7. BFFs, Pt. 1

I met Carol Prentice in the sixth grade through our mutual friend Lulu. She had a wicked laugh and a tiny toenail on each of her little toes. She had read all the Nancy Drew books. She also had a window air conditioner in her room, which was pure luxury in my book. Carol went to Benjamin Murch Elementary, and Lulu and I went to Blessed Sacrament. Most days we made our way home from school, ditched our uniforms, and met at Carol’s.

In some ways, Carol was a complete mystery to me. The only child in a house big enough to get lost in, she was left to play, read, listen to music, all without the annoyance of siblings. Apart from the noise we made, her house was quiet. Occasionally, her father played classical pieces on the grand piano in the living room.

One day Carol pulled out her Ouija board. It was the social media of the sixties. No need for direct communication. Just ask the Ouija board. We wanted to know if certain boys “liked” us — exactly like facebook, right?

There was one boy, in particular, who caught Carol’s eye. David lived at the end of my block and his brother drove a motorcycle. His best friend was Bradley, a blonde, blue-eyed Mormon boy who was pretty darn cute, imho. Sometimes, they hung out in David’s garage. Every day we walked down Carol’s street and up the alley past David’s garage. We rarely saw David and even more rarely spoke to him. Just a “hi” could elicit a bright red flush in Carol’s cheeks. I never breathed a word to Bradley. Ever.

When we weren’t stalking David’s place, we’d walk up the avenue to get a Coca Cola at Drug Fair or an ice cream cone at High’s. We’d flip through Tiger Beat or 16 magazines and never buy one. We didn’t really need a reason to go anywhere. We just went.

On one of those occasions, we were waiting for the traffic to pass on Military Road at 39th. I decided the traffic was not abating quickly enough, so I walked into the middle of the road, raised my right arm with my palm to the oncoming traffic and began to sing, “Stop, in the Name of Love” in the best Diana Ross impersonation I could muster.

When I turned back to Carol and Lulu, a girl with curly blonde hair held back by a red bandana stood astride her bike. “Hi,” she said. Melinda had moved into a house across the street from Carol, and she came from a distant land called Columbus, Ohio. She was a bright ray of sunshine, always up for fun. Melinda had a little brother and a single mom who was the editor of Highlights magazine, which I thought was very cool.

One other boy we consulted the Ouija board about was the one who delivered the Washington Post each morning. Carol pointed him out one day when he came to collect his $1.50 monthly charge. The only problem was that he delivered the paper at 5 o’clock in the morning. No problem.

On Saturday night, we decided to spend the night in Carol’s front yard—right next to the black wrought iron fence. We would simply strike up a conversation when he delivered the Sunday paper. 

The four of us carried sleeping bags, blankets, pillows and flash lights to the yard just after sunset. In order to be awake for his arrival, we planned to stay up all night. We talked, laughed, told ghost stories, and got scared when we heard a screen door slam or a dog bark. The time passed slowly and our yard beds were a little too comfortable. Just before dawn, we woke to a thud. The thick Sunday paper had just hit the front steps. We sat up and watched as the newspaper boy pedaled his bicycle down the street, grabbing newspapers from his sack and tossing them onto porches. 

For our fiftieth birthdays, we gathered at a beach house in Lewes, Delaware. After enjoying a homemade chicken stew with fresh olive bread from DiBonaventure’s, we opened the fourth bottle of wine. Someone said, Let’s draw a design with all our initials. The final product looked like a multi-colored butterfly. Someone else said, We should all get this as a tatoo. I thought, In the morning no one will remember.

The next morning, I got up early and went downstairs to make coffee, thinking no one was up. When I stepped off the stairs and looked over to the kitchen, Carol was standing at the counter looking at the yellow pages. I wonder if there’s a tatoo parlor here that’s open on Sunday, she said.

________________

Photo (l-r): John Brinkley and some of my pals on our wedding day: Lisa, me, Claudia, and Melinda

Inset (l-r): detail from Melinda and Carol’s 8th grade class picture