Mustang Cory

I drove to my high school graduation in a brand new 1988 Mustang GT. It wasn't mine. My friend, Tony Bondi, let me borrow it. The car was his and he LOVED that thing. It was much more of a car than I was used to, and I barely knew how to drive stick shift. But when I asked him if I could take it, he didn't even flinch before saying yes. I just had to bring it back in one piece.

My brother, Ira, drove with me to the ceremony. It was held at the now non-existent Poplar Creek Music Center. This was the place I went to with my parents when I was 12. We went to my first concert together. I actually went with them. It was Sheena Easton concert, and they couldn't get a sitter, so they dragged me along with them. I only knew two of her songs (did she have any more?). They couldn't get a seat directly next to theirs, but they still took me. I seem to remember that there were people in our area smoking pot. My parents kept looking and pointing with their eyes toward people around us.

There were over 700 people in my graduating class. I ranked 120. I finished high school early, but wanted to walk in the ceremony. In retrospect, it wasn't that big of a deal. Being one of many allows for getting lost in the shuffle. Which was pretty much how I felt all 3 1/2 years. I ran around in circles outside of the cliques within the walls of James B. Conant High School, so I always felt out of touch. I was often teased about my possible steroid use (I staunchly denied any use, but began admitting my abuse a couple years later). Deciding to go to my graduation was a really bad idea. But I figured showing up in a Mustang GT would help.

It didn't. After handing out the diplomas to everyone in attendance (the ceremony was delayed because of our clapping. Students started to clap once, in unison, after each name was called. The announcers let it go on for a couple of names, but then threatened us to end the proceedings if we didn't stop. We did, for a while, and then started up again. More threats, more stops, etc. etc. ), and realizing my diploma would have to be reissued because they spelled my name wrong (here I was, a graduate of the school and they still did not know how to spell my name), I thought that my reputation was about to change. My fellow graduates--at least the ones who knew me--were well aware that I didn't own a new Mustang GT. They were also aware that I wasn't in the financial position to either buy one myself, or receive it as a gift from my parents.

Immediately, I heard the, "whose car is that? Your daddy's?" The teasing didn't stop. I kept popping the clutch as I tried to get it in reverse to pull out of the parking lot. Once I finally got going, the traffic to get out of the lot was bumper to bumper. I was so afraid of ruining the clutch on the car that I didn't want to move until I really needed to. But, of course, I kept popping the clutch. Tony's car came equipped with a great sound system. I tried taking the focus off of my poor manual driving skills and on to something else. I cranked the stereo, loud.

It didn't help. Kevin Eltvedt was behind me in his car with his friends. I could see him in my rear view mirror, pointing and laughing. He was mocking me too. I had the windows open in the car, and I thought it would be cool to tap my fingers along with the music. My left hand was tapping the outside of the windows. Kevin's did the same thing, making fun of me through gestures.

No matter how much I was made fun of that night, I'm glad Tony let me borrow his car. It wasn't all that bad. Once the traffic opened up, and I lost Kevin and the others, I opened up too. It was a beautiful, clear, warm summer night. I drove down the street, feeling the warm air blow through the car, and I felt free. I made it through high school relatively unscathed. The night, the car, the gesture made me feel grown up for the first time. The car was brought back in one piece, and somehow, I felt whole.