etc.--but instead of being snobs, they were the drunken rich backslapping frat-boy party dudes. This was another species I wasn’t too fond of. Kara had a few friends that fit that bill, too. 

It reminded me of the two presidential elections that had happened before I got ‘sent back’, the two that elected George W. Bush. Now, I’m not commenting at all on politics here, though I think I’ve made it clear where my politics lie. No, I’m talking about the oft-stated opinion in those elections that Bush was the candidate that voters ‘felt more comfortable with’ and ‘would most want to have a beer with’. Personalities, in other words, not ideology.

I’m sure that was true for lots of people--but not for me. I mean, look at it from my point of view. This is especially true in his second race with John Kerry. I mean, really. Bush was a little rich boy who was a mediocre student, was by all accounts an obnoxious drunk before he became an obnoxious Christian, and was the typical party frat-boy. Kerry was a wonkish nerd who played guitar and loved Springsteen. Who would I rather have a beer with? No freakin’ contest. I mean, in high school, George Bush was a freakin’ cheerleader. John Kerry played bass guitar in a band. No contest.  

There were a lot of George W. Bush clones at Andrews Academy.

The existance of the snobs and the fratboys didn’t bother me--I expected it. What bothered me, a little bit, was how Kara seemed to gravitate towards some of these people.

Not completely, she still seemed closer to Ellen and people like that. And she did defend me. But she also seemed to cultivate people like Catherine; and Jake, the Fratboy Supreme. 

As I said, she did defend me, because Catherine went after me. “So, you go to public school?” she said in a complete tone of scorn.

“Yeah, by choice. I got into a Catholic prep school near us. I decided I didn’t want to go there.”

“Well, a Catholic prep school isn’t much better than a public school,” she said, still dripping scorn. “I mean, it’s not like you’d go to a real school either way. Some people just can’t get in to places like this.”

“Oh, I could’ve gotten into here.”

“Really.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Kara butt in, defending me. “We went to identical schools from kindergarted on, he was ranked higher than me in the class in eighth grade and he got a higher score on the SSAT than me, and I’m here. Eddie would’ve breezed right in.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I had no desire to go to a boarding school.”

“Oh, needed to be near Mommy?” she sneered.

“Him? Not hardly,” Kara laughed. That got the little twit off my back for the time being.

It wasn’t bad, really. I really did like her closest friends, and the weekend went mostly fine. But there was a bit of ominous forboding. Nothing major, really, but my relationship with Kara was already less than perfect, due to the distance.

She called me Sunday night after I got home and asked me about it. “You didn’t like my friends, did you?” she asked.

“Only a couple of them. Ellen’s a peach, and the two you set me up to stay with were great.” There were a few other nice ones too.

As we talked, I realized a fundamental difference between Kara and I. It was subtle, but it was there.

To a degree, I wanted to be accepted--but it was more that I wanted to be left alone to lead my life. I wanted friends, yes. I wanted people that liked me. And if the band got going and people liked that, fine. To a degree I wanted to be respected.

But I had absolutely no desire to be though of as part of the Cool Kids. And Kara, to some degree, did. 

I think it was exacerbated by where she was. In a lot of ways, us being separated made that part of it easier. I could take the snobs and the fratboys for a weekend. I wouldn’t be able to take them longer than that.

It was something to think about.

APRIL 29th, 1980

I had something to do after school on this Monday.

I grabbed Michelle after school, and asked her about her bus route. It went where I thought it did, so I went on her bus after school. She got off before I had to. “Get off when Chris does, that’s as close as it gets.” So I did.

Christine was standing there when I got off the bus. “Why did you take this bus?” she asked.

“I have to go to the cemetary. She would have been sixteen today.”

“Oh,” Chris said. “Can I walk with you for a bit?”

“OK,” I said. It didn’t take her too far out of her way, she lived the next street over from the street leading to the cemetary. 

“I wanted to talk to you,” she said. “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?”

“For the way I treated you while we were going out. Most specifically, the way I treated you concerning Beth.” Christine sighed. “I guess it never sunk in. I know you said it, but it just never sunk it. She was sick. I know. But I guess I never believed she’d die. When she did die, you can’t possibly know how bad I felt. You knew, you knew all along, and I tried to get between the two of you. It was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s water under the bridge, Chris.”

“I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks.”

“I learned a lot from us going out.”

I had to chuckle at that. “What, that we shouldn’t be going out with one another?”

“True,” she agreed with a laugh, “but a lot more than that, too. I’m a lot more easygoing now.”

“I’m glad.”

We were approaching the entrance to the cemetary. “Do you want company?” she asked.

“I think I need to do this by myself,” I said.

“Understood.” She stopped, and leaned up and kissed me on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Eddie, OK?”

“You too.”

When you walked into the cemetary, a lot of the gravesites were to the right of the main entrance. There were roads off of that main entrance road. I took the first one to the right and walked three-quarters of the way down. Right in front, on the right side of the road, was Beth’s grave.

I still didn’t know what I believed in. I had no confidence that she still existed, on any level; that she could hear me. But I was far less sure that it wasn’t true than I once had been. I didn’t know.

But I knew what I wanted. I knew what I hoped.

“Happy Birthday, Beth,” I said, hoping someone heard. Then I put the flowers I had brought in front of her gravestone.