Fictionish: Sitting in cars with boys

We were exposed to drugs at an earlier age in the city. The same was true for cigarettes, alcohol, and sex. Our conservative parents tried to protect us so much that they missed the things that were right in front of their faces.

The first time I smoked pot was out of an apple core in the back of a butcher shop. I was barely a teenager when I was learning how to MacGyver bowls out of regular household items. In this regards, my friends and I were way ahead of the curb.

I lived across the street from a park. Kids from nearby schools used to drink and smoke weed in there. So, it was clearly too obvious a location for us. We would walk around and see what opportunities presented themselves to us. Often it was a an empty storage unit with an open door, or a shady parking lot behind a closed store.

One day, we were cutting through a used parking lot when one of us jiggled a handle of a car door. To his surprise, it opened.

“Guys, check this out,” he said in that loud whisper that is neither loud nor a whisper.

We all ran back, grabbed a door and jiggled its handle. Sometimes, when God closes a window, he still leaves the car doors unlocked, I guess.

We jumped inside the car with one foot still out the door and fiddled with all its buttons. Nothing turned on, but it was worth a shot. The leader of our little gang had jumped in the driver seat. He pulled out a joint and lit it up.

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?”

He just nodded his head and held his breath.

We were all a bit cautious until our guards were lowered lowered by the intoxicant. One of us ran to the local takeout place and grabbed cheese fries for all of us. We sat back, smoked, ate greasy food and enjoyed ourselves for the remainder of this weekend night.

This was a onetime opportunity we would enjoy for now, because it surely would never be available again. This rang especially true when we stepped out of the car a bit later and noticed the security cameras.

We were boned. We were going to jail. Our parents were going to be ashamed of us and disown us. The neighborhood was too small to hide from the footage of us that we believed would soon show up on the news. It was a fun night that would cost us our freedom.

We were so stupid. Really, though, we were lucky. The next week came and went and nothing appeared on the news. The next two weeks produced the same results. After a few weeks, we passed through the lot once again and the same person jiggled a handle. It was open. They were all open.

This small, shady lot that could not have more than 15 cars left all of its doors unlocked. Those cars never sold. They never even switched to different spots within the lot. Come to think of it, none of us had ever seen any customers there either.

At this point, we decided it was a front. Our city had a high contingent of mafiosi and they must have used this place for some nefarious activities. So, it seemed only right that we do the same.

Once again, we enjoyed a night of being stoned and full on fries in one of the cars. The first time we were there, we were very careful not to leave a morsel of food or an ash from a joint. This time, we pushed things a bit by leaving a fry on the seat. The next time, we left an empty takeout bag too. Both items were still in the car when each time we returned.

At this point, we felt confident that this absolutely was a front. We never found out, though, but it certainly was not for a lack of trying. Until the first of us got a license and access to a car, we spent one night per weekend here. It was as close as any of us would ever get to a man cave, as they say in the parlance of our times.

No matter what we did or how often we came, the doors were always unlocked. Still, we tried to be a little nice about things. We did not leave any trash behind and would use a spray to mask the odor of ditch weed. It was our way of not tempting fate and showing a small bit of gratitude for having a place where we could all go and be ourselves.

Maybe it is sad that our goto spot was a used car lot that likely was a front for the mafia. Maybe when there was no place for you to go, you had to make the most of what you had. Maybe we were just assholes. Those things were not mutually exclusive.