Each week, I will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. Don't spend too much time on it. It doesn't have to be perfect. The idea is to let your mind wander and write what it will. I'll also write something using the same three words.
Be sure to leave a comment if you participate.
This week's words are:
Continuing with 80's week here on IYROOBTY...
I was in ninth grade, taking my first year of Spanish. At my school, each year the Spanish Club went on an optional field trip to the Spanish Club Convention in Tuscaloosa.
For some reason, they were never able to procure buses for this annual pilgrimage. Maybe it was because of the small number of kids who went. Maybe it was because we stayed overnight and needed to be able to get around town easily. Whatever it was, we traveled by car. And that meant chaperones.
As the bell echoed from the halls that Friday morning, signaling the start to another school day for everyone else, we were gathered in the parking lot. Preparing to leave, getting last minute instructions from the Spanish teacher, Ms. Quinn. And most importantly, deciding who would ride with whom.
That year, we had one student chaperone, Jenny Goss. She was a junior, or senior, and I don't even think she was taking Spanish. I'm not even sure why she was chaperoning.
But as the other chaperones were teachers or parents, everyone wanted to ride with Jenny. Well, the guys did anyway. So it wound up being four guys, myself included, piling into Jenny's sky blue Cutlass, for the two-hour drive. And I somehow ended up in the front seat.
As she was two or three years ahead of me, I'd never really talked to Jenny. But I knew who she was. It was common knowledge that she dated Ronnie Byars, and had been seemingly forever.
Ronnie could best be described as a biker without a bike. A smoking in the boys room type. Although I never saw him smoke, it just seemed like he probably did. He was tall, with long hair. And I remember him wearing a black leather jacket a lot.
Still, boyfriend or no, you got the idea Jenny might be up for anything. Although I doubted I was her type. The street toughness of my acid-washed, tight-rolled Levis and untied high-top British Knights was betrayed by the cute little alligator on my rather conservative Izod. Still, there was something mysterious about her. Or maybe just naughty.
She looked like she belonged in a Whitesnake video. And I could totally rock some air guitar. I imagined she had camped out for Motley Crue or Cinderella tickets at least three times in her life. And that hair. So permed. So sprayed. So perfectly pouffy.
I sat back and tried to relax as I caught a glance of her legs so sveltely working the gas and brake pedals. I wasn't sure what to expect on this trip. And I definitely wasn't sure a student chaperone was supposed to be wearing a skirt that short or slit that high.
But I'll never forget that weekend. After all, that was the weekend I bought my Milli Vanilli cassette.
"Where's the mini-skirt made of snakeskin? And who's the other guy that's singing in Van Halen..."