Who do you remember first in your earliest memories? I must be terribly self-centered, because my earliest memories are of myself. I thought I was receiving stolen goods. Someone was handing me a cookie to hand to someone else.
One car I walked past on Main Street was an old Buick Gran Sport. It had been an exceptional car in its day. It was a red convertible with a black top and interior. It was the GS400 model, which had a 400 cubic inch (6.6L) Buick motor with 340 BHP. It was no racer, but it was different enough to pique my interest. And it sat in the sand parking lot next to the NAPA store. A prime location for eyeballing as I walked home from the bus stop.
With my step-father serving as a patrolman and volunteering on the fire department, and with all of my wanderings on Main Street, Cumberland Farms was a frequent stop for the family in 1979.
It all started when I got kicked out of school. Being intelligent didn’t give me wisdom. Test scores don’t matter if you can’t pay the bill. I blew my chance at one too many jobs and lost the chance to finish with my class. After Thanksgiving of my senior year, I went to work full-time nights in a nursing home. But I couldn’t even hold on to that stupid job.
There was a day, I’d guess it was before Christmas, but after Thanksgiving, when we had a few inches of our favorite packing snow. I met up with JJ at a place between her home and mine. She brought along her friend from across the street. Diane was a bubbly blonde, a little younger than JJ and I.