Gosh, I'd really like to tell you some good and silly stories of me in high school, but the truth is that I was a great kid. Really.
Okay fine. I wasn't exactly great, but I wasn't bad either. Funny thing is that I can share all kinds of stories about my friends. With that in mind, I texted my two high school besties and asked them to share a funny story about me from high school.
Pammy texted back and said, "How much time do I have?" I'm not sure what she's trying to say here. She went on to say that I was not the same confident woman in high school that I am today. I love Pammy. And damn straight I'm confident today. Right? I'm confident, don't you think?
I have memories going to a Chicago concert (the band, not the city) and we drove a friend's parents' brand new Audi. I thought it'd be funny (and it was) to recline the front seats as we were driving. I was sitting in the back at the time. This actually broke the seats. Apparently not everyone shared my same sense of humor in high school either.
When I think of high school, however, a particular day my sophomore year really stands out. I had a headache, stomach ache, something and stayed home from school by myself. In fact, I think I woke up just enough to tell my own momma that I wasn't going to school that warm day in early May and then I went back to sleep. I remember the windows being open, and I remember wishing my own momma would turn on the air conditioner before she left. Or at least the attic fan--man! I loved the attic fan.
Later than morning, or early that afternoon, I started to stir (I'm sure it was because I had to pee) and then I heard a rustling sound in the kitchen; then it stopped. I lay very, very still. Then I heard the rustling again; then it stopped. Was someone in the house? Do I call out and run the risk that the paper rustler in the kitchen knowing I'm there or do I lay very, very still and hope they steal the papers and leave me alone. I had seen just enough of the Halloween movies through my fingers to know that this would probably not end well for me.
As swiftly and silently as I could, I slithered out from underneath the covers, grabbing the wall phone on my way to hiding underneath my bed like a dust bunny. There was the rustling again. Then it stopped. Then it rustled. Then it stopped. I called my dad.
"I think someone's in the kitchen," I whispered.
"What are you doing home?" he asked.
Geez--was this really the time to be asking about my school attendance record? "I was sleeping because I don't feel well and now someone's in the kitchen rustling papers."
There was the rustling. Then it stopped. Then it rustled. Then it stopped.
"Do I call the cops?" I asked.
"I'll be home."
In what seemed like five and a half hours, but was probably only ten minutes, (I'll never know because I couldn't see the clock from my position under the bed), my daddy arrived home. I heard him open the door and call out my name, "Heather!"
"BECAREFULDADDY!" I screamed, "SOMEONE'SINTHEKITCHENRUSTLINGPAPERSANDTHEY'REPROBABLYGOINGTOKILLUS!"
I heard my daddy walk across the kitchen. I heard the rustling. Then I heard it stop. Oh my goodness--they'd gotten my daddy!
Then I heard him approach my bedroom door, "Heather?" I asked.
"Are you alone?" I called back from underneath my bed.
"Yes," he sighed, and I scootched out from beneath my bed. In my doorway stood my dad ... my hero ... my savior ... my knight in shining armor, holding a Twinkie wrapper, which was being blown into the cabinet door by our oscillating fan.
My life wouldn't have been in danger if they'd have just turned on the air conditioner.
