Bored Social

The heat index on the summer day felt hotter in July in Ohio, and Calhoun Mane walked all over town. Bored from sitting at his grandma fatso’s house throughout the morning. He found his way to a friend’s house, but nobody answered the door. Once he decided not to wait, the only logical next choice was to walk through the plaza by the storefronts. Maybe someone he knew would invite him to whatever was going on that afternoon. Most of the plans he made came from others dragging Calhoun into situations where trouble felt imminent.

Calhoun walked around a store that sold cards and keepsake trinkets or knickknacks. The salespeople watched him like a hawk scouting for its next meal. Calhoun looked poor and certainly had shown no interest in buying anything from this girly store. The manager followed him to the front door, where she wished him well and dodged over her uncomfortable suspicion. She gave him a smile and a wave goodbye. Calhoun assumed the salespeople thought of him as a shoplifter.

Calhoun now felt worse than before, especially now that the women in the store labeled him unfairly. He held his head low. Despite a face lowered in shame, a car with four girls drove by and came to a screeching halt. They called him over to the passenger side window. Lori, Angel, Kara, and Heather invited Calhoun to cruise around town. They had a party planned at Lori’s house. When they dropped Calhoun off at his friend Richard’s house, they extended the invite to him too. The boys agreed to show up around 9 p.m. with some alcohol.

The party ended up being just the two boys and a house full of teenage girls. Calhoun played quarter bounce for hours, intoxicating the group with one successful attempt after another. He drank slowly on a beer but wanted to keep his head together. In case one of the girls decided she wanted to become his girlfriend. Numerous of the girls flirted with him, but no one really had made a connection that night. Angel was a blonde with bright blue eyes, and she showed Calhoun the most attention.

The next day, Calhoun sat on the couch at his grandma’s house. He had forgotten that he gave Angel his home number to call. When the phone rang, he started to grab it. His grandma grabbed the receiver faster than he could.

She said, “Hello, who’s this? Where did you get my number? Listen, you little floozy, no teenage tramp is going to ruin my grandson’s life over you know what. Don’t ever call here again.”

I never saw Angel again, but I heard the story about my grandma being so aggressive toward her. I stopped giving out the number once it became clear that Grandma Fatso would cuss and scream at whoever called. I walked a few blocks to the plaza to use a payphone and went on to have more fun with strange girls that I had not previously known. I gained a reputation as a young lover boy willing to go all the way. The truth was I had never done more than kiss a few girls. People around town exaggerated the gossip to the point that I was dying from some rare disease and remained in the hospital.

The things teenagers do sure have an effect on who we want to become. I became a hoodlum; anyone could see that, but it was the attitude that I kept that caused me trouble.