Me and Mark

By Ecklebob Chiselfritz

Mark was my best friend when I was sixteen years old. Minus any semblance of parental supervision we were both wild as weeds and free to roam. He always referred to me by my last name. I can't remember him ever using my given name. I was the type of kid who took any perceived slight to heart and only vengeance would right the wrong. He was the kind of guy who never took anything seriously.

Mark was driving the night we went into Chicago to see Emerson, Lake and Palmer at the Chicago Stadium. We were high as kites on the way there and higher by the end of the concert. Neither of us were human GPS sensors as we headed the thirty miles west toward home and we soon found ourselves lost. I doubt we would have cared about being lost except for the fact of where we were. Chicago's South Side. We were rural farm kids, but we weren't hayseeds. This was not where white kids stopped for anything. Even red lights. Especially after Sundown.

So Mark blew thru a red light and as if by magic a police car appeared behind us announcing its presence with a car top light show. The cop wanted to know what the hell we were doing in THIS neighborhood.

"Blah, blah, blah, here's how you get home from here...now get the hell out of here and don't let me catch your asses back here. Oh, and take this ticket with for blowing the red light."

 "Thank you, officer."

 Mark pulls away from the curb and is telling me he smelled whisky on the breath of the cop and we pull up to a red light and Mark blows thru it. I'm losing my mind.

 "What the hell is wrong with you. We're stoned out of our minds and the cop let us go. How could you do something so freaking stupid?"

Referring to me by my last name and waving the ticket in my face, Mark said,

"Relax, the cop gave me this piece of paper saying it's okay."

We both laughed like maniacs for the next couple of miles.

Continued HERE