Understanding

Was it truly a simpler time when we were growing up?  Or was our world so small that we just didn't understand a lot?

Those questions come up when I struggle with the main question from that fateful Summer.  Did Ricky have to die?

My sister and I grew up in East Chester Connecticut, in a cape with four rooms on the first floor and two on the second.  A living room, kitchen, dining room and Mom and Pop's bedroom downstairs.  Liz and I had bedrooms upstairs.  One of 136 just like it in one of the Harris Construction Company's developments. 

"Harris houses sprout like weeds," my Dad used to say.

Dad worked in East Hartford building airplane engines.  Submarines were built in New London.  Lots of bedrooms were needed, so it worked out.

Liz was a year older then me.  Fifteen that Summer.

"They make a big deal about sweet sixteen," Liz said, "but I'm not waiting." 

I didn't think fourteen was all that bad, because Janet was also fourteen.

OK, I guess you need some background.  To understand what happened, you have to have the lay of the land.

Rickey's family lived in the house to the East of us, the side that my bedroom was on.  To the West, Liz's bedroom faced toward the Kellogg's.  George and Janet were growing up there.

Unless you're a real dunce at math, you've probably figured out that there were five of us.  An odd number.  Yup.

Until that Summer, it hadn't mattered.  Going through Morrison Elementary and Corrigan Junior High we'd all been together.  Swimming at the pond, or sledding on Spring Hill, we were always together.

High School turned out to be different.

Liz and George were a year ahead, serving as scouts.  Reporting what it was like.  Prepping us for the following year when we'd be together again.

They told us about the Friday Night Sport Dances.  Most of the Freshman and Sophomore boys hung out together, spread out around the outside of the gym.  Couples were in the middle, with girls between the boys and the dancers.  When the girls got frustrated enough, they danced with each other to enjoy the music.

George and Janet's Mom suggested that we should practice dancing so we'd be ready.

Janet and I got into practicing in a big way.  Rocking around the clock was fine.  But the slow dances...

The slow dances sure stirred something in me, and Janet too.  On a warm summer night, after practicing our dancing, I had a powerful wet dream.  Ah Janet...

Liz was getting frustrated.  Some nights, we'd talk across the hallway for a while before falling asleep.

"I like both Ricky and George," Liz said.  "More accurately, I'd be happy with either of them.  But they're both so slow on the up take."

"Liz, the numbers don't balance," I pointed out to her.  "One of the guys is going to be left out."

That gave her a pause.

One night in August, I woke up at 2:00 AM.  It was still hot and humid, so I moved over to the window to try and cool off.  There was enough light for me to see around the neighborhood.  Wishing that it wasn't so, doesn't change things.

Ricky and someone were heating things up on the patio behind his house.  No idea who his lover was, but they'd gotten beyond dancing.  His pants were pulled down around his knees.  Her skirt was bunched up around her waist.  I couldn't see her face, as she was on top.

Wasn't Liz, as she was sound asleep across the hallway.  At least I thought she was.  To be sure, I snuck across to her bedroom door, and stuck my head in.  Quiet in my bare feet, but not quiet enough.

"What is it?" Liz asked.

I still could have left well enough alone, but no, I waved to her to follow me back into my room.  She sat on my bed and looked out the window.  It took a minute or two for her to focus in the low light.  Then her hand went to her mouth in a shocked reaction.

She jumped up and ran back into her room.

I didn't know what to say to the poor kid, so I didn't say anything.

The next night, the whole gang gathered at George and Janet's.  We put a stack of records on.  Janet and I paired off, as did George and Liz.  Ricky was left out when George and Janet's Mom, Mrs. Bowers, came down and saw him sitting on the couch by himself.

"Ricky, you should have a chance to practice your dancing too," she said.  "I'd be happy to be your partner."

I caught Liz rolling her eyes, but didn't say anything.

Mrs. Bowers was a good dancer, knew as many of the latest dances as we did.  When a slow dance would come on, she and Ricky weren't hanging all over each other the way we were, but they did OK.

After about an hour of dancing, when another slow one came on, Mrs. Bowers spoke up.

"Ricky, let's give these guys some space," she said.  "Could you come upstairs and help with some snacks?"

"Sure," Ricky said after some hesitancy.

George turned the lights way down.  It didn't take long before he and Liz were on the couch, and Janet and I were in a big old lounge chair.

Janet had never let me unbutton her blouse before, so it was taking me a lot of time to unhook her bra.  The dam thing was like a puzzle.

Don't know how far George and Liz got, but the breathing coming from the far side of the couch was getting much heavier.

Yes, you're right.  We lost complete track of time.  Didn't you at that age?

It came as a shock when we heard Mr. Bowers hollering upstairs.

"What the hell is this?" was the first thing we heard.

"You little bastard," he continued.  "And you, you slut."

We were all up now, and struggling to get our clothes straightened out.  I caught Liz's eye.  We both understood who Ricky's mysterious lover was.

Before we could get up the stairs, a shot rang out.  I never knew how loud that would be inside a house.  I'll never forget that noise.  Just like I'll never forget the guy who was left out.