Hi, um, my name is Michael. Micheal Boeurgaurd. Only a few really memorable things have happened to me in my short life, so far. I got to go to a beatles concert when I was 14, that was pretty memorable. My basketball team won state championship, that's up there with memorable things. Oh, the most memorable thing... well it's actually a long story. I'll just start it anyways.
It was summer of '69, when I was 17, I had new neighbors on the other side of the fence. My dad was a realestate agent, so of course he sold the house to the people.
I was internally fucking stoked when he told me the neighbors had a daughter that was around my age. I was also intimidated because my mother made me take the housewarming gift to their house. It was July 25th when she forced me to.
I hopped the fence (I don't know how I did it with a platter of brownies in my hand... yes, brownies as a housewarming gift are cliche, I know), stumbled on my own two feet, and regained myself before coming face to face with the largest dog I'd ever seen (I learned later it was a Great Dane). The white dog with beige spots turned out to be friendly, much to my delight.
I cooly strode to the front door with beads of sweat along my hairline, feeling my heart get somewhat louder. Fucking 92 degree weather. Slowly, I pressed the doorbell, followed by a dull buzz. A tan, middle aged, green eyed woman opened the door.
"You must be Roger's son! You look just like him," she said. I remember thinking they had to be from down south, people from Illinios do not have accents like that. I'd actually really never heard an authentic southern accent, so I was just blindly guessing.
"These are for you and your family," I softly told her. I'm not a huge talker and I'm not really outgoing, so I don't do this often. I don't do this ever.
"How kind! Angie loves brownies, don't you Gela?" asked the woman.
"I can't hear you!" yelled a female voice, which came from upstairs.
"Oh, just come in here! Turn off your music. We have a guest. Tom, come in here too!" the woman sternly called.
A pair of tan legs trotted down the carpeted stairs. "This is my daughter, Angela. She turned 18 in May. Oh, and I haven't even introduced myself! I'm Betty Loughten! Oh gosh, I must sound so rude for not have introducing myself earlier," the woman went on and on and on, but I had tuned out everything but Angie. She may not be the type to capture every random boy's attention, but she sure captured my attention. My whole attention. Slender, red nails, tan, long and honey colored hair, dark green eyes, white teeth. She had on a pair of slightly loose overall shorts with a white tshirt... and no bra. No girl around here ditched their bras. My eyes were as wide as saucers.
"What's your name?" Angie's sweet voice asked.
"I'm Michael. Boeurgaurd. Michael Boeurgaurd. Uhm, I... live across the fence," my words came out choppy and I knew I sounded nervous.
"So what are the brownies for?" she asked, raising her eyebrows and looking at the milk chocolate desert.
"Housewarming gift. My mom made them. And she made me bring them," I said, controlling my words a little better.
"Ah, c'mon, you know you volunteered to come to a strangers house alone," she laughed.
"It's not that bad," I said back, trying to match the playful tone in her voice.
"Uh, Gela, why don't you give Michael a little tour of the house and I'll get your father?" offered Mrs. Loughten. Mrs. Loughten turned the corner and went through the family room.
"Don't call me that!" Angie yelled at her mom. She rolled her eyes. "Follow me," she said as she turned around, eyeing me from behind her shoulder.
"So, uh, where did you guys move from?" I asked, wanting to know more about her.
"Shitty North Carolina town. Before that, Shitty Northern Florida town," she bluntly replied. She led me upstairs to what I presumed to be her bedroom. Her house was considerably nicer than mine, I'll say that. There were beautiful paintings and furniture all throughout the house.
"What do ya think?" she asked as we stepped into her room. It was pale yellow, her bedquilt was navy and her rug was threaded with every color I could think of, and her furniture was new and white. There were several crates of records and many Rolling Stones posters. "They're my favorite band, if you couldn't tell," she said, laughing, as she pointed at the posters.
"I like the Stones too! I heard they're working on a new album. I wonder if they can do better than beggars banquet," I commented.
"Oh, I have faith that they will," she smiled. "What do you think about Mick Taylor?"
"Well I don't really think about him," I said.
Her eyes narrowed as she studdied me. "I see you keep looking at my chest."
Ah, shit. I wasn't good at being discreet. A jumble of words were about to come out untill she laughed, "Michael, I didn't really see you looking at my chest, I was just seeing what you'd say!"
Oh. Very funny. Haha. She got me all nervous for nothing.
"You don't say much, do you?" she asked.
"Uh, I guess not," I quietly said.
"How old are you?" she inquired.
"17 and a half," I replied.
"How many girls have you kissed?" She was just full of questions.
"Uh, 4," I answered, nervously.
"Make that 5," she said, leaning in. I didn't really expect her to kiss me, at all. "Did I catch you off guard?" she asked laughing.
"Yeah, a little bit," I said, laughing too. I hadn't met her more than 5 mintues ago. In the next 3 and a half years, I'd learn that she was full of a shit ton of suprises. Most notably, stealing her parents money in their savings account so we could go to California.
