Curfew
While Shann’s mom, the movers, and Johnny McKeon worked at unloading and organizing the houseful of furniture they’d shipped over from their old-but-much-newer house, the three of us stole away in Robby’s Ford Explorer on our mission to reclaim our shoes and skateboards.
Friday nights in Ealing, Iowa, rarely got more thrilling than climbing up on the roof of a three-quarters abandoned mall, and we were up for the excitement.
On Fridays, my curfew came at midnight, which meant that if I was quiet enough I could stay out until just before my mother served breakfast on Saturday morning.
I had to check in with my dad and mom, so they’d know I was still alive.
I told them I was going out for pizza with Robby and Shann.
It wasn’t a lie; it was an abbreviation.
I was not concerned about going to hell.
Nobody who was born and raised in Ealing, Iowa, was afraid of hell, or Afghanistan, or living at the Del Vista Arms.
Checking in for Robby meant swinging by his two-bedroom deluxe apartment at the Del Vista Arms and asking his mom for five dollars and a fresh pack of cigarettes, while Shann and I waited in the parking lot.
Shann did not smoke.
She was smarter than Robby and me, but she didn’t complain about our habit.
Thank you for reading! Please feel free to share and comment on this chapter. Another chapter will be released this Friday.
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