I grew up in a semi-rural area; I’ll call it Small Town. Big City is about twelve miles from Small Town. If my friends and I wanted to hang out there during the day on a Saturday or on school holidays, we usually had to take a county bus. The summer before my senior year in high school, my best friend, Kate, and I took the bus to Big City a couple of times in June, at the beginning of school vacation.
On
July 1, the bus drivers went out on strike.
Kate’s
mother worked and had to get up early in the morning, so she usually wasn’t
available to drive us anywhere from Monday to Friday. My mother didn’t drive.
One of our friends had a driver’s license, but she also had a summer job.
Kate
and I were stuck in the sticks.
One
morning, Kate read a news article about three fellows who had been in an
automobile accident and ended up in the hospital. We were acquainted with one
of them. Acquainted, in this case, means we probably talked to him once and
Kate thought he was cute.
Kate
decided we should visit him. I figured, why not? But how to get there?
Lucky
us. Kate's mom happened to be off work that week. The next day, she decided to
visit Kate’s aunt who lived in Big City. Kate asked her mom if she would drop
us off downtown so that we could window shop for an hour or so and then go to
Friendly’s for ice cream.
Her
mom let us off on the main street, near Newberry’s. We window shopped for about
fifteen minutes; then we walked about a quarter mile to the hospital. “We can’t
go in the front door,” I said as we approached the entrance.
"Why
not?"
"For
one thing, it’s too close to the pharmacy. My aunt works there. I don’t want
her spotting us and asking questions. And for another thing, we’re probably not
dressed real well for visiting some guy in a hospital run by nuns.”
We
changed direction, found a side door, and slipped into the building unnoticed.
Other than knowing the location of the pharmacy, I was clueless about the layout
of the hospital. As we were plotting our next move, a young woman wearing a
uniform walked by.
“Where’s
the men’s section?” Kate asked.
“Third
floor.”
We hiked
up to the third floor and began peeking into the rooms. We checked out three or
four rooms without success. And then Kate half-stepped into the next room,
gasped, and backed out, almost knocking me over.
“What’s
wrong?”
Kate
gestured toward the right side of the room. “That guy in the corner. I think I
went out with him last weekend.”*
We
retreated to a spot near the elevator. We were debating if we should stay or go
when the elevator door opened, and a tiny ancient nun popped out. She took one
look at us and freaked out, screaming that we were sluts. Well, that’s not
exactly how she put it, but that’s what she meant.
Kate
and I took off, heading for the stairs. The nun charged after us, still
screaming about our short shorts and skimpy tops.
We
were faster than our pursuer, but she wasn’t giving up. And then I spotted the door
to the fire escape. Considering her age, I figured Sister Scream wouldn’t
follow us. We flew down the metal steps, startling the fellow who was enjoying
a cigarette near the side door. We booked it back to the main street and hung
out at Friendly’s until it was time to meet Kate’s mom.
I
don't know if my aunt ever heard about the scantily dressed girls roaming
around on the men's floor. If she did, she didn't say. And I didn't ask.
[*Blind
Date]
