The Magic Powder

The Magic Powder

My parents were never very fond of Angela. For one thing, she wasn’t Black. My father and mother lectured all of their children about marrying within the race. Another strike against her was her money. My dad was a blue collar man and my mom cleaned the houses of very wealthy people. They disliked and didn’t trust those with wealth.

As a junior in high school I had no problem going against my parents’ wishes and accepting Angela’s request. When the prettiest girl I had ever seen needed a date for a formal dance, I was more than happy to step in and step up.

Although we attended different schools, and I only knew her through a few common friends, I still felt like a king among peasants at her dance. All eyes were on me as if they were asking how did he get so lucky. And I admit that sometimes I was asking myself the same thing.

The dream began when I picked her up at her Medina home; a house on the water with two boats an indoor/outdoor swimming pool, and a seaplane! Angela told me that her father was some sort of banking executive. To have that kind of money, he had to be one. Either that or he was selling drugs!

I never met Angela’s father as he was always away on business, but her mother was pleasant; a short thin woman with bleached hair, a nice figure and a southern accent. I loved the way she said my name, with a sweet roll of the tongue and a smile. I really liked her when she insisted that we leave my dad’s truck at the house, and take her husband’s Porsche to the dance.

Angela went to a high school run by the Catholic Church, but I would have never guessed it by the way the students dressed and danced. The girls wore expensive and revealing outfits, and the dancing was less than moral. I had no complaints, especially when Angela and I danced close together.

I was in heaven; driving a sports car to a dance at an expensive hotel, intimately dancing with the prettiest girl in town, my life couldn’t get any better.

“We should go,” Angela whispered in my ear. “One of my friends is having a party. Her parents are away. The house has lots of rooms, and we can be alone.” The night just got better.

Within fifteen minutes we pulled up to her friend’s house, not as spectacular as Angela’s but still very very nice. She knocked on the door and we were greeted by a drunken girl and screams and hugs, and kisses on the cheeks. The girl told Angela that “it” was in the game room.

Angela dragged me in hand through the house and casually introduced me to her friends until we made our way to what I guessed was the game room. She opened the door and screamed with excitement and hugged and kissed more friends before taking an empty seat at a heavy round table. I shook my head in shock and dismay. How could my perfect night end like this?

I made my way out of the house and fished my phone from my pocket. With frustration I dialed my father for a ride because I had driven Angela’s father’s Porsche to the party. I would never look at my dream girl the same way again; not after seeing her kneeling at a table getting high by sniffing the magic powder.