My Mom calls me back as I’m following the police car with Margaret in it. The officer said the station was 10 minutes away and we’re driving straight down a two-lane road with no street lights. We should be there shortly.
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THE SPRING BREAK THAT SHOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED, PART 2
I’d been thinking of what to do with the money I’d saved that week, since Lonnie’s boyfriend, his roommate and his friends picked up the tab for everything the whole time. The only money I'd spent was splitting the cost of gas with Margaret on the way down. M.O.B gave us money for gas on the way back, way more than it possibly could have cost, so I was better than good.
I heard the sirens and knew that extra money was going toward the ticket we were about to get in whatever East Neverwhere town we were about to be pulled over in.
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THE SPRING BREAK THAT SHOULDN'T HAVE HAPPENED
More than a decade ago, my father made an unusual decision. I’d asked to drive to Atlanta (10 hour drive) with my best friend for Spring Break my senior year of college. I usually skipped SB all together. The drinking age, obviously, was 21, and I was 20 when I graduated in college, so in my estimation, there wasn’t much fun to be had. Anyone whose chosen to remain sober when surrounded by drunk people will tell you the same. But it was the final semester, and I’d spent the fall in London and missed my last homecoming as a student. Maybe he took pity on me. Maybe he was delusional. Miraculously, Dad, who I full well expected to say “no”, said “okay.”
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