Home By Midnight

Sharon finished her hairdo and makeup, slid into her skinniest jeans and a tank top.  While walking down the stairs, her mother reminded her that the curfew was midnight.

Yes Mommy.  Fully aware.  

The curfew was always midnight but Sharon broke it pretty much every Saturday night.  Her parents were sound asleep by eleven.

Upon arrival, Sharon hugged her girlfriends and shrieked I NEED A DRINK.  Frankie had been making a move on Sharon slow and steady for a few weeks.  He jumped at the chance to mix a pretty strong vodka and cranberry juice.  

Frankie, my hero.  Thanks baby.

The two holed up in a corner and got cozier than usual.  They talked about school and the horrible U.S. History teacher they both had.  Sharon had her now.  Frankie had her the year before.  Frankie was a Senior and Sharon was a Junior.

All we do is read a chapter in the classroom until the bell rings.  No discussion or questions.

Frankie had the same experience the year before.  He added and just wait til you get to the Civil War.  She’s got a unique take on it.

He was right about that one.  Mrs. Baldwin was from Georgia and hadn’t bothered to shed her accent.  When asked who won the Civil War, she’d typically answer I’ll let ya’ll decide that … high-evah ya can’t always believe what you read or hear.  History has interpretations.

So she was pretty much known as a closet Confederate that somehow found her way to Connecticut. But despite all evidence to the contrary, Mrs. Baldwin maintained her tainted view of the Civil War and everyone was aware of it.  She typically spent one hour covering it and usually dismissed the class early after she did to avoid questions and answers.  Sort of like our current Congress, except they never end a session early.  They’ll babble on for a lifetime about topics that have nothing to do with the betterment of their constituents.  

They’d rather play psychiatrist sleuth for the elderly.  

Frankie and Sharon talked about that.  Frankie shared how excited he was to vote in his first presidential election in November.  He said he welcomed the moment to exercise his right to vote and solidify his citizenship.  Though he was born in the States, his parents immigrated from Ukraine a few months before his birth.  Sharon responded with thank God they did, right?

Frankie naturally had strong feelings about the war, then expressed his disdain for President Biden’s lame strategy.  

Sharon’s eyes bulged like cue balls on that one then cautiously asked, you’re not voting for Trump are you?

Sharon pulled into her driveway around 9:30.

Her dad remarked honey, you’re home so early.  Anything wrong?

I’m thinking everything’s wrong.  I have a teacher that thinks the South won the Civil War and a potential boyfriend who’s a MAGA head.

She took to the stairs shaking her head in disbelief.  Sadly, she wasn’t even slightly buzzed enough to blur her memory.

Meanwhile back at the party, Frankie managed to score a kiss, hug and a couple of squeezes with some girl wearing a red hat, pin and a grin.  She’d just relocated to Connecticut from West Virginia. Blonde hair and an uncanny resemblance to that MTG person.  

Frankie grabbed her an ice cold Schlitz thinking:  SLAM DUNK!