It is 1993, the day before Christmas Eve, and I have told my parents I’m staying at Carmen’s house. She’s told her parents she’s staying at my house. A risky move, but one that has worked a few times. We are out playing all night long, driving around, hanging out with people at various places and generally enjoying being young and carefree.
Around 5 a.m., we decide it’s time to go to Waffle House. And John is coming with us. John does not know this, as he is likely sleeping soundly at home.
We go to his house to wake him up. Of course, this is before cell phones and we can’t call him. He lives in a ranch-style house, but the windows are up high, too high for us to reach on our own. However, conveniently located beneath his bedroom window is an air-conditioning unit.
Carmen hoists me up, and I stand on the AC unit and start tapping on John’s window. Tap, tap, tap. Nothing. I check it to see if it’s unlocked so I can crawl in. Nope. Tap, tap, tap.
Suddenly, the back door opens. Is it John? We look around. Ack! It’s his dad, coming to put the trash out on the curb. He stops, takes in the scene of two girls standing outside his son’s window at 5 a.m. Is he going to yell at us? We all stare at each other for a minute, then John’s dad speaks.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” we say.
“Want me to get him?” he asks.
“Um … sure …” we answer weakly.
He disappears inside, comes back out a few minutes later and says John won’t wake up. Carmen and I hightail it out of there as fast as we can.
John says his dad still talks about that incident to this day. His dad recalls pretty girls tapping on his son’s window. Phew – so glad he remembers us fondly.
Now if it had been John and his friend tapping on my window, I’m not sure my dad would have such a fond recollection … !