Bonnie and Clyde

  She asked me how to steal a car. Her name was Marissa. She was not very good looking. I was 14, and among some of the worse things I used to do, one of them was steal cars. Lots of them. It became a bad habit. A fun habit, but bad nonetheless.
   Marissa was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with the post-modern flight to the suburbs. You know? The one where every middle class family tried to carve out their own piece of Americana by buying a house, manicuring their lawns, and making little Suzy try out for the cheer leading team. This was her. She was upper-middle class Mexican. Which meant that I spoke more Spanish than she did. Her mother was a stay-at-home, PTA president, bake sale, community organizer mom. Her dad was a middle management, drink beer with the fellas, make sure his lawn is perfect, President of the school board dad.
  She lived nowhere near me. My best friend was her boyfriend. From the minute I saw her, I hated her, and I had to have her. See, I had, and still have, a thing for bitches. I like mean women. I like "my shit don't stink" women. I don't know why. I don't know where it came from. I especially like women that don't like me. I think they have good taste. Back then, I think I was too young to know, or think, why. I just liked the unattainable. I always liked the idea of flying my Mohawk with a cheerleader on my arm. I enjoyed the contrast. I still do.
   So, imagine my surprise when she calls me, out of the blue.
   "Hello", I asked into the receiver, hesitantly. See back then, I didn't have a lot of female callers. So imagine my surprise when my brother yelled up the stairs that there was a girl on the phone for me.
   "Hi Bobby", it was a girl!
   "Yeah, this is Bobby."
   "This is Marissa, Danny's.....well........Danny's ex-girlfriend. Do you remember me?", I could picture her laying on her bed like a 50's teenager. Her black hair splayed out over pink pillows. She's twirling the phone cord with her index finger, staring at her poster of Wham, or some shit 80's pop group.
   "Do I remember you? We just hung out last weekend at the mall. Did you just say Danny's ex-girlfriend?", a little dim light bulb appeared over my Kool-aid red Mohawk.
   "Yeah, that was kind of a dumb question. Yeah, me and Danny broke up on Monday. He said he was too busy to keep up the relationship. I don't really want to talk about it, but I thought you were pretty cool and I wanted to know if you wanted to go hang out sometime.", I could tell this had rebound written all over it.
   "Absolutely", I didn't give a fuck!!!!!!
   So, over the next month we hang out. A lot. Her parents wouldn't approve of me, of course. So they drop her at the mall under the guise that she's meeting friends. From there we head out of the mall and basically do three things. We either made out like gross teenagers in heat, walked to the pool hall down the street and played pool, or hit the dollar movie theater. Yet, we were constantly talking. She was intrigued by my home life, and how my parents didn't seem to give a shit about what I did. I was intrigued about things like, having dinner with your family every night, and what the hell a country club formal was.
  On one of these informal dates we hatched the plan for her to spend the night. It was easy. She was trusted, which is why she got away with so much shit. My parents didn't give a shit. Anyone could spend the night. really, anyone. I could have strolled in there with a boxcar full of hobos, and my parents wouldn't have gave a fuck. I did none of the work, I just said...

"Sure, come on over Saturday night, we'll see what we can get into."

   There ya go. She showed up at about six in the evening. I don't even know how she got there. She laid down two stipulations up front, and quick. No sex. Fuck, I hadn't even had sex, and oddly enough, didn't plan on it this evening. I had to have her at the main downtown bus stop at 10am the next morning. I agreed, and the night started.  It started fast.

   "You have any soda", she asked while pulling a bottle of Rum out of her duffel bag.

   "Why yes...I do", I ran up and down the stairs in record time. Coke, ice, glasses, done.

   We sat around and talked for hours. The TV played in the background, but no one watched it. We got sauced. Really sauced. Then, she asked the big question.

   "So, you could steal a car, right now?"

   "Yes, yes I could."

   "How? Like how do you do it", she really seemed interested.

   "Well, it's not easy, but it's not hard", I confidently started in on an explanation. 

  
   Let's go over the basics of old fashioned car theft. First, getting into a car in the late eighties was not that hard. If the car you wanted was locked well there were still several possible roads to take. You could use a slide hammer to remove the door lock, thus making entry quick, yet loud. You could always "amateur" your way into a car. That involved smashing a window, and unless it was between the hours of 3am and 4am, you were seriously risking getting arrested or shot. Yet, if you had enough strength you could wedge your fingers between the door and the top of the window and pull that window down. You'd break the window regulator, so if it was raining outside, this would suck. You might as well walk. I preferred the path of least resistance, unlocked cars. People in white suburban neighborhoods were oddly trusting of where they parked their cars. Thus, gaining entry was quiet and easy.
   Well, once you're in the car, Robert, then what do you do. Well without boring you with too many inane details, and trying to make it seem as awesome as the movies(it's not) I'll keep it simple. You break the shit out of the steering column, so you don't end up just being able to drive straight. Second, and this is the fancy part, you take a long, thick flat head screwdriver and you jam it into the lock cylinder. It makes its own key. Hahahahahaha. Turn the screwdriver and if you've hit your mark, you have a car.
    "Let's do it", she shrieked in a way only a "bow head" could do.
   "I don't think that's a good idea", through the Rum, I'm thinking straight.
   "NoOOOOOoooOOoooOoo. We definitely should. Please, just one. We don't even have to ride in it. just get it started, then we'll come back to the house. Comeoncomeoncomeoncomeon."
   "God damn it, fine."
   I lived in a bad neighborhood. Yet, right behind me, was a really nice neighborhood. Hence, it became my own little auto lot. It was a 1986 Mustang Gt. I hated the guy that owned it, and I hated it even more. It all happened quickly. She was nearly peeing her pants before we even got in the car. It was quick, it was easy, it was loud. Too loud. So loud, we drove off in it. Ha. We ragged that son of bitch out. We did donuts in the McCoy's parking lot, we drove it through fields, we stopped and bought eggs so we could....of course....egg houses.
   The lights lit us up like Christmas. It was a cop, and the three blocks I had spent trying to out run him made it a very unpleasant stop.  No license, underage, stolen car, halfway to drunk is no way to go through life young man. We were two blocks from my house. I could see my roof. All that seperated us was one small field, a fence, and the turn of a block.The cop stood at my door. I looked at Marissa. She was crying. I had to make this right.
   "Follow my lead", I mouthed to her.
   "Noooo", she muffled.
   "Trust me", I mouthed.
   "OK", I can't believe she's trusting me.
   I waited, waited, waited, and watched as the cop made a slight turn away from the car door. I kicked it open like a fucking mule, knocking him forward on his hands and knees. We took off like bullets. We were young, in shape, and scared. That fat cop didn't stand a chance. We were over the fence before he even stood up.
   We got home, she cried, a lot. She packed her duffel bag, called a friend and left. I was still laughing it off when she walked out the door. It was 4am. I heard through the grapevine that she kept using the word degenerate to describe me to her friends. I never understood the problem. I mean, yes, I was a degenerate, but we had gotten away. No harm, no foul.
No harm, no foul
No harm, no foul
No harm, no foul.
I thought we had fun. We would never speak again.