“I’m not sure…it is a school night. Do you have homework?”
“Some, but I can do it at home or even here. Please?” Pretty please.
“Alright, but we won’t be making this a habit.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
That settled, Pete and I returned to his room to listen to more of the Rush album.
I met Mr. O’Reilly upon his arrival. He acted pleasantly but his six-foot-plus presence intimidated me. Or perhaps it had more to do with him being a man of few words. He commanded respect, and the family seemed to walk a little softer once he got home.
Mr. O’Reilly sat in the den with a beer and the newspaper. Pete and I positioned ourselves on the adjacent sofa, watching a soccer game on a massive TV, the likes of which I didn’t realize existed. He didn’t try to hold my hand—probably too embarrassing in front of his father. Sitting close to him was good enough. I snuck a glance at him. When is he going to kiss me?
Dinner at the O’Reilly’s turned out to be the polar opposite to my house. At a Trapani meal, the clacking of utensils filled up space, interrupted by occasional polite conversation, usually my father complaining about his day or my mother asking us about school. At the O’Reilly’s, it was a raucous affair, with stories recounted from the day’s events, good-natured teasing and laughter. Moreover, Mrs. O’Reilly prepared a tableful of food, and everyone helped themselves to plenty. The roast beef took center stage, accompanied by mashed potatoes and gravy, an assortment of vegetables, applesauce and a heaping basket of homemade rolls. She even served dessert—apple pie with vanilla ice cream—a rarity in the Trapani evening ritual.
Later, his mother drove me home. Pete and I climbed into the back seat, but she didn’t seem bothered acting as chauffeur. She cranked up the stereo and sang along to Debbie Boone’s “You Light Up My Life.” Pete asked her to turn off “that garbage,” and she told him to mind his own business and sang louder. It was easy to like Mrs. O’Reilly.
We arrived, and Pete walked me to the door. I waited, but he didn’t kiss me. With his mom right in the car, I understood. For all I knew, my parents were peering out from behind the curtains.
“Thanks for the music lesson.”
“There will be many more, Top 40 girl.”
I smirked. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yup. Sweet dreams.”
“You, too. But I guess they’re pretty sweet if you’re dreaming about me.” I gave him an overt wink to show I was kidding around.
“I’d like to give you a smart ass response to that, but it’s true.”
§§
“I’m aware of what they do at those rock concerts,” my mother said over breakfast.
“What’s that?” I said, knowing full well she had no earthly idea. She’d never been to a rock concert in her life.
“Smoke pot.” She spit the second word out of her mouth with distaste. My father’s newspaper rustled as he moved it away from his face to look pointedly at me.
“I won’t be smoking any pot. I’ll be listening to the band!”
“I don’t want you around drugs.”
“Just because Mom thinks there will be grass doesn’t make it so. Either way, it doesn’t matter. You guys can trust me. Please.”
“What about these new friends of yours?” my father asked. “Are they decent people?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Yes, Dad, they’re good people. I’ll be fine.” I conjured up my best innocent look. “Pretty please? I really want to go.”
My mother wore a pained expression. “I don’t know, Al, what do you think?”
He shrugged, turning to me. “Be safe, and be smart. Go enjoy your rock concert.”
“I still don’t like it,” murmured my mother.
“Thank you!” I sprinted around the table and hugged them, grateful they said yes. When would my parents realize I was responsible and trustworthy, someone who could take care of herself? Sometimes they treated me like a six-year-old instead of my worldly fourteen.
4
What Happens at Rock Concerts
Mrs. O’Reilly picked me up for the Rush concert with a carload: Pete, Tez and Reese and his girlfriend, Jaime. Everyone yelled out a greeting, the high energy matching my own. I was totally stoked to be attending my first show and glad for Jaime’s presence. I hoped we’d become friends.
“Squeeze in, Anna. It’s a full house,” Mrs. O’Reilly said.
“It certainly is.” I crawled over Tez to wedge myself between him and Pete.
“You can do that anytime,” Tez said.
Pete shot him a warning glance.
Twenty minutes later, Mrs. O’Reilly dropped us off near the entrance to the Oakland Coliseum. After she disappeared out of sight, Jaime, Reese and Tez pulled out cigarettes and lit them. A weird odor hit my nostrils. Tez was smoking marijuana rolled up like a cigarette, and he did it right there in the parking lot with other people nearby! My furtive glances were in vain. No one paid us any attention, or cared if they did. My mother’s fears rang in my head…maybe this is what people did at rock concerts!
“You smoke reefer, Anna?” Tez held out the white lumpy joint, lodged between his thumb and forefinger.
Inwardly, I cringed. “Not really.” Did I sound like a total square?
He passed it to Pete, who took a long drag before handing it to Reese. Everyone took a toke, including Jaime. With her bouncy auburn hair, polished nails and stylish clothes, I never would have pegged her for a pothead.
“Go ahead, give it a try,” she said, her expression encouraging as she offered me the burning joint.
Perhaps it would be okay. I mean, they just smoked it as if it was no big deal and they seemed normal. I took it, and my parents’ faces flashed. Everyone stared as I hesitated. For the past year, Michelle,
