2004-12-16 - 12:10 p.m.

I heard the Rolling Stones song “Angie” on the radio last night. In high school I loved that song. It was full of teenage angst, and more importantly, I actually had a girlfriend named Angie. You know, when I heard that song, it was like Mic Jagger was singing about me. It was my song.

All the best songs were from high school.

Ev’rywhere I look I see your eyes
There ain’t a woman that comes close to you
Come on baby, dry your eyes

I was 14. Angie was my first halfway serious girlfriend. Hell, I made it to 3rd base and for a naïve white kid from the suburbs who was just transferred out of parochial school that was significant. That was major. I had seen the Promised Land.

Angie had thick curly black hair, big brown doe eyes, and a tough girl, tom-boy attitude.

We’d cut class and make out behind the school.

She’d sneak into my shop class and we’d run off to the tool room and neck.

She was from the other side of the city and was bused in to the school. So it was difficult to see each other after school. One time we cut school for the entire day. She brought along a bottle of Seagram’s that she swiped from her mom. We sat in a field all day making out, talking and taking shots of Seagram’s. It was a warm April day in New England. It was great to be 14, cutting school and being with your best girl.

That field is gone. There is a Target and a Dicks Sporting Goods store there now. It sits along an interstate and I drive by it when I visit my folks.

Angie had a messed up home life. Her mom hated me. She thought I was a bad influence because she came home with a hickey on her neck. Ok, it was several hickeys. Across her back. They spelled out my initials. I was a creative and thoughtful lover.

What is it with teenagers and hickeys?

We went out for several months. I cannot recall why we broke up. She eventually dropped out of school. I heard she ran away.

------------------------

20 years later on a bitter cold December night, I’m sitting alone in my apartment reading the paper and there is a knock on my door.

It’s Angie. Older, a bit heavier, but she still had those big brown eyes and that funny smirk.

She just got out of Prison. For stealing. To support her drug habit.

Okay.

She heard from a friend were I was living. She tells me that she hitch hiked 45 miles to see me. I was floored.

Awkward. Strange. Happy. Confused. What do you do? Who are you? Tell me, who the fuck are you?

It was Angie. That’s who. Silly.

Angie, I hate that sadness in your eyes.

I guess I should have just closed the door and told her to take a hike. I dunno.
That moment in time was so very odd.

She had on a light jacket and she was freezing. I invited her in.

We talked. I opened a bottle of wine and ordered some pizza. She had no where to go. I had no where to go. We had xxtra cheese and some chicken fingers.

After catching up and hearing horror stories of life on the street and prison, and heroin, and hooking, and stealing and abuse, and gangs and more wine,I offered her to stay the night. Always the gentleman, I offered my bed. I’d crash on the sofa. She refused and laid down on the carpet, her coat bunched up for a pillow. My cat was intrigued and lay down next to her.

Gee my life’s a funny thing. Am I still to young?

The next day I took her out to eat at a decent restaurant and out to a club for drinks. She seemed really happy.

Later, back at my apartment, she found her spot on the living room floor, fluffed up her coat-pillow, called the cat over and said goodnight.

I laid on the floor next to her. She kissed my forehead. I remember her making a sigh and wrapping her arms around me. Pulling her close, she seemed starved for affection.

Foolish schoolboy. Don’t do this.

But I did.

For a brief moment we were 14 again.

I knew that it was wrong. I didn’t care.

She didn’t have to say a thing,

I knew what she was thinkin’

Roll, roll me away,
---------------------------------------------------

I also knew this wasn't to be. She knew it too. She wanted to go back into the city where she had a friend that would put her up.

The next day I took her back into town to find her friend. It was an old triple decker; the first floor was burnt out. We had to cut through the back lot and take the back stairs up to the third floor. The placed gave me a spooky, creeped out feeling.

Inside the apartment, it was dark. There was no furniture. That funny smell of steamed heat coming through an ancient furnace filled the apartment and mixed with the stale smell of cigarettes and B.O.

The only light came from a small 6” TV that sat on her friends lap. He was sitting in a side room, on a cot eating ceral from a Styrofoam cup.

“You can take the back room” he said. Pointing down the dusty hallway. He shot me a cautious suspiscous look.

I felt embarrassed, standing there in my camel hair overcoat and scarf. I felt like an ass.

It ain't me, it ain't me, I ain't no millionaire's son, no.
It ain't me, it ain't me; I ain't no fortunate one, no.

Her room was empty except for a 2 x 4 fashioned to be propped against the door to keep others out and a stained mattress lying on the hardwood floor. The whole scene frightened me.

She said it would do just fine.

She hugged me and said she’d pick her self back up and get her act together. She’d call me and check in with me in a few weeks.

“You just watch me Andy, Next time you see me, I’ll be in a real apartment. And I’m going to cook you dinner.”

I forced a smile. “That sounds good”

I kissed her on the cheek and slipped $50 in her pocket.

------------------------------------------

2 months passed without hearing a word.

Until one Saturday the phone rang.

“Andy. Did you see today’s paper?” It was my friend Don. He was the only one I ever told that I had seen Angie again. “Page14”

Before I even read the article, I knew what it was going to say. I had that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Angie hanged herself in prison.

I sat there in the kitchen and cried. I cried all afternoon.

Tramps like us and all that fucking bullshit...Not today Bruce.

Damn you.

I am so fucking pissed at you for doing that.

I hated you that day.

God bless you Angie.

Peace.

Cash Out - Another Round