6. Where’s the Party?
Sometimes, the best nights were the ones that made us forget who we were trying to be.
“Where’s the party?”
That was our line. Our anthem. Me, Becky, and Steve—three teenagers with nothing to lose and everything to prove. We’d cruise around our small town with music blasting, windows down, and laughter that felt too big for the world we lived in.
There was always something magical about those nights. The kind of reckless freedom that only comes when you’re young enough to think nothing bad will ever happen to you.
One snowy Christmas, we ran around to all the holiday displays taking pictures of “Joe, Mary Lou, and the baby Jew.” That was our kind of humor back then—irreverent, weird, and pure. I can still see the big, clunky camcorder in my hands, heavy and awkward, but I never went anywhere without it. It was my way of freezing moments before they disappeared.
When we weren’t filming or laughing, we were crafting—gluing pearls and sequins onto corsets and leggings so we could hit Flamingos in Springfield like we owned the place. It didn’t matter that our outfits were homemade or that we weren’t the “it crowd.” We sparkled anyway.
And then, just before a trip to Phoenix, everything came crashing down—literally. I totaled my sister’s car. I told everyone I slid on rocks, but the truth is, I think I fell asleep behind the wheel. I was exhausted, running too hard, trying too much, and pretending I was fine.
That’s the thing about that time of my life—it was fun, yes, but it was also a blur of trying to keep up with everyone else’s version of happiness. I laughed the loudest and drove the fastest, but I was still the same girl underneath—the one who never really felt enough.
Becky was my ride-or-die. She was wild and fierce and loyal. Steve had that soft humor that made every night feel safe. We were a trio that didn’t make sense on paper but made perfect sense in the moment. They were my family when my world felt too heavy to carry.
Looking back now, I can see that all of it—the laughter, the danger, the sequins, and even the wreck—were part of the same story. I was a kid trying to outrun the pain with loud music and late nights. Searching for something that felt real, even if only for a few hours.
And for a while, we found it.