We were not Home Alone...
He was the stereotypical child star gone bad, if star was a supporting role in an early 90's coming of age sports film, and bad was a drug dealer at my gifted high school. When I saw him roam the hallways in a black hoodie and jenkos, I swooned. But it wasn't till college that I was able to get him. The first time we hooked up, it only went to third base, and after he finished, we smoked a bowl and went out to the kitchen where his mom was preparing rosh hashannah dinner. Only she was too stoned to peel the garlic, so I stepped in. Only I was too stoned to turn on the oven, so we both gave up.
I didn't see him for several years. He had been declared persona non-grata in Canada and was on probation for the 2nd time. He had graduated from bad boy at a specialized high school, to simply a bad boy. I dug it. He called me when I was home on break during my senior year. We met up at a bar on Austin street (if you're from Queens, you
know where this leads) and shot the shit. Four mango martinis later (his, not mine - I stuck to the slightly less effeminate vodka limes), we’re back at his mom’s. I assumed he just wanted some clean urine, but when he broke out his movie memorabilia, I knew where this was heading. The man was clearly trying to impress me.
The last 6 years of our friendship had been leading up to this moment. He insisted I keep the skirt on the entire time. After it was over, I was too drunk to locate the F train, and in no mood to walk the mile from the subway to my parent’s house, doing a walk of shame through my orthodox neighborhood. What else is a 21 year old girl from Queens to do but call her mom to get a ride.