I recently told the tale of our first kiss, it is far more romantic than how we met and not really that romantic. Our love story is heavy on the comedy, but that is fine.
My parents had me when they were almost 40, when I was raped and turned to drugs in my teens they did not know how to cope so they turfed me. I was shipped to Oregon to live with a brother. I was told I was going for a couple weeks, but the plan was I would not return to Ohio.
I took a little weed with me and I made it last. Then I found out I was not going home. That news really made me want a doobie! My brother had loaned me a van so I headed to town to see if I could find some new friends, maybe some with a joint. It was the 1970's and looking for people with pot was not likely to land anyone in jail. It is insane how people NOW are more "reefer madness" minded than they were 40 years ago.
I had left behind a boyfriend, of sorts. Not the guy who raped me but one who certainly did not give a damn about me. As I rolled down the "gut" in this new town I spotted a red '67 mustang, just like my boyfriend drove so I turned into the parking lot. There were a couple guys my age in the driver and passenger seats, and a girl my age riding the hump rolling a joint. I pulled alongside and said "Hi, I was wondering if you knew where I could find..." Spotting the activity in the center of the car, I just laughed and said "THAT!"
All three of them were quite friendly. They told me they were headed to a party and invited me along. I accepted and the girl hopped in my rig and we rode up together. She and I remain very close friends. However, that night she was fighting with the other girls in the clique. I walked in with her and so none of the girls would talk to me. The two guys from the mustang arrived and one of them sat down to chat with me. He was pretty much the only person who talked to me that night. The guys came over and introduced themselves but most had girlfriends glaring at them if they dared talk too long to the new girl in town. Girlfriends who were mad about who I arrived with, too...
After I had a scored a little weed to help me through the adjustment in my life I headed "home." I knew I was a hostage, an Oregon hostage. Once back at my brother's, I made a little note in my journal about how much I hated Oregon and everything in it. Well, except that one guy, he was pretty nice... I still have that journal page.
:)
This is our first "family portrait" taken by my mother in law with a Polaroid in her front yard!
This is my entry int this contest:
https://steemit.com/contest/@byn/how-we-met-writing-contest-10sbd-in-prizes