Did I mention that Bonehead used to pick on me?
We were in theater together, Bonehead and I. My junior year in high school we were in Macbeth together. The play was long and drawn out, really. I give my parents kudos for coming to see it, and my Grandparents hold a sacred place in my heart for enduring a 4 hour drive in order to sit through 3 hours of Shakespeare. Not JUST Shakespeare, but high school Shakespeare to boot.
My grandparents actually spent the whole weekend the time they came to watch me in Macbeth. They hung out with my parents while I did the usual theater traditions- the play followed by various after party activities. To be completely honest, I don’t remember which particular after party activities I attended for that particular play.
What I do remember is the wake up I got at about 6am Sunday morning. I vividly remember being all warm and toasty in bed and being brought from a deep sleep by the sound of my door creaking open. And then there was the whisper from my mother. “Chasity Lynn, there’s something you need to get up and take care of before your step dad wakes up and sees it.” Chas is what most people call me. Chasity Lynn is what my parents saved for when I really screwed up.
If I did something worth waking me up at 6am on a Sunday morning AND using my full name, this could not be good. My mother’s words demanded immediate obedience- not only because I wanted to avoid any trouble that might be brewing, but because my interest was peaked as well. To the best of my knowledge I had done nothing wrong.
As I padded my sleep deprived body to the living room to see what was up, my mother directed my attention to the front picture window. My grandparents were chuckling and my mom was trying not to chuckle as well.
My front porch was bathed in the shadow of a 15 foot sign. It was tied from one end of my porch all the way to the other side. I vividly remember the conversation I had with my grandparents after removing the sign that was large enough to be seen by satellite.
It didn’t take two guesses as to who put the mammoth sign on my front porch. Bonehead. When my Grandma asked me who he was, I pointed out who he was in the play. “You mean the young man with all the curly red hair?” In fact, it was. Her granddaughter had just had a sign posted on her front porch sometime after the hour of 1am on a Saturday night by a strange boy with long wild red hair and her response was this:
“I would kill to have his hair.”