Hours later, before the light of dawn, Pete dropped me off at the corner where it all began, kissed me with gusto and bid me luck.
I crept to my house, thankful all was quiet and dark. I surreptitiously worked my way around the side and to the backyard. I stopped under my bedroom window and sized it up. My re-entry chore loomed, seeming higher than before.
The hard part remained: getting back through the window without breaking a leg or being busted. Much easier done sober than in my drunken state. I thanked God for the blessings I’d received and asked for help with this last bit. With a breath, I began my ascent.
Left foot, right foot. You can do this. Steady as she goes. I climbed halfway, and paused to catch my breath. This shit was hard. Focus, Trapani. I reached up and grasped a handful of ivy and pushed off with my foot. The vine snapped, breaking away from the house exterior and I faltered, holding on for my life with my other hand while suppressing a yelp. Leaf remnants fluttered to the ground and my heart pounded as I gulped air. That was a hella close call. I inched upward in tiny increments, no longer confident in the ivy or my abilities. I finally reached my bedroom ledge. I shimmied across the window jamb and eased back into my room, blessedly empty of tyrannical rulers.
I undressed without making a sound and slid beneath the covers, slowly releasing a pent-up exhale. You did it! I crowed silently, smug satisfaction forming into a smile. Parents, schmarents. Push me, and this is what you get!
29
Sweet Sixteen
Despite the firmly implanted restrictions on my life, the excitement mounted as my birthday approached. On March tenth, I would turn sixteen. My mother was making a big deal out of my “sweet sixteen,” yammering on about how special it was, a magical turning point from girlhood into womanhood. The number meant only one thing to me. I could finally get my driver’s license.
That tiny rectangular laminated card equaled freedom. Not that I owned a car, but at least I could drive the family Volvo away from my oppressive household for periods of time. I could breathe for a change, even if I merely ran to the store to buy my mother some butter. Life at home had become stifling to the point I didn’t even want to be there.
On the morning of the big day, my parents jostled me gently awake to wish me a happy birthday before they left for work. My mother asked me to stay home, mumbling something about a surprise. Relegated to jail, even on my own birthday. At least it was spring break, so I could lounge in bed as long as I wanted. I fell back asleep, enjoying the luxury.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Anna. Happy birthday to you!” Mary sang through the phone.
I loved birthdays. “Thanks!”
“What’s planned for the big day?”
“Incarceration.”
“What?”
“My mom told me I have to stay home,” I said. “Something to do with a surprise.”
“Surprises can be good.”
“Yeah, but staying home blows. Not exactly my definition of fun.”
“I can fix that. Jaime and I will come over, and we’ll have ourselves a little party.”
“Really?” My mood brightened.
“What do you mean, ‘really?’ It’s your birthday! Of course, we’ll come.”
“You’re the best, Mary!”
I hung up the phone, decidedly happier. I sprang from my bed, walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. While the water heated, I scrutinized my reflection in the mirror, wondering what had changed in the last year. My top half had filled out a tad more and my hips were curvier. Longer hair, but my face remained the same.
“Happy birthday. You’re sixteen!” I pumped my fists into the air, jumped into the steaming shower and belted out “Don’t Bring Me Down” by ELO.
I hummed as I dressed, shimmying into my favorite pair of jeans and a black halter-top. I left my feet bare, It’s not like I was going anywhere.
Mary and Jaime arrived just as I finished eating a sandwich.
“Happy birthday!” Jaime lugged a bag in one hand and hugged me with the other.
Mary followed with a hearty embrace and more birthday wishes.
Jaime unloaded her bag on the kitchen counter: a bottle of light rum, a squeeze bottle in the shape of a lime and three bags of frozen strawberries. “Ready for a daiquiri? My gift to you.”
I grinned. “Hell yeah!”
“We could get drunk and play Monopoly,” Mary said.
“Great idea!”
Jaime went to work blending daiquiris, but needed ice. I fetched a tray from the freezer, and when I pulled on the frozen metal handle to release the cubes, two skittered across the linoleum floor. Once I took care of that, I left to unearth the board game from the recesses of the basement.
The three of us sat down at the breakfast table, drinks in hand. I opened Mary’s present, a sturdy silver choker with small turquoise stones mixed with orangey-red beads. I loved it at first sight. I sipped my daiquiri, marveling at how well the strawberries masked the rum, and we shared a toast.
A few hours later, the three of us abandoned our half-played game of Monopoly, too wasted to care about properties, free parking or what may be on the Community Chest cards. Jaime obliterated us (what a slumlord she turned out to be) to the point that Mary and I never could have recovered.
We turned on the radio and danced with abandon, getting the brilliant idea to take it outside. We ran into the street, startling drivers as they passed and laughing so hard,
