You know, I wanted to get laid, as did Bobbie. We talked about our lack of dating; it was not just a little weird. We were way too hot to be home alone night after night, week after week, for the last two years.
Dad’s deal felt wrong on many levels, and we discussed what we should tell our Dad. However, we should have considered what to say more time. Or better yet, just left town I had the keys to the car.
I asked Bobbie. “We need to check on our student loans. Bobbie’s was a full ride, and mine was almost there We kept this from our folks, but we had enough of being told No and how to do everything like we were damn kids.”
Bobbie tried to tell me something about waiting until we got home, but you needed to make more sense. Saying No to our Dad was the wrong move by a factor of ten or a million. Mom and Dad had returned from dancing; our Dad could barely stand because he was so drunk.
I proudly told him. “No, thank you, Sir, for the kind offer, but Mom, Dad, we needed to look into earning our way in life, and it was our time to leave the nest and grow.”
We did not even get even to pack our things. Instead, we were struck, beaten, and driven to Dad’s big car, his symbol of making it big, his big boat Cadillac. Had I known of the fog on the bridge or the other drunks trying to drive that night, I would have fought back harder, but I just let him whip us to the car. I mean, how do you fight back against your Dad?
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