When I was a kid, I had a friend named Chris. She was a year older than I and she was pretty danged cool. She was a runner, she was pretty and she was popular. She was also crazy.
It was at the hands of Crazy-Chris that I ended up with a bald spot on top of my head. She convinced me to trust her to give me a perm. That’s when I learned to never again use an at-home perm.
My favorite Crazy-Chris story involved her old car. She had this fantastic Mercury Cougar, and I loved that car. Even though it didn’t always turn over when she hit the engine, it was a great ride. Anyhoo, Chris had a crush on some guy from another school. She’d met him briefly at an all-ages club, and she’d tracked down his address. She wanted to see him again, but didn’t want to be alone with him. So she dragged me along to his house one night.
Now, Crazy-Chris wasn’t a shy girl. But for some reason, on that particular night, she didn’t have the ovaries to knock on that guy’s door. So she begged me to do it. And, being that gal’s friend, I went right up to the boy’s door and knocked. I had practiced what I’d say – how I was Chris’ friend and how he’d made quite an impression on her, and would he like to come outside and say hello to her. I was all ready, and when I heard the door’s lock turning, I took a breath. A high-school-aged chick answered the door. She was tall. She was pretty. She was pissed.
Turned out, that chick was the boy’s girlfriend. As it also turned out, she had heard about Crazy-Chris having been at the all-ages club, and she was none-too-happy. She was also super-jealous.
That chick had also never heard the old adage, “Don’t shoot the messenger,” because she took a swipe at me and I barely dodged her. I took off running toward the street, yelling, “Start the car! Start the car!” That chick was only a few steps behind.
God bless Crazy-Chris, and God bless that old Cougar, because she managed to get the engine running somehow. I yelled, “Start driving!” and she did. And just as that chick was about to take me out, I dove into the passenger side window and Crazy-Chris floored it. We got away, barely, but we did get away. After we were sure we weren’t being followed by that chick, we laughed our heads off. We were still laughing when we reached the safety of our suburban homes.
I haven’t heard from Crazy-Chris for decades. I have no idea how her life turned out, or where she settled. But I do know that whenever I spot an old Mercury Cougar, I remember my friend and I smile. And usually, just a little bit, my heartbeat quickens. I guess memories of running for one’s life will do that to a gal.